Papaya Summer

The papaya smoothie splashed across my apron, staining the white fabric a violent orange. Perfect. Just what I needed on day three of my first real job.

"Bro, you good?" Marcus asked, barely looking up from his phone. He was supposed to be training me. Instead, he'd spent the last two hours leaning against the counter at Papaya Paradise, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Yeah. Just... figuring out the blender." I wiped at the sticky mess, feeling my face burn. Sixteen years old and couldn't work a smoothie machine without creating a crime scene.

A calico cat darted past the open back door, probably the same one I'd seen sleeping on the dumpster yesterday. At least someone was comfortable here.

"Marcus!" The manager's voice boomed from the office. "Customer's waiting!"

Marcus rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Coming, Mike."

"You know he's a total bull," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Marcus actually laughed. "Yeah, Mike's been riding everyone since, like, forever. My brother worked here three years ago? Same energy."

Something shifted in his expression—like he'd forgotten to keep up the too-cool act. For the first time, he looked like an actual person instead of just the coworker who'd made me feel like an idiot for two days.

"Hey." He pushed off the counter and grabbed a rag. "Let me show you the trick to the blender. You gotta pulse it, or the papaya gets all clumpy."

He showed me the rhythm—three quick pulses, then blend. Simple, but impossible to figure out alone. The cat wandered back in and settled near our feet like it belonged there.

"Thanks," I said, and actually meant it.

"No problem." Marcus grinned, and it was genuine this time. "We're stuck here all summer anyway. Might as well not hate it."

Maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe I'd even make a real friend. And maybe papaya stains were just part of growing up anyway.