Papaya Summer

Maya'siphone lay face-down on the pool deck, its screen lighting up every thirty seconds with texts she refused to read. *He's blowing up your phone,* her brain supplied. *Again.*

"You're spacing out, M." Leo's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. She blinked, realizing she was still in her starting position, toes curled over the pool's edge. The June meet had been lowkey stressful enough without the Dylan Situation™ playing on loop in her head.

"My bad," she mumbled, shaking out her arms. "Just vibing."

"Vibing? You look like you're about to throw up." Leo, ever the captain, offered her his water bottle. "Tryouts aren't gonna slay themselves."

Maya forced a laugh. Behind the bleachers, she'd left her backpack—and inside it, the folded-up baseball jersey that still smelled like him. Stupid. So stupid to keep it, but throwing it away felt final in a way that made her chest hollow out.

The whistle blew.

*Swimming.* Finally, something that made sense. The water swallowed her whole, cool and silencing, cutting through the noise. No iphones, no awkward conversations in the hallway, no wondering why her ex-best-friend-now-something-more had turned distant without explanation. Just lap after lap, her body knowing what her heart didn't anymore.

Afterward, dripping and exhausted in the parking lot, Leo's mom handed her a plastic container. "Papaya, sweetheart. You look pale."

Maya stared at the orange fruit like it was an alien artifact. "Uh, thanks Mrs. Rodriguez."

"It's an acquired taste," Leo called from the car, already grinning. "Like your music taste."

"Rude."

But later that night, sitting on her roof with the papaya balanced on her knees, Maya found herself crying. Not because of the weird fruit or the tryouts or even the baseball jersey she'd finally moved to the back of her closet.

She cried because sometimes growing up meant realizing that some things—like her seventh-grade science fair goldfish, like friendships that changed without permission, like first love—didn't get a proper goodbye. They just... ended.

Heriphone buzzed one last time.

*Good luck at tryouts today. You're gonna crush it. — D*

Maya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Took a bite of the papaya. Made a face.

"Acquired taste," she whispered to the empty night.

And somewhere in the darkness, she finally believed she'd acquire it.