Papaya Summer and the Party Sphinx

Maya's palms were sweating literal rivers as she stood outside Jordan's house. This was it — the first party of sophomore year, and she'd spent forty-five minutes on her hair only for the humidity to turn it into a frizz explosion the moment she stepped outside.

"You got this," chirped Priya, her best friend since sixth grade, who looked flawless in a crop top and somehow hadn't broken a sweat. "Just be cool. You practiced the speech."

The speech. About how she was totally fine with Jordan dating Emily even though Maya had been lowkey obsessed with him since that time he'd helped her pick up her dropped books in the hallway and said "no worries" with that stupid cute half-smile.

Inside, the house was packed. Someone had blasting Doja Cat from a Bluetooth speaker that was definitely about to die. Maya grabbed a Solo cup from the kitchen island — fruit punch, thankfully, not the suspiciously yellow jungle juice that freshman were chugging like their lives depended on alcohol poisoning.

"Yo, is that papaya?" A guy she recognized from chemistry pointed at the fruit bowl on the counter.

"Bro, who brings papaya to a house party?" his friend laughed, and Maya had to suppress a giggle because honestly, valid question.

Then she saw them. Jordan and Emily. On the same couch. Being couple-y. Her stomach did that awful lurchy thing, like she'd swallowed a brick.

She made it to the backyard before the tears could hit. Sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her feet in, trying to pull herself together. This was embarrassing. She was fifteen, not five. She should be over this middle school drama nonsense.

"You look like you're solving a sphinx riddle or something."

Maya jumped. Jordan's older brother Leo sat on the diving board, skateboard balanced on his knees. He was a junior, had that whole skater vibe going on, wore the same black hoodie three days a week like it was his personality.

"What?" Maya wiped her eyes fast, hoping he couldn't tell she'd been crying.

"Like you're thinking deep thoughts." Leo cracked open a Mountain Dew. "Or maybe you're just bummed about my brother and Emily. Everyone knows you've got a thing for him."

Her face burned. "I hate him. And his face. And his whole— everything."

Leo laughed. It was a nice laugh, actually. Not mean. "Sure you do. You know he's kind of full of it, right? Like, last week he tried to act all tough at this skate park, ate it so hard on a half-pipe, I thought he broke his arm. Total bull. He's not as cool as he thinks he is."

Maya blinked. "He fell?"

"Faceplanted. Skinned his knee, almost cried. But whatever. If you're into him, that's your business."

She stared at the water reflecting the pool lights. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she'd just liked the idea of Jordan — who she thought he was, not who he actually was.

"You good?" Leo asked, actually sounding like he cared.

Maya stood up, wringing out the bottom of her shirt. Yeah. Actually, she was. Her hair was still a mess. Her palms were still sweaty. But somehow, everything felt a little lighter.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'm good."