Papaya Summer Secrets

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. Sixteen years old and she still couldn't talk to Caleb without her hands turning into tropical storm zones. She leaned against the papaya tree in her backyard, watching him skateboard past her house for the third time that afternoon.

"You're such a spy," her best friend Kai had teased earlier that day. "Literally creeping on his Instagram, analyzing his caption choice like it's the dang Pentagon."

Maya hadn't denied it. Since moving to Hawaii from Ohio three months ago, her entire social existence had been reduced to spy-level observations of the locals—especially Caleb, with his sun-bleached hair and ridiculous smile. She was 95% sure he'd skateboarded past her house at least twelve times this week. The other 5% was that she was hallucinating from humidity-induced delirium.

Her grandmother called out from the kitchen window. "Maya! Come try this papaya. I bought it from Mrs. Nakamura's stand—it's supposed to be the sweetest one on the island."

"Coming!"

As Maya reached for the fruit, Caleb skated past, actually stopped, and looked directly at her.

"Hey."

Her brain short-circuited. All those weeks of spy-mode observations, and her response was: "Hey."

"You're the new girl, right? From... somewhere cold?"

"Ohio."

"Oh dang." He nodded. "That's rough. I'm Caleb, by the way."

"Maya."

"Cool name. Fits you." He pushed his board back and forth. "Your grandmother grows good papayas. My mom buys from her all the time."

"She actually just bought one from Mrs. Nakamura."

"Even better." He stepped closer. "You should come to the bonfire at Waimea Bay on Saturday. Everyone's gonna be there."

Maya's heart did something that felt vaguely illegal. "I... yeah."

"Cool. I'll save you a spot by the water."

As he skated away, Maya's grandmother appeared behind her, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. "That boy's been circling our house like a bull at a rodeo," she said. "And you call yourself a spy."