Papaya Test Run

The iPhone 14 buzzed in my back pocket like a nervous heartbeat. I ignored it. Marcus was leaning against the bleachers, holding court with the varsity crowd, telling some story about his cousin's record label that was definitely at least fifty percent bull. I should've been over there. That's where you go when you're trying to shed your childhood like last season's skin.

Instead I was sitting cross-legged on the gym floor with Lila, who had actual papaya slices in a Tupperware container.

"You gonna try it or just stare at it like it's gonna grow legs and sprint away?" Lila grinned, her braces catching the fluorescent lights. She'd transferred here three months ago from somewhere that wasn't the suburbs, and she still didn't know that papaya wasn't cool. Papaya wasn't on the approved snack list. Papaya was what your abuela brought to soccer games when everyone else's mom had orange slices and those tiny cookies that tasted like nothing.

"I've literally never had this in my life," I admitted, which felt like saying I'd never ridden a bike or seen a movie.

"Your loss." She popped a piece into her mouth like it was no big deal. "My mom says back home, you eat it with lime and chili. But my dad's version is just... straight up fruit cup energy."

My pocket buzzed again. Probably a group chat blowing up about something that would feel life-or-death for exactly eight minutes. The iPhone 14 was practically demanding my attention, but I picked up a papaya slice instead. It looked like something that belonged in a rainforest, not a high school gym. Bright orange, slippery, with these little black seeds that clung to everything like they'd missed their calling as glitter.

"What if it's gross?" I asked.

"Then you spit it out and we never speak of this again." She shrugged. "But also, you're literally letting fruit dictate your life choices right now."

I took a bite.

It wasn't what I expected—sweet but weirdly musky, like something that couldn't decide if it wanted to be dessert or dinner. The texture was all wrong and also perfect and suddenly I was eating the whole slice and Lila was laughing and handing me another and Marcus was still over by the bleachers talking bull about his cousin's definitely fake record label and I was HERE. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

"So?" Lila raised an eyebrow.

"I don't hate it," I said, which was the biggest understatement of my life.

My pocket buzzed. A notification lit up the screen: some random drama in the group chat that suddenly felt a million miles away.

I turned off my phone. "Got any more?"