Pool Lights and Papaya Nights

The fluorescent lights of the community center **pool** hummed against my already-pounding headache. I'd spent half the summer trying to become who I thought Marcus wanted—chill, effortless, the kind of girl who floated through life without overthinking every micro-expression.

My best friend Jazz slid a bright orange wedge toward me across the metal table.

"**Papaya**," they announced like it was a revelation. "It's got enzymes that literally fix your vibe."

I stared at it. Everything about my summer had felt wrong since I'd accidentally signed up for Marcus's text chain of exclusively cool people. My responses took twenty minutes. My outfits were overcurated. I moved through days like a **zombie**, performing authenticity instead of living it.

"Just eat the fruit," Jazz said, but not unkindly. "You're trying too hard again."

The guilty weight in my chest said they were right.

Marcus's group was over by the **palm** tree—actual palm, in Southern California, like we were living in a music video. Marcus caught my eye and lifted his chin: the universal symbol for come sit with the important people.

I stood up, then sat back down.

"What?"

I dug my phone from my bag. Opened his text chain. Deleted every message, every three-hour-old response about "haha yeah same."

"**Vitamin** me," I told Jazz.

"Excuse me?"

"Realness. I need a **vitamin** dose of actually being myself instead of whoever I think people want."

Jazz's grin was slow and brilliant. "Finally. Also, that's not how that phrase works."

I ate the papaya. It was messy and bright and everything I hadn't let myself be all summer.

The next morning, I texted Marcus: hey, your text chain is stressing me out, I'm out. Then I blocked the number.

Jazz said that was extreme. I said it was self-care.

Some nights, we still sneak into the pool after hours. The underwater lights turn everything blue and impossible. We float on our backs making up words that should exist but don't, and I think about how much time I spent trying to glow when I could've just been someone who learned to love the dark.