Poolside Panic

The heat radiating off the concrete felt like actual judgment. Maya gripped her red Solo cup so hard the plastic crinkled. Sixteen and still couldn't do casual.

"You're literally vibrating," Neema whispered from behind her avocado face mask. "Chill. He's just a guy with nice hair and unfortunate timing."

Liam was by the **papaya** tree—the one Maya's mom had planted four years ago as a "symbol of growth" that had never actually produced fruit. Now he was leaning against it like some kind of tropical model, phone in hand, completely unaware he was standing under Maya's family's greatest disappointment.

Maya had been crushing on him since AP Bio when he'd helped her pick up scrambled microscope slides. That was three months ago. She still hadn't managed a complete sentence without stuttering.

"I brought **spinach** dip," Maya protested weakly. "That's normal, right? People like spinach dip?"

"Maya, you're at a pool party, not a wine tasting. Also, you're wearing your Justice Middle School camp shirt from three years ago." Neema pointed at her chest. "There is literally a glittery peace sign that says 'DREAM BIG' on it."

Maya looked down. Oh god. There really was.

"Okay, new plan," Neema announced, grabbing her arm. "We walk over there like we own the place. You offer him dip. You make eye contact for three seconds max. Then we bail. Text me if it goes south, which it will, because that's your brand."

Her brand?

Before Maya could process this character assassination, Neema was propelling her across the patio. The **palm** fronds overhead rustled in the breeze, casting dappled shadows across Liam's surprised face as he looked up from his phone.

"Hey!" He smiled, and Maya's stomach did that annoying fluttery thing. "You're Maya from Bio, right?"

She nodded. Was she nodding too much? Definitely nodding too much.

"I made dip," she blurted, thrusting the bowl forward like it was a weapon. "It's got spinach and stuff."

Liam laughed—not mean laughter, but real laughter, with crinkles by his eyes. "No way, I love spinach dip. My mom makes it every Thanksgiving. I was literally just thinking about how this party needs more actual food."

He took a chip. He took a bite. He didn't die.

"This is actually amazing," Liam said. "Did you make this?"

"Yeah," Maya managed, straightening her glittery peace sign shirt. "I mean, my grandma gave me the recipe, but I made it."

"Well, I'm impressed." He gestured to the **papaya** tree behind him. "Your yard is way cooler than mine. My mom's got like, three rosebushes and a gnome collection."

Neema made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed scream.

"The papaya's never had fruit," Maya said without thinking. "My mom says it's a metaphor for patience, but I think it's just defective."

Liam's eyes lit up. "Dude, my uncle has a lemon tree that's been 'about to produce' for seven years. We should start a support group for people whose parents are in denial about their gardening skills."

They talked for twenty minutes. About defective trees, about how AP Bio was actively ruining their lives, about how Neema once ate an entire taco while blindfolded for five dollars (Neema: "IT WAS WORTH IT").

When Liam asked for her number, Maya typed it in with fingers that somehow only shook a little.

Later, in the safety of her bedroom, Maya stared at the text he'd already sent: had a great time meeting you for real. also, can I get that spinach dip recipe? asking for a lemon tree support group.

She pressed her **palm** against her phone screen where his name glowed, grinning so hard her face hurt. Defective trees, awkward shirts, perfect moments.

Growing up wasn't so bad if it had moments like these.