Poolside Papaya

The papaya sat on the decorative platter like an alien artifact, all neon orange and suspiciously tropical for suburban Ohio. I was fifteen and trying desperately to look like someone who appreciated exotic fruit instead of just wanting pizza rolls like a normal human being.

"Try it," Maya said from her poolside chair, sunglasses pushed up like she was everything I wanted to be: confident, effortlessly cool, currently wearing a swimsuit that didn't make me feel like a potato. "It's literally life-changing."

The dog—some neighbor's golden retriever that had crashed the party—wagged its tail hopefully at my feet, as if sensing my impending humiliation. This was it. The moment I'd either become someone who casually ate papaya at pool parties or remained forever pizza-roll-adjacent.

I took a bite.

My face did something traitorous. "It's... musky?"

Maya laughed, this genuine sound that made me want to capture it in a jar. "That's one way to describe it."

Her brother Jake emerged from the pool, water streaming off him like he'd been Photoshopped. Summer according to teen movies, basically. "Who's eating papaya? That's like eighty-year-old person fruit."

"I'm expanding my palate," I said, with as much dignity as I could muster while chewing fruit that tasted vaguely of sweaty socks.

The dog chose that moment to steal my slice. In one joyful motion, it gulped down the papaya, tail wagging like it had just won the lottery. Then it promptly threw up in the pristine pool.

Chaos erupted. Someone screamed. Jake started laughing so hard he fell off his chair. And Maya—cool, perfect Maya—was giggling with her head thrown back, completely unbothered by the floating papaya disaster.

"Well," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "That definitely happened."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and realized I'd been trying so hard to be someone else that I hadn't noticed she was just as weird as the rest of us. The papaya wasn't the point. The dog vomiting in the pool wasn't the point. The point was that we were all just figuring it out, one strange fruit choice and backyard disaster at a time.

"Next time," I said, watching the dog get shooed away, "I'm sticking to pizza rolls."

Maya grinned. "Same. Let's go get some before someone calls the hazmat team for the pool."