Produce Aisle Philosophy

Maya's first week at FoodMart wasn't exactly going according to plan. The **spinach** had already wilted under her watch, and she'd spent twenty minutes searching for the manager—only to find him "on break" behind the dumpsters.

"You're hovering over that papaya like it's about to solve world hunger," said Jordan, the cute cashier who always wore black nail polish and somehow made the neon uniform look intentional.

Maya jumped, nearly knocking over the display. "I'm just—analyzing its ripeness situation. Very scientific."

"Right. Because that's totally what we're paid to do." Jordan leaned against the **cable** management box that someone had accidentally spray-painted neon green last summer. "So, there's a party tonight. At Tyler's."

Maya's stomach did that horrible flip-flop thing. "Oh? Cool?"

"You should come." Jordan tucked a strand of hair behind their ear. "Unless you're too busy having deep conversations with tropical fruit."

A customer cleared his throat, looking between them with the kind of judgment that only middle-aged men in grocery stores can perfect. Maya's face burned.

"I'll think about it," she managed, before practically sprinting to the back room.

The break room was empty except for a laminated poster of a motivational cat hanging from a tree branch. Maya slumped into the cracked vinyl chair and pulled out her phone. Three notifications from her mom: "Did you eat?" "Don't forget to call grandma" and "How's the job?"

She stared at the screen. College applications were due in three months. Her friends were posting about beach trips and concerts while she was here, dissecting papaya ripeness levels to avoid talking to the most interesting person she'd met since moving to this town.

"You okay back here?" Jordan appeared in the doorway, holding two lukewarm sodas from the break room vending machine. "You looked like you were solving the riddle of the **sphinx** out there."

"Just existential dread about produce selection." Maya accepted the soda. "My parents think this job is 'building character.'"

"Yeah, my mom says it's 'teaching responsibility.'" Jordan cracked open their soda. "Pretty sure it's actually just teaching us how to smile at people who yell at us about expired coupons."

Maya laughed. "That's the real character development."

"So... Tyler's party?" Jordan's phone buzzed on the table. "I promise the snacks are better than anything we sell here."

"Okay." The word came out before Maya could overthink it. "Yes. I'll go."

Jordan's grin was worth everything. "Perfect. I'll text you the address. And Maya?" They paused at the door. "You're not as awkward as you think you are."

Maya sat alone in the break room for a moment, smiling at her lukewarm soda. Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all.