Summer of Papaya Secrets

Working at my parents' fruit stand wasn't exactly how I pictured spending my summer before sophomore year, but here I was, arranging papayas like my life depended on it. The worst part? Tyler—head of the football team, human equivalent of a bull in a china shop—worked at the stand next to ours selling organic orange juice.

"Nice papaya display, loser," Tyler smirked, leaning against our counter like he owned the entire farmers market.

"Nice juice stand, Tyler. Very original," I shot back, but my voice cracked. Smooth.

That's when I noticed her—the new girl, sitting on a bench under the palm trees, sketching something in a notebook. Everything about her screamed different in the best way possible. Mismatched socks, hair dyed purple at the ends, zero interest in Tyler's obvious flexing.

"I'm gonna go spy on what she's drawing," I whispered to my best friend Maya, who was supposed to be helping but was actually just eating the samples.

"You mean 'creepy stare' from a distance?" Maya asked, around a mouthful of mango.

"No. I'm gonna casually walk over and compliment her sketchbook. Like a normal human being who definitely isn't obsessing."

"That's bull and you know it. Your face gets red when you're nervous. Everyone can tell."

"Shut up, Maya."

I grabbed an orange from our stand—my lucky charm, don't judge—and started my strategic approach. Twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.

Then Tyler materialized out of nowhere, blocking my path. "Hey, you know the new girl?"

"No," I lied. My face was definitely the color of the orange I was clutching.

"Cool, cool. Just wondering. She's in my English class. I was thinking of—"

"SPYING on her sketchbook?" Maya yelled from across the stand. "That's weird, Tyler!"

The new girl looked up. Purple hair, intense eyes, zero patience for nonsense. "Are you two arguing about who gets to awkwardly approach me first? Because I'm actually trying to draw this really cool lizard on that palm tree, and you're both being loud."

Tyler and I both froze.

"I'm Alex," I managed, stepping forward. "And this is—unfortunately—Tyler."

"I'm Jasmine," she said, closing her sketchbook. "You seem less annoying than him. You want to see the lizard drawing?"

Tyler stomped back to his juice stand. I sat next to Jasmine on the bench, orange still in hand, and watched her show me page after page of incredible drawings. She was new here too. She hated football players. She thought papayas were weird-looking and hilarious.

"Same," I said. "I have to arrange them artistically every weekend. It's humiliating."

Jasmine laughed—really laughed—and something in my chest did that stupid fluttery thing movies talk about.

"Hey," she said. "You want to come with me to find more cool stuff to draw? There's this garden behind the library with the weirdest plants."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, definitely."

As we walked away, Maya gave me a thumbs-up from the fruit stand. Tyler crushed an orange juice box in the background. And for the first time all summer, the papayas didn't seem so ridiculous anymore.