Summer of Wild Pitches

The papaya sat in my lunchbox like a neon orange alien. Mom's latest health kick, obviously. I poked at it with my fork, trying to look casual while pretending not to notice that Maya was literally three tables away, laughing at something Jackson said.

"You gonna eat that mystery fruit, or just interrogate it?" Leo slid onto the bench beside me, dropping his baseball glove like it was a declaration of coolness.

"It's papaya, genius. And no."

Leo's been my best friend since third grade, back when "cool" meant having the fastest kickball swing. Now, at sixteen, cool meant varsity jackets and knowing which slang had already died. Jackson, for instance, kept saying "no cap" unironically. The cringe was real.

"Dude, you're such a fox," Leo said, nodding toward Maya. "Just talk to her already."

I choked on air. "A fox? Who says that anymore? Your grandpa?"

"Whatever. You're bear-ing your feelings anyway." He grinned, enjoying his own pun. "See what I did there?"

"Please stop." I buried my face in my hands. "Your wordplay is actual bull."

Maya glanced over at our table. My stomach did something illegal. She waved—actually waved—and I managed a weak finger wiggle that probably looked like I was swatting at invisible bees.

Practice after school was brutal. Coach put us through drills until my arms felt like jelly. Jackson kept throwing fastballs that almost took my head off, shooting me smug looks like he knew something I didn't. Probably about Maya. They'd been flirting all week during lunch.

The papaya incident happened Tuesday. I'd finally decided to try the stupid fruit Maya had been curious about. I took a bite in the cafeteria, and immediately gagged. It tasted like someone had mixed soap with old melon. Maya burst out laughing, and Jackson high-fived her like they'd planned my humiliation.

But then Maya said, "At least you tried it. Jackson's scared of anything that's not a chicken nugget."

Jackson's face dropped. She'd defended me. Against him.

Thursday, I found a note in my locker: "Papaya brave. Wanna get smoothies Saturday? - M"

Leo nearly tackled me when I told him. "I told you! You're such a fox!"

"Still don't say that," I laughed, but couldn't stop grinning.

Saturday, Maya and I sat at the smoothie shop, she with mango, me with something that definitely wasn't papaya. We talked about baseball and music and how weird high school was, how everyone was pretending to be someone they weren't. She admitted she was terrified of failing chemistry. I admitted I secretly liked writing poetry.

"Jackson's not that bad," she said, surprising me. "He's just... trying too hard."

"Kinda like all of us?"

She smiled, and it felt like hitting a home run in the bottom of the ninth. "Exactly."

The papaya was gone, but I'd found something sweeter anyway.