Sweaty Palms & Papaya

My palms were sweating so much I could barely grip my phone. Like, actually sweating. This was it—my first solo hang with Mateo since we'd been flirting in bio for weeks. My brother's room was my emergency command center.

"Chill, Leo," Jasmine said from her sprawled position on my bed. "You've got this. Just don't be weird."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one with orange hair she'd dyed herself three days ago because TikTok said it would look "aesthetic." Now it just looked like a traffic cone exploded on my head.

Mateo wanted papaya. Who even knew what papaya tasted like? I'd spent twenty minutes on Google trying to figure out if it was acceptable to say "no thanks, that sounds gross" on a first date. The internet was split 50/50.

My laptop died right as I was pulling up directions to the cafe. I scrambled for the charging cable, knocking over my water bottle all over my bio textbook. Perfect. Absolutely perf.

"You're spiraling," Jasmine pointed out. "Just breathe. Maybe eat something? There's spinach in the fridge if you're actually gonna faint."

"Pass."

The walk to the cafe felt like forever. My hair kept frizzing in the humidity. I could feel every sweat bead forming on my forehead. Why did I agree to this? Why did I think I could pull off orange hair? Why papaya?

Mateo was already there, leaning against the wall with that casual confidence I'd been trying to fake since middle school. He spotted me and smiled.

"Yo! You actually came." He pushed off the wall. "Your hair looks fire, by the way."

I stopped. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, it's different. I like it." He gestured toward the cafe. "Ready to try this papaya thing? I heard it's supposed to be life-changing."

And just like that, the knot in my stomach loosened. Maybe the orange hair wasn't a disaster. Maybe papaya wouldn't be terrible. Maybe Mateo wasn't completely out of my league.

"Lead the way," I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. "But if it tastes weird, I'm judging you forever."

He laughed. "Deal."