The Electric Papaya

Maya leaned against the counter of her parents' bodega, watching rain streak down the windows while her phone buzzed with group chat drama she was too tired to decode. Mr. Henderson's ancient tabby cat, Barnaby, slept on a stack of chip bags, completely unbothered by the existential crisis unfolding in Maya's messages.

*Your crush is literally right now*, her best friend Santana had texted an hour ago. *He comes here every Thursday. Do something.*

Maya's stomach did that annoying fluttery thing whenever she thought about Leo — the guy with the galaxy posters on his backpack who always bought the same weird fruit smoothie ingredients.

The door chime jingled. Speak of the devil (and he was fine as hell).

"Hey, Maya." Leo shook his umbrella like a wet dog, droplets spraying everywhere. "Storm's crazy out there."

"Yeah, it's pretty — " **LIGHTNING** flashed outside, turning the bodega fluorescent-purple for a split second. " — intense."

Maya's dad, who'd been restocking the jerky shelf in that way dads do when they're trying not to hover, appeared beside her. "You boys and your weather talk. Maya, help this young man with his — what do you call it? — papaya situation."

"Dad," Maya hissed, but Leo was already grinning that stupidly gorgeous grin.

"Your dad is the MVP, honestly." Leo pulled a crumpled list from his pocket. "I need a papaya. For my mom. She's doing this cleanse thing and — "

"Say no more." Maya found herself moving around the counter before her brain could full-on panic. "My abuela swears by papaya for everything. Stomach issues? Papaya. Bad vibes? Papaya. Existential dread? Definitely papaya."

Leo laughed, and Maya felt it in her toes.

"You're good at this," he said as she weighed the fruit. "Like, actually good. I'd be staring at the papayas for twenty minutes trying to figure out which one's the chosen one."

"This one's perfect," she said, then immediately wished she could yeet herself into the sun. Why did she say that? Why was she like this?

But Leo just nodded like she'd dropped wisdom instead of embarrassment. "I trust your judgment. You obviously know your papayas."

Barnaby chose that moment to wake up, stretch elaborately, and knock into a display of gum, sending packages cascading everywhere like some sort of tiny orange furry tornado.

"Barnaby!" Maya's dad rushed over. "Bad cat! Very bad cat!"

Leo was already helping Maya pick up the gum. Their hands brushed and Maya's brain short-circuited.

"Sorry about him," she managed. "He's usually — "

"Chill?" Leo finished. "It's fine. My cat's way worse. She literally knocked my grandma's glasses off her face yesterday and then acted like it was a personal attack when we tried to get them back."

Maya's phone buzzed again. Santana: *well??? are u talking to him??*

She glanced at it, then back at Leo, who was paying for his papaya with the same crumpled bills he always used.

"Hey," Maya said, her heart doing something very illegal against her ribs. "If your mom wants more papaya next week..."

Leo's eyes lit up. Actually lit up. "Yeah?"

"I could text you when we get the good ones in. Since you obviously need professional guidance."

"That would be — " The bell over the door jingled as someone else came in, bringing gust of wet summer air and ozone. " — actually amazing. Here."

He held out his phone, contacts open.

Maya added herself as "Papaya Girl Maya" because something possessed her, apparently.

"See you Thursday," he said, and the way he said it made Maya feel like the storm outside had nothing on the weather in her chest.

As he left, another flash of lightning illuminated the whole block. Maya's dad appeared beside her again.

"Good boy," he said, nodding at the retreating figure. "Very polite. Good papaya instincts."

"Dad, stop."

"What? I'm just saying. A man who appreciates quality fruit..." He shrugged, heading back to the jerky shelf. "...that's the kind of man you marry."

Maya groaned, but she was smiling. Her phone vibrated one more time.

Leo: thanks again for the papaya assistance. you really saved my life here

Maya texted back: any time. papaya emergencies are what i'm here for.

Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, Maya thought maybe — just maybe — ninth grade wasn't going to completely suck after all.