The Papara Protocol

The grocery store air conditioning was practically a religion in July, which was the only reason I was currently staring at a mountain of papayas like they held the meaning of life.

"You gonna bag those or just admire them?" Marcus asked, flipping his hair—actually flipping it, like he was in a slow-motion conditioner commercial. The hair situation had gotten out of hand. Since he'd made varsity soccer, he'd been ascending the social pyramid with alarming speed.

"I'm thinking," I said, which was technically true. Mostly I was thinking about how much things had changed since seventh grade, when we'd bonded over shared misery in accelerated math. Now Marcus sat at the apex of the lunch table hierarchy while I floated somewhere in the middle, anchorless.

"Think faster. Mrs. Chen is watching."

I bagged the papayas. Their weird freckled skin reminded me of the time my mom tried to convince me they were just "big melons" because I'd refused to try anything exotic until I was twelve. Some kids grew up on sushi and curry; I grew up on chicken nuggets and suspicion.

The bell jingled. Maya walked in, and my stomach did that completely unhelpful thing it always did when she entered a room. She was looking for her brother, probably, but I still spent ten full seconds imagining she was looking for me before reality crashed the party.

"Hey," she said, stopping at our register. "Have you guys seen—"

"He's in aisle four," Marcus said, because apparently he knew everything about everyone now.

"Thanks." She hesitated. "You going to Lisa's party tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I said, even though I definitely wasn't. Lisa's parties were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and I'd learned my lesson about putting myself in situations where my awkwardness could be immortalized on someone's Instagram story.

"You should come," she said. "It'll be fun. Less of a social pyramid, more of a... I don't know, chaotic blob of humanity?"

She smiled at me. A real one, not the polite imitation I'd been getting lately.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Maybe I will."

After she left, Marcus was grinning at me like he knew something.

"What?"

"You're gonna go, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You know Lisa's cousin works at the movie theater," he said, ringing up a customer. "I could get us free tickets if you wanted to spy on who's actually gonna show up. Strategic reconnaissance."

"You've been playing too many video games."

"I'm serious. Think about it. We make a game plan. Figure out who's sitting where. Decode the social geometry before we even step through the door."

It was ridiculous. It was exactly the kind of thing we would've done two years ago, back when our biggest problem was figuring out how to sneak extra gaming time after homework.

"Fine," I said. "But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming the papayas."