The Papaya Incident

Maya stared into the bathroom mirror, psyching herself up. Three inches of dark roots had grown in, and she was literally spiraling. She'd been dyeing her hair electric blue since freshman year — it was her whole personality, her brand, the one thing that made her Maya at Lincoln High. But now, with junior prom approaching and Liam finally noticing her in AP Bio, she was lowkey freaking out. What if blue hair wasn't sophisticated enough? What if she looked like she was trying too hard?

Her phone buzzed. Group chat blowing up about Jasmine's party Friday. Everyone was going. Even Liam.

"This is fine," she whispered to her reflection, which was absolutely not fine.

She padded downstairs, still in her oversized sweatpants, to find her dad standing in the kitchen looking like he'd committed a crime. On the counter sat a papaya, hacked into tragic, uneven pieces.

"Your mother said we needed more fruit," he said, wielding a knife like he'd never encountered produce before. "I'm embracing culinary adventure."

"Dad, that looks like a crime scene," Maya said, grabbing a fork. She took a bite of the papaya. Actually kind of fire? She'd never admit it.

Then catastrophe struck. Her sleeve caught the papaya plate. Orange flesh splattered everywhere. Including, in slow motion, directly onto her hair.

"Oh my GOD," she screamed. "Dad, this is NOT chill!"

Her cat, Pickles, chose that exact moment to leap onto the counter, investigate the papaya situation, and knock over the fishbowl containing Goldie — her prize-winning carnival goldfish from three summers ago.

Water flooded the counter. A very confused Goldie flopped on the linoleum. Pickles stared at the fish like it was an alien invader.

"NO!" Maya lunged, scooping up Goldie with bare hands and sprinting to the bathroom, where she dumped the fish into the tub. She turned on the faucet, creating a makeshift river.

Pickles appeared in the doorway, tail twitching with murderous intent.

Maya sat on the bathmat, guarding Goldie, papaya still matting her blue hair into a sticky orange disaster. And then she started laughing. Like, couldn't-stop, ugly-laughing. Because this was her life. This was who she was: the girl with blue hair and a fish in the bathtub and papaya in her bangs.

Her phone lit up. A text from Liam: hey saw ur story what r u doing this weekend

Maya wiped her eyes, smeared papaya across her forehead, and texted back.

Maybe she didn't have it all figured out. Maybe nobody did. But she had a fish to save, a cat to outsmart, and a text to answer. And that was enough.

Besides, orange was kind of her color.