The Papaya Incident

Maya's life was basically a series of awkward moments strung together, but last Friday took the cake. The kind with too much frosting that you have to politely eat at your cousin's birthday party.

It started with her iPhone. Specifically, with letting Jenny convince her that streaks were, quote, "literally life or death." So Maya was frantically maintaining her 47-day streak with some guy from math class she'd barely spoken to, while simultaneously trying to look chill at Jordan's pool party.

Because Jordan was The Guy. The one everyone had a crush on since seventh grade when he grew six inches and got his braces off. Maya had successfully avoided speaking to him for three years, which was honestly an achievement.

"You need to stop running to the bathroom every time he looks at you," Jenny whisper-yelled, sloshing her sparkling water. "You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird!" Maya protested, despite literally being weird. "I just need to—my phone—"

Then Jordan materialized. Like, actually appeared. Holding a plate of fruit.

"Hey Maya," he said. His voice had somehow gotten deeper since yesterday? "You want some papaya? My mom went to that specialty market."

Maya's brain did what it did best: nothing helpful.

"Papaya?" she repeated, like she'd never heard of fruit before. "I've never had—it's orange? Inside? I mean, I'm sure it's—I like—"

Oh my god. Stop talking.

Jordan laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actual laugh-laughed. "Yeah, it's orange. Here."

He held out a piece. Maya's hand shook taking it. Behind her, someone cannonballed into the pool, spraying water everywhere—directly onto her phone, which she was clutching like it was a newborn.

"My streak!" Maya gasped, staring at her wet iPhone like it was a dying pet.

"Your what?" Jordan asked.

"My streak!" A pause. "I mean—my phone—"

"Maya's got a 47-day streak with Tyler from math," Jenny announced, because she was the worst.

Jordan's face did something complicated. "Tyler? Really?"

"No! It's not—I don't even—" Maya pressed her palms to her forehead. "This is not how I wanted this to go."

"How you wanted what to go?" Jordan stepped closer. Water dripped from his hair. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Maya considered faking a sudden illness. Or maybe diving into the pool and swimming to the bottom. Forever.

Instead she ate the papaya. It was sweet and weird and not terrible.

"Yes," she said. "But I'm terrible at it. Obviously."

Jordan smiled. And not the polite one. The real one.

"Yeah. I noticed. That's why I came over. You've been doing laps around this pool all day like you're training for the Olympics."

Maya blinked. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you."

The world stopped. Then someone screamed "CANNONBALL ROUND TWO" and Maya's phone buzzed with a new snap from Tyler: 🔥 STREAK.

She turned it off.

"Want to go sit somewhere else?" Jordan asked.

Maya didn't run away. She didn't even check her phone.

"Yes," she said. "But can you get me more papaya first?"

His smile was worth all 47 days of weirdness.

"Whatever you want, Maya."

And just like that, the awkward became something else. Something terrifying and wonderful and brand new.