The Papaya Incident

I'd been **running** from my problems since seventh grade—literally. Cross country was my escape, my meditation, my excuse to avoid asking Sarah to the fall dance. But today? Today I was running toward destiny.

My **hair** had other plans. The humidity had transformed my usually manageable curls into something resembling electrocuted spaghetti. Mom swore her special **vitamin** supplements would fix everything, but mostly they just made my pee turn neon. Still, I clutched the bottle in my sweaty palm like a good luck charm.

"Jay! You coming to Tyler's?" My best friend Marcus yelled from his driveway.

"Can't! Sarah's dad took her to that exotic grocery store downtown. I'm doing recon."

This was it. Phase three of my extremely detailed plan to win Sarah's heart: discover her favorite fruit and casually bring it to practice on Monday. Phase one (learning her locker combination) and phase two (memorizing her class schedule) had gone suspiciously well.

The store smelled like spices and secrets. I spotted Sarah by the produce section, examining something bright orange and alien.

"Papaya," she said, holding it like it was radioactive. "My mom says it's a superfood. I'm supposed to try it."

"Yeah, totally," I said, sweating. "Love papaya. Can't get enough of it."

**Bull**. I'd never even seen one before.

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "That's amazing! No one else I know eats it. You should come over, we could try this recipe together."

My heart stopped. She was inviting me over. ME. But my brain chose that exact moment to remember that papayas supposedly looked like—uh—certain body parts in health class. I snorted. Then giggled. Then full-on laughed until I snorted again.

"Jay?" She looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Fine! Just—" I knocked over a display of exotic fruits. Papayas everywhere. People staring. My hair reaching maximum frizz potential.

I wanted to die. But Sarah just started laughing too, not mean laughter but genuine can't-breathe laughter. We ended up sitting on the floor surrounded by bruised tropical fruit, making up ridiculous papaya recipes until the manager asked us to leave.

"I've never laughed like that," she said, still wiping tears. "You're funny, Jay."

We walked home together. She didn't even notice my hair. I didn't even think about the vitamins in my pocket.

Sometimes destiny doesn't come at you while you're running toward it. Sometimes it finds you when you knock over a fruit display and make a complete fool of yourself in front of the prettiest girl in tenth grade.

I'll take it.