The Papaya Incident

Maya's palms were literally sweating as she stood outside Tyler's house. The bass from inside thumped against her chest like a second heartbeat. Her first real party. Finally.

Her best friend since kindergarten, Jazz, grabbed her arm. "You good? We can dip if you want."

"No way," Maya said, adjusting her crop top. "I've been waiting for this all semester."

Inside, the air smelled like fruity perfume and something vaguely citrus. The kitchen counter was packed with mysterious concoctions in neon Solo cups. Tyler—sophomore quarterback and Maya's crush since October—was holding court by the island.

"Yo, try this," he said, sliding a cup toward her. "My mom's papaya smoothie recipe. It's fire."

Papaya. Maya had never even seen one in real life. Her mom stuck to safe fruits—apples, bananas, the occasional grape. But this was Tyler. Tyler was offering her a drink. Tyler was smiling at her with those perfect teeth.

She took a sip and immediately regretted everything. It tasted like soap mixed with old bananas. Her face must have shown it because Tyler and his friends burst out laughing.

"What? You don't like it?" someone said. "It's exotic."

"It's... interesting," Maya choked out, her face burning hotter than the stupid basement lights.

She fled to the backyard, nearly tripping over an orange tabby cat asleep on the porch steps. The cat blinked at her judgmentally, as if to say, "really?"

Jazz found her five minutes later sitting on the grass, strategically far from the party noise.

"That bad?" Jazz sat down beside her.

"I literally just humiliated myself in front of Tyler and everyone." Maya buried her face in her hands. "Who drinks papaya smoothies at a party anyway? Who even likes papaya?"

"The same guy who thinks wearing socks with sandals is 'retro chic,'" Jazz said dryly. "Seriously, Maya, you're building up Tyler in your head. He's just a guy who makes weird smoothies."

The cat wandered over and butted its head against Maya's knee. She scratched behind its ears, surprised to find herself smiling.

"Maybe," she said. "But I still feel stupid."

"Then we go back in there like nothing happened," Jazz said, standing up and extending a hand. "Or we bounce and get Taco Bell. Your call."

Maya looked at the cat, then at the house where muffled laughter and music spilled into the night. She could leave. No one would judge her for it.

But the cat nudged her hand, almost like a dare.

"Taco Bell after," Maya said, grabbing Jazz's hand and pulling herself up. "But first, I'm getting a ginger ale from that cooler and pretending I'm totally over papaya-gate."

"That's my best friend," Jazz said, bumping her shoulder. "Paparazzi ready."

As they walked back inside, Maya's phone buzzed. A text from her mom: 'Have fun! Love you!'

She smiled. Whatever happened with Tyler or stupid papaya smoothies, at least she'd have a funny story to tell her friends tomorrow. And that was something.