The Papaya Play

The cafeteria hummed with that specific kind of noise that makes you want to disappear into your hoodie. I sat across from Lily, my phone buzzing in my pocket like an anxious bee. Third day of freshman year, and I was already failing at normal.

"What is THAT?" Lily pointed at my lunch tray with the enthusiasm of someone discovering a dead body.

"Papaya," I said, trying to sound like a person who casually ate exotic fruit instead of, you know, someone whose mom had packed the wrong thing. "It's supposed to be... super healthy."

I took a bite. My face did something involuntary. Lily choked on her chocolate milk.

"Oh my GOD, your face right now." She was laughing so hard the whole table was staring. Great. Add "weird fruit eater" to "quiet kid who wears too much black" on my freshman résumé.

My iPhone lit up with a notification from the baseball group chat. Tryouts today. Because apparently my brain thought joining the team would fix everything.

"You're trying out?" Lily asked, reading the notification upside down. "Since when do you play baseball?"

"Since I decided I need to stop being the person who eats papaya alone in the cafeteria," I muttered.

After school, I stood in the outfield, glove feeling foreign on my hand. Then I saw HIM—Jordan Martinez, the junior varsity shortstop who somehow made baseball pants look good. His golden retriever, Buster, was lounging in the shade beyond the fence, tongue out like he owned everything.

Jordan waved. "New kid?"

"Freshman," I corrected automatically. "And I don't actually know how to play."

He laughed. "Neither did I. Come on." He tossed me a ball. "First lesson: nobody needs to know you're terrified."

His dog barked like he agreed.

"Second lesson?" I asked, somehow catching the ball.

Jordan smiled, and something in my chest did that stupid fluttery thing. "Don't eat the papaya."

"How did you—"

"Lily's my cousin," he called, jogging back to position. "And she Snapchatted me your face. It's literally her lock screen now."

I stood there in the outfield, sun in my eyes, dog barking at nothing, and maybe I didn't know how to play baseball, but for the first time all week, I didn't want to disappear.

Somehow, this was going to be okay.