The Papaya Pool Incident

The cable was supposed to be fixed by noon. That's what the manager said when he hired me, anyway.

"Just watch the pool, make sure nobody drowns, and keep an eye on the TV. The cable guy's coming."

Three hours later, still no cable. The pool was dead empty because it was barely seventy degrees and overcast, and I was stuck babysitting a fuzzy screen.

Until she walked in.

Maya from my AP English class. Maya who sat in the back row and always had these weird fruit drinks in emoji-covered tumblers. Maya who I'd been lowkey crushing on since September.

"Pool's closed," I said, trying to sound authoritative instead of panicked. "Water's too cold."

"I know," she said, dropping her bag on a lounge chair. "I'm not here to swim."

She pulled a papaya from her bag like it was the most normal thing in the world, then a knife.

"You're... cutting fruit at a closed public pool?"

"My dad's the cable guy," she said, slicing through the papaya's skin like it was nothing. "He radioed me. Said he's running late, something about a main line issue downtown. Said whoever's working the pool today is probably losing their mind with boredom."

She looked up at me, and I felt my face heat up.

"Want some? It's actually good once you get past the... texture."

I'd never had papaya. It seemed like something that existed in commercials, not real life.

"Sure?"

She handed me a wedge. It was soft and weirdly orange and smelled like something tropical and expensive.

"Your first time, isn't it?" she grinned.

"That's what she said," I blurted, then immediately wanted to die.

But Maya just laughed. Not mean laughing. Real laughing.

"Okay, that was actually solid." She sat down next to me. "So what's your deal, anyway? You always this tense at pool parties?"

We sat there for two hours while her dad took forever fixing the cable. We ate papaya and talked about everything—how much we both hated group projects, our weird families, how neither of us knew what we wanted to do with our lives after graduation.

When the cable finally flickered on at 3 PM, some random reality show blaring through the speakers, Maya stood up and grabbed her bag.

"Same time next week?" she asked, like she already knew the answer.

"Pool's definitely closed," I called after her.

She turned back, grinning. "Good thing I'm not here to swim."