The Papaya Promise

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water plants with them. Which would've been convenient, actually, since she was currently hiding behind a fake palm tree at Tyler Hernandez's end-of-summer rager.

"You good?" Leo asked, appearing beside her with two red cups. "You look like you're about to throw up."

"I'm fine," she lied, grabbing a cup and taking a gulp. She almost spat it out. "What is this?"

"Papaya punch. Tyler's mom made it. It's... interesting." Leo grinned. "So, you gonna talk to him or what?"

Him. Lucas. The baseball captain with the stupid perfect smile who'd been giving her heart eyes across cafeteria tables since May. And now he was five feet away, laughing with his friends like he didn't realize Maya's entire life was hanging in the balance.

"I can't," she said. "What if I say something weird? What if he thinks I'm a total—"

"Bull," Leo said. "That's bull, Maya. You're funny and smart and you have that whole mysterious artist vibe going on. He'd be lucky to talk to you."

Maya's phone buzzed. Instagram story from Lucas: a pic of the sunset with the caption "Summer memories." No location tag. No mention of the party.

Wait.

She pulled up her own story from yesterday. Same sunset. Same caption.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

"What?"

"He posted the same picture as me. That's basically flirting, right?"

Leo rolled his eyes. "Or maybe sunsets just look cool and you're both teenagers with phones. But sure, let's go with your theory."

Maya turned back toward Lucas, who was now heading toward the drink table. Her stomach did that thing where it felt like gravity was malfunctioning.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. I'm doing it."

"That's my girl."

She stepped out from behind the palm tree, heart hammering against her ribs like a fastball aimed straight for her chest. Lucas looked up, caught her eye, and smiled.

"Hey, Maya," he said. "I was hoping you'd be here."

Her palms were definitely still sweating, but suddenly that didn't matter so much anymore.