The Papaya Protocol

I stood by the refreshments table at Jordan's party like a zombie—literally frozen, socially dead, watching everyone else live their best summer lives while I plotted my escape. Mia had nicknamed me "Romero" last month after catching me staring blankly at the cafeteria ceiling for the third time that week. Apparently my dissociation plus my last name made me walking dead material.

"Try this." Jordan shoved a bowl toward me. "It's papaya."

I stared at the orange chunks like they were alien artifacts. "I've never had papaya."

"Exactly." Jordan's grin was annoyingly genuine. "New experiences. That's what summer's about, right? Before sophomore year destroys our souls?"

I took a bite. It tasted like someone had made fruit taste like flowers. My face must have betrayed me because Jordan laughed so hard their soda came out their nose.

Then the cable cut out. The baseball game everyone was watching dissolved into gray static just as the announcer screamed something about the bottom of the ninth.

"NO!" Jordan's brother yelled. "Bases loaded! Two outs! Are you KIDDING me?"

"I got it," I said, because suddenly I was done being the kid who stood there watching things happen. I found the cable box, wiggled the connections, and after thirty seconds of me holding my breath and an entire room staring at my back, the game snapped back on.

"You fixed it!" Jordan's brother actually high-fived me. "Legend."

Later, Jordan's dog—a golden retriever named Maple—found me sitting alone on the back porch, overstimulated from the noise and desperate for something that didn't require small talk. She rested her head on my knee, and I scratched behind her ears, finally breathing.

"Baseball's not really my thing," Jordan said, appearing with two sodas. "But thanks for fixing it. You're like, secretly competent under all that quiet."

"I guess?"

"Papaya too much?"

"It was... an experience."

Jordan laughed and sat down beside me. Maple rolled over for belly rubs, instantly betraying her dignity for snacks. "You know, you're not as zombie as everyone says. Fixed the cable, tried the papaya, you're good with dogs. That's three whole personality traits. We're building a whole person here."

"I'm full of surprises," I said, and for the first time all night, I didn't feel like zoning out. Maybe Romero the zombie was taking a night off.

"Summer's not over," Jordan said. "There's probably more stuff you haven't tried. Some of it might even be good."

"Depressing, but accurate."

"Want to walk to the convenience store? They have slushies that are absolutely terrible for you."

Maple lifted her head, sensing potential snacks.

"Yeah," I said. "Why not."

Maybe zombie mode wasn't permanent. Maybe it was just that sometimes you had to unplug the cable, try the weird fruit, pet the dog, and say yes to things. Maybe that was the whole protocol.