The Papaya Protocol

Sixteen and fresh to Florida, I'd spent three weeks perfecting the art of hallway invisibility. My hair—this riot of tight curls I'd spent years fighting—had decided to celebrate our relocation by frizzing into something resembling a electrocuted poodle. Every day was a battle between my curls and humidity, and humidity was winning.

Then there was Kai, who sat three rows back in AP World. We called her the Sphinx because nobody had actually heard her speak since August. She existed in this perpetual state of cool detachment—deadpan stare, perfectly smooth dark hair always in this impossibly sleek braid, hoodies even when it was eighty degrees out. The kind of mysterious that makes you simultaneously intimidated and weirdly obsessed.

I was deciding whether to say hello or continue my streak of being socially pathetic when my stomach made this sound like a dying whale. "Smooth," Kai whispered, and I nearly choked.

That was it. Two words. My opening.

"Your hair," I blurted, because I possess zero chill. "Is your hair always that perfect or is it some kind of ancient secret?"

Kai studied me for what felt like seven years, lips twitching. "Ancient secret. Sacrifice three papayas to the hair gods monthly."

"Wait, seriously?"

"No, idiot. I'm messing with you." But she was smiling now, and suddenly the Sphinx wasn't so enigmatic anymore. "My cousin cuts it. Also, you've got papaya on your chin."

I'd never eaten papaya before in my life. I wiped my face frantically with my palm, realizing it wasn't even papaya—I'd somehow gotten mystery lunch residue on my face during fourth period. This was it. This was my rock bottom.

Kai burst out laughing, and it transformed her whole face. "Okay, you're definitely not boring. I'm Kai."

"Maya. And apparently I'm disgusting."

"Nah, just tragically uncoordinated." She nudged my shoulder. "Wanna get boba? I know a place."

My first friend in Florida, sealed by papaya pretense and my ability to embarrass myself in record time. The Sphinx, it turned out, was just a girl waiting for someone to say something weird enough to be worth responding to.