The Papaya Protocol

Maya pulled her snapback **hat** lower, scanning the crowded backyard party like she was some kind of undercover operative. Her **iphone** buzzed in her pocket — probably another filtered photo from Brianna's Instagram story that made everything look perfect and golden and nothing like the awkward reality of standing by the snack table alone.

"You look like you're plotting something," said a voice behind her.

Maya jumped. A guy with messy curls and an actual, literal **spy** novel tucked under his arm grinned at her. "I'm Lucas. And you look like you'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Is it that obvious?" Maya adjusted her **hat** nervously.

"Only because I'm doing the same thing." Lucas gestured toward a golden retriever that was currently stealing a hot dog from someone's abandoned plate. "That's Barnaby. My **dog**. He's the real reason I came — my parents made me socialize, but Barnaby's basically emotional support for introverts."

Maya laughed. For the first time all night, her shoulders relaxed.

They ended up on the porch steps, watching Barnaby systematically work his way through dropped party snacks. Lucas didn't ask why she wasn't dancing or try to impress her with cool stories. He just asked about her **hat**, which led to movies, which led to how they both felt like they were **spy**ing on normal people from the outside.

"Try this," Lucas said, handing her a weird orange slice from a fruit platter.

"What is it?"

"**Papaya**. My uncle grows them. It tastes like summer, I swear."

Maya hesitated. Trying new things in front of people was basically her worst nightmare. But Lucas was looking at her like he actually cared about her answer, not performing for an audience.

She took a bite. Sweet, soft, unexpectedly perfect.

"Okay," she said, "/ not bad."

"Not bad? That's basically glowing praise from you." Lucas bumped her shoulder with his. "Hey, want to get out of here? There's this rooftop downtown where you can see the whole city."

Maya's **iphone** buzzed again — a text from her mom asking if she needed a ride. She ignored it.

"Yes," she said. "/ but we're bringing the **dog**."

Barnaby chose that moment to shake off **papaya** onto Lucas's jeans. They both cracked up, and somewhere in the chaos of barking and laughter and sticky fruit mess, Maya realized she didn't feel like a spy anymore. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.