The Setup

The papaya sat on my desk like a tropical accusation. My mom had packed it in my lunch — “It's full of enzymes, mi amor!” — but everyone knew that at Northwood High, carrying exotic fruit was basically social suicide. I shoved it deep in my backpack, right next to my emergency stash of Goldfish crackers. Nutrition could wait. My reputation was already hanging by a thread.

“You coming to Jake's party tonight?” Maya asked, sliding into the seat next to me. Her lip gloss was perfect. Everything about Maya was perfect.

I'd been waiting for this invitation since September. “Yeah! Totally. I'll be there.”

Lies. I had zero plans to go. Parties were my personal hell — all those bodies, all that noise, all those people who seemed to know exactly who they were while I was still figuring out basic human interaction. I was like a cat dropped into a dog park: perpetually ready to bolt.

But then I saw the look in her eyes. Actual interest.

So there I was at 8 PM, standing on Jake's porch, heart hammering like I was about to face a firing squad instead of a basement full of sophomores. Inside, the air smelled like cheap body spray and desperation. Someone had set up a beer pong table.

201Let's go, let's GO!” some guy shouted, chest-bumping his friend like they'd just won the championship instead of sinking a single red cup. The energy was aggressive, performative, like watching a bull charge at nothing.

I grabbed a soda and wedged myself into a corner. Texted Maya: “Here! Where u at?”

Three dots danced. Then: “Omg so glad u came!! I'm in the backyard :)”

The backyard was quieter. Darker. People sat in clusters on lawn furniture, their faces illuminated by phone screens. And there she was, sitting cross-legged on a patio chair, scrolling through something, looking bored and beautiful and real.

“Hey!” I called out. Too loud. Too eager.

She looked up, and her face lit up. “You made it!” She patted the spot beside her. “C'mere, you have to see this.”

I sat. Our knees brushed. My brain short-circuited.

She turned her phone toward me. “My brother got a goldfish yesterday. Named it Neptune. It's literally the most dramatic creature ever.”

A video played: a tiny orange fish darting around its bowl like it was constantly late for something important. “He thinks the plastic sphinx in his tank is out to get him. Watch.”

We watched it four times. We talked about everything: teachers we couldn't stand, the cafeteria pizza that might be biological warfare, how neither of us felt like we really fit in anywhere, how that was okay actually.

At some point, she took my hand. My heart did something complicated.

“I'm glad you came,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Me too.”

n

The papaya could wait till Monday. This was better.