Thunder Thighs and Sweet Fruit

Maya's legs burned as she rounded the track for the eighth time. She wasn't even supposed to be here — tryouts were last week — but Coach had let her sneak in after she'd literally begged. Okay, maybe there was some groveling involved. Whatever.

"You're slowing down, Martinez!" someone yelled. Probably Jake, the team captain who looked like he'd been chiseled out of marble and spent his weekends staring at himself in the mirror.

Maya's breath hitched. She hated running. Hated how her thighs rubbed together, hated how she was always last in gym class, hated how her mom kept saying it was in her blood — "Your grandmother ran every morning in the Philippines, Maya. It's your inheritance." Yeah, right. Some inheritance. More like a curse.

A flash split the sky.

"Everyone inside! NOW!" Coach's voice cracked through the speakers.

The team scattered toward the school building, but Maya kept running. Something about the way the clouds were bruising purple, the way the air tasted like ozone and upcoming chaos. She needed this. Needed to prove something to herself, even if nobody was watching.

"YO, are you crazy?"

Jake stood at the edge of the track, jacket over his head like a dork. "There's literally lightning, Maya. Get inside before you —"

CRACK. The world went white.

Maya stumbled, her legs giving out. She tumbled onto the grass, chest heaving, rain suddenly sheeting down like the sky was personally offended. And then she started laughing. Couldn't stop. This was it. This was her grand moment of defiance, and she'd lasted exactly thirty seconds before becoming a cautionary tale.

Jake was there suddenly, grabbing her arm, hauling her up. "You're unbelievable."

"I forgot papaya," Maya gasped, the words tumbling out weird and random.

"What?"

"My grandma — Lola — she always made me eat papaya before races. Said it gave you strength. I stopped because I thought it was embarrassing, bringing papaya to track meets like some kind of—" She shook water from her eyes. "Like some kind of weirdo."

Jake stared at her for a second, then cracked up. "Dude. You ran through a lightning storm because you miss your grandma's fruit preparation?"

"It sounds stupid when you say it like that."

"Yeah, it does." He grinned, and for once he didn't look like marble. He looked like someone who maybe didn't have it all figured out either. "But my abuela swears by her mango smoothies before games. So, like, same energy?"

They ran for the school building, both soaked, both laughing, and Maya thought maybe she didn't hate running after all. Maybe she'd just needed to stop running away from who she was — thunder thighs and papaya and all.

"Hey Jake?" she called as they reached the overhang. "Think Coach will let me join the team?"

"Martinez," he said, already turning toward the locker room. "You're already on it."