When the Ball Dropped

The papaya sat on the kitchen counter like a neon alien artifact. My mom had bought it because it was "exotic" which was basically code for "I'm trying too hard to be fun this summer." I stared at it while my phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes.

Marcus wasn't coming. Again.

"Bro, you sure you can't make it?" I typed. "We literally booked the padel court weeks ago."

The dots danced, then disappeared. No answer.

This was the third time this month he'd bailed. Ever since junior year ended, Marcus had been drifting—hanging with the seniors who'd graduated, posting stories at 2 AM from places I wasn't invited to. We'd been best friends since seventh grade, back when we'd both sucked at baseball and spent all summer practicing in my backyard until we didn't suck anymore. Now he was too cool for everything we used to love.

My sister's dog, Buster, trotted into the kitchen and stared at me with that judgy look dogs have when they know you're being pathetic.

"Shut up, Buster," I muttered.

I grabbed the papaya, my phone, and headed to the park anyway. If Marcus wasn't going to show, I'd hit against the wall. Better than sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.

Halfway there, I stopped. Someone was already at the padel court—this girl from my English class, Priya, hitting serves into the chain-link fence like she was mad at it. I'd barely spoken to her all year, but she caught me watching and waved.

"Hey! You play?"

"Kinda," I said. "My friend bailed."

"Wanna hit?"

We played for two hours. My phone stayed in my bag. Priya was actually hilarious, roasting my terrible backhand while explaining she was trying out for the tennis team and needed to work on her aggression. At one point, she tried to slice the ball and accidentally launched it over the fence, where Buster—I hadn't even realized he'd followed me—chased it down like he'd been training for this moment his whole life.

"Your dog's a better athlete than you," Priya said, but she was grinning.

When Marcus finally texted back—"Sorry man, got caught up with something"—I barely noticed. Some friendships are seasonal, I realized. And that's okay.

Later, my sister cut the papaya into wedges. It tasted like summer tasted: messy, unfamiliar, and totally worth trying.