When the Papaya Hit the Fan

I was basically operating as a junior CIA spy, creeping down my own hallway at 11:47 PM. My parents' "lights out" rule was strict, but Mia had texted: emergency. you up?

I navigated like I was on a covert op, dodging the creaky floorboard (my nemesis since third grade). Then—disaster. My foot snagged on the ethernet cable my dad refused to let us go wireless with, and I faceplanted into the kitchen island.

"Lena?" My mom's voice. "Everything okay?"

"Fine! Just... getting water!" I hissed, heart pounding like I'd actually been caught doing something scandalous instead of just being a clumsy teenager with a curfew.

I grabbed the papaya from the counter—Mia's favorite, don't ask me why—and speed-walked back to my room. She was already there, hanging halfway out my second-story window like a Victoria's Secret model who'd lost her balance.

"You brought the goods," she whispered, accepting the papaya like it was contraband. "Max posted that thirst trap of himself at the beach and I can't. I literally cannot, Lena."

"So you broke curfew and shimmied up a drain pipe to vent about Instagram?" I asked, even though I'd done the exact same thing last week when Tyler didn't text back for three hours.

"No," she said, grinning like she knew something. "I came because Tyler was at the party with HER."

My stomach did that thing. The thing where it simultaneously drops and rises like lightning striking through your nervous system. "Which her?"

"Which her do you think?" She climbed fully into my room and flopped onto my bed. "Also, my mom's cat, Mango, shredded her favorite cardigan and now there's a household investigation. I needed an alibi."

"So you came here because..."

"Because you're my person, Lena." She sat up, suddenly serious. "And because I saw how he looked at you in homeroom yesterday."

I waited.

"Like he was scared to." She popped a piece of papaya in her mouth. "Which means he likes you."

"Oh my god, you are literally the worst analyst ever."

"I'm right though." She checked her phone. "Crap. My mom's looking for Mango. We have a standoff situation."

"Go." I shoved her toward the window. "I'll cover for you."

"You're the best." She paused halfway out. "Also? Tyler deleted that post."

The lightning in my stomach sparked again. Different this time.

I watched her scale down the drain pipe in the dark, my supposed bedtime forgotten, my phone lighting up with a text from an unknown number.

hey, it's tyler. can i ask you something tomorrow?

Sometimes being a terrible spy means you still win.