When the Sky Split Open

Maya stood at the edge of Jessica's pool party, clutching her phone like a lifeline. The papaya her mom had insisted she bring sat in her bag, making her feel like the biggest loser at a party where everyone else was talking about TikTok followers and whose brother was dating whom.

"Hey, Maya!" Jessica called, already two drinks in. "Want some?" She held out a red cup.

"No thanks," Maya said, feeling that familiar tightness in her chest. She wasn't ready to be the girl who brought tropical fruit to a high school party.

Then lightning cracked across the sky, so bright it made everything look like a negative photograph. Someone screamed—playfully at first, then not so much when the second flash came closer, followed by thunder that shook the pool water.

Suddenly her family's dog, Buster, who'd been hiding under the deck all night, bolted out from somewhere, chased by Jessica's little brother. Buster—normally the chilliest golden retriever ever—was panic-running straight toward the pool.

"Buster, NO!" Maya yelled, but it was too late. The dog launched himself into the water, sending waves crashing over everyone at the shallow end.

Everyone froze for exactly one second. Then someone laughed. Then everyone was losing it, even Maya. The cool kids, the losers, everyone was soaked and hysterical.

And that was when Jessica's phone, sitting too close to the edge, slid right into the pool with a splash.

"My phone!" Jessica shrieked.

Maya didn't think. She just reached into her bag, pulled out the papaya wrapped in plastic, and thrust it at Jessica. "Use this. The acid neutralizes water damage. It's a hack my uncle showed me."

Jessica stared at her. "Wait, for real?"

"For real. But we have to do it now."

They worked together, fast and frantic, while thunder rumbled overhead. The papaya juice dripped everywhere, sticky and weird and somehow perfect. When Jessica's phone finally turned back on, she looked at Maya like she was seeing her for the first time.

"Dude," Jessica said, "you're literally a genius. And lowkey, why do you have papaya?"

Maya shrugged, finally feeling it—that looseness in her chest, like she could actually breathe. "My mom grows them. They're actually fire."

"Bet," Jessica grinned. "Bring some next time. We're doing this again."

Outside, the rain started falling, washing away the sticky papaya juice and the old version of Maya who'd been too scared to be herself.