Backcourt Lessons

My mom started me on these horse-pill vitamins the same week I got cut from JV soccer tryouts. 'They'll help with your growth spurt, Marcus,' she said, passing me the orange plastic bottle like it held the cure for my entire awkward existence.

So there I was, stuck taking vitamins while my friends posted TikToks from the soccer field I wouldn't step foot on this season. My social life was basically dead on arrival.

Then Jake invited me to play padel at his country club. I'd never even heard of it—turns out it's tennis but shorter, with walls you can hit off. Jake's family had money like that. 'No pressure, man,' he'd said. 'Just messing around.' But I knew better. This was a test. If I didn't embarrass myself completely, maybe I'd still be worth hanging out with now that I wasn't part of the soccer crew anymore.

The morning of, I was stressing so hard that I almost forgot to let out Buster, my ancient golden retriever who sleeps more than he's awake. But he ambled outside and immediately started chasing a tennis ball against the back fence, his tail going crazy even though he could barely walk straight afterward. That dog didn't care who was watching. He just wanted to play.

Something clicked. Buster was out here living his best life, completely unbothered, while I was overthinking everything.

At the padel courts, my hands shook gripping the rental racket. But then I remembered Buster—just chasing the ball because he loved it, not because he was trying to prove something. I stopped overthinking. I stopped worrying about looking cool. I just played.

And somewhere in the middle of a terrible serve that somehow clipped the wall and dropped in for a point, Jake actually laughed. Not at me—with me. 'Okay, Marcus,' he grinned. 'You actually kinda slay at this.'

Later, I dumped the vitamin bottle in the kitchen trash. Turns out the real growth spurt wasn't coming from a pill. It was showing up, looking foolish, and doing it anyway.