Backhand Surveillance

Maya dragged herself to the padel court like a zombie, her neon yellow visor doing nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Three hours of sleep. Again. Between AP exams, college apps, and her mom's relentless expectations, she'd been running on caffeine and anxiety for weeks.

"You look dead," said Ty, her doubles partner, tossing her a water bottle.

"Feel dead," Maya muttered, stretching her hamstrings. "But we need this win. My dad's actually coming to watch."

Lightning cracked across the sky, making everyone on the outdoor courts flinch. The tournament director's voice echoed over the speakers: "Weather delay, thirty minutes."

Maya grabbed her gear bag and headed to the covered spectator area, scrolling through Instagram to avoid thinking about how badly her backhand had been off all day. That's when she noticed him.

Alex. The guy from her AP Calc class who sat three rows back and always doodled in his notebook. He was standing near the fence, phone up, pointed directly at her.

Was he... was he taking pictures of her?

Maya's stomach did that thing it sometimes did when their eyes met across the classroom. She ducked behind a pillar, heart hammering. This was weird, right? Or was it flattering? She couldn't tell. She felt like she was in some cheesy romance movie, except her hair was a frizzy mess from humidity and she probably smelled like court sweat.

"Hey," said a voice right behind her.

Maya literally jumped. "Alex!"

He scratched the back of his neck, all lanky and awkward and unfairly cute in his hoodie. "So, um, I wasn't trying to be creepy or anything. I was recording your serve technique for my sister. She's trying to make varsity and your form is actually insane."

"Oh." Maya felt her face get hot. "I thought you were, like, spying on me."

Alex laughed, and it was this genuine sound that made her chest feel weird. "I mean, your serve is worth spying on. You crushed that last match."

"I got lucky."

"It wasn't luck." He stepped closer. "You play like you're angry at the ball. It's kind of amazing."

More lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by thunder that shook the metal roof. They both flinched, then laughed at the same time.

"So," Alex said, "can I get your number? For my sister. She might have questions about your technique."

Maya grinned, feeling something in her chest that definitely wasn't zombie exhaustion anymore. "Sure. For your sister."

The tournament director announced they were resuming play. Maya walked back onto the court, her backhand suddenly feeling effortless, her movements fluid and powerful. Sometimes lightning really did strike twice.