Bear Mode Activated

My mom stood in the kitchen doorway, brandishing the orange bottle like a weapon. "Marcus, your vitamin."

"Already took it," I lied, grabbing a Pop-Tart before she could inspect my tongue.

"You're growing, mijo. You need nutrients."

I rolled my eyes so hard it probably counted as exercise. Growing was exactly the problem. Last summer I'd shot up three inches, and now my knees made concerning clicking noises when I stood up too fast.

But the real growth spurt happening this semester was social.

"You coming to padel today?" Jordan asked at lunch, sliding into the seat across from me. Jordan, with the effortlessly messy hair and the smile that made half the sophomore class forget basic English.

Padel. The sport everyone was suddenly obsessed with, like tennis but shorter and apparently cooler. I'd never held a racquet in my life.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Definitely."

What was I doing?

After school, I stood on the court wearing borrowed knee pads and holding a racquet like it might detonate. Jordan was already shirtless, serving with terrifying precision.

"You ever played?" someone asked.

"Once," I said. "When I was... seven."

Big mistake. Everyone perked up.

"Oh, show us what you got, bear mode!" Jordan shouted, and the nickname stuck because apparently I looked intense when I was actually just panicking.

I missed the ball by three feet. My sneakers squeaked in defeat.

"Your form's all wrong," Jordan said, sliding over. "Here."

For twenty minutes, he corrected my grip, my stance, my everything. His hands brushed mine and I forgot how to breathe. I also forgot that I was supposed to be embarrassed about being terrible.

"You're actually not bad," he said finally, and I almost believed him.

Almost.

"Bears can't play padel," someone joked.

"Watch me," I said.

Later, as the sun dipped pink and orange, Jordan found me sitting on the bleachers, nursing a water bottle and emotional whiplash.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Tomorrow."

I walked home feeling lighter, somehow. Maybe growing wasn't just about the awkward in-between stuff. Maybe it was also about the moments when you stopped running from everything you were afraid of and just stood there, racquet in hand, ready to miss spectacularly.

My mom was waiting with the vitamin bottle.

"How was padel?"

"Terrible," I said. "I'm going back tomorrow."

She smiled, setting down the bottle. "Good. That's how you know it's worth doing."