Between Screens and Serves

Maya's iphone screen glowed with thirteen unread notifications, but she shoved it deeper into her backpack. Some things mattered more than whatever drama was unfolding in the group chat.

"You coming or what?" Chloe called from the padel court, her voice carrying that effortless confidence Maya had been trying to fake since seventh grade.

"Yeah, sorry." Maya gripped the rental racket, feeling like an impostor in her cousin's hand-me-down athletic wear. The popular crowd had finally let her into their orbit, and she was terrified of messing it up.

"Your form's all wrong," Jake said, stepping way too close into her personal space. "Here, let me—" His hand hovered near her waist, and Maya flinched. "You're tense."

"I'm fine." She adjusted her grip, knees bent like the YouTube tutorials showed. The ball sailed toward her, and she swung—and missed spectacularly, nearly hitting herself in the face.

Someone laughed. Not mean laughter, but still.

Maya's phone buzzed in her bag. Probably her mom asking if she'd remembered to prep the spinach for tomorrow's morning rush at their juice bar. Or maybe it was the group chat, dissecting something she'd said earlier.

"You're overthinking it," Chloe said, suddenly beside her. "Just hit the thing."

Easy for her to say. Chloe didn't have to worry about accidentally liking the wrong Instagram post from three years ago. Chloe didn't have parents expecting her to take over the family business while somehow maintaining perfect grades.

The ball came again. Maya didn't think. She just swung, connected with a satisfying thwack, and watched it arc perfectly over the net.

"Finally!" Jake high-fived her. "Where'd that come from?"

Maya smiled, actually smiled, and for the first time all afternoon, she forgot about the notifications, the expectations, the carefully curated version of herself she was supposed to be. She just played, messy imperfect form and all, while her iphone sat ignored in her bag, its screen lighting up with messages that could wait until tomorrow—along with the spinach, the grades, and everything else that felt so impossibly important until it didn't.