Connection Games

The WiFi cable dangled from Maya's ceiling like a broken lifeline, swinging every time the ceiling fan whispered. Again. Sixteenth time this week her mom had forgotten to pay the internet bill, and Maya was DONE.

"Mom! I literally cannot live like this!"

"I'm running as fast as I can, mija," her mom yelled from the kitchen, sounding exactly how she always sounded: exhausted. "Double shift at the hospital tonight. We'll fix it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Maya grabbed her phone—thankfully still charged from school—and stomped outside. The California heat hit her like a wall. She'd planned to stream the new season of her favorite show with Leo tonight, their first "online date" since he'd moved to San Diego last month. Now she was ghosting her own boyfriend because of some stupid cable.

Her phone buzzed. Leo: u alive?? u been offline 4hrs

Maya: mom forgot internet AGAIN. I'm literally dying

Leo: same. come over? we can watch on my couch

Maya: can't. mom's working late. no car.

She threw herself onto the porch steps and put her head in her hands. This summer was supposed to be different. Leo moving away was supposed to be temporary, just for senior year. But everything felt different now.

"Ay, mijita, why the long face?" Mr. Hernandez called from next door. He was carrying a padel racquet—those weird short tennis things everyone was obsessed with lately.

"Everything sucks," Maya mumbled.

He laughed. "That's what being sixteen is supposed to feel like. Come on, I need a fourth for padel. My grandson's in town."

Maya almost said no. She hated sports. She'd rather die than be seen sweating in public. But the cable was still swinging inside like an accusation, and her phone was at 12%.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm gonna be terrible."

She'd never played padel before. It was like tennis but easier, with a shorter court and these plastic balls that didn't bounce as high. Mr. Hernandez's grandson, Mateo, was seventeen and annoyingly good at everything, apparently.

"Don't overthink it," he said when she missed her third shot in a row. "You're running everywhere. Just stand still. Let the ball come to you."

"I'm not running anywhere," she snapped, but then she realized she WAS. Always running toward the next thing, the next worry, the next problem. Even standing still, her brain was running marathons.

She took a breath. And missed another shot.

Mateo didn't laugh. "Try again. Softer this time."

She hit the ball. It went OVER the fence.

"Okay but that was progress," she said, and for some reason, they were both laughing.

They played for two hours. Maya's arms ached, her hair was a disaster, and she was pretty sure she'd made a fool of herself approximately forty times. But for the first time all summer, she wasn't thinking about Leo or the stupid cable or her mom working another double shift.

"You're actually not terrible," Mateo said as they walked back. "You should come play Friday. We usually play at 5."

"Maybe," Maya said, but she was already thinking about it.

Inside, the cable still dangled from the ceiling. Her mom was asleep on the couch, still wearing her scrubs. Maya gently covered her with a blanket and plugged her mom's phone in to charge.

The internet would be fixed tomorrow. Leo would wait. And maybe, just maybe, she'd be back Friday, running toward something that didn't feel like running at all.