Court Secrets

The orange hat was my armor. Every Friday at the rec center, I'd pull it low over my eyes before stepping onto the padel court. Same hat I'd worn through freshman year when everything felt too loud, too bright, too much.

"You gonna spy on him all practice or actually hit the ball?" Jordan laughed from the net, bouncing on her toes like she had endless energy.

My face burned. I wasn't spying. I was observing. There's a difference. Tyler from AP Chem had started coming to Friday sessions three weeks ago, and each time my serve got worse, my returns shakier. But at least I hadn't embarrassed myself. Yet.

"Whatever," I mumbled, adjusting my hat. "Focus on your game."

The coach paired us up for drills—me and Tyler. Singles. My stomach dropped.

"Nice hat," Tyler said, flashing that easy grin that made my brain short-circuit. "Your signature move?"

"Something like that."

We played. I actually played well. My backhand was on fire, my serves landing exactly where I wanted them. Tyler was good too, but I could tell he was impressed. For once, I felt like myself on the court. Confident. Solid.

After practice, everyone headed to the food court. Tyler motioned for me to join him and Jordan.

"You were killing it today," he said as I picked at my slice. "Seriously, you've got serious game."

I smiled, actual words forming in my head, something cool and witty—

Jordan's eyes went wide. She subtly gestured at her own teeth.

I froze. A massive chunk of spinach from my earlier snack was absolutely wedged between my front teeth.

Every ounce of confidence evaporated. I mumbled something about forgetting something and bolted, my orange hat failing spectacularly at its job.

Next Friday, I showed up without the hat.

"Where's your armor?" Jordan asked.

" retired it," I said, stepping onto the court. Tyler waved from across the net. I waved back, spinach-free and ready to play.