Court Side Confessions

The papaya sat on the kitchen counter, perfectly ripe and judging me. Abuela had sliced it up for the pre-game 'snack' which was really just an excuse to interrogate me about my love life while I tried not to choke on tropical fruit.

"Mija, you're fifteen already. When do I get to meet this boyfriend?" She winked, knowing perfectly well I was single as a Pringle and failing at Padel.

"There's no one, Abuela. I'm focused on the game today."

"The game where you get absolutely destroyed by your crush every Saturday?" My cousin Leo leaned against the doorway, living his best annoying sibling energy. "Classic."

I grabbed my lucky **hat** from the hook — a beat-up black baseball cap with SECURITY spelled across the front, which was ironic considering my emotional security was practically non-existent around Mateo.

The Padel courts at the community center were where all the weekend chaos happened. And by chaos, I meant me trying to look competent while Mateo Fernández — whose smile could literally launch ships and/or my entire emotional existence — destroyed me at the sport I'd just learned three weeks ago because someone *cough Leo* said it would be the perfect way to 'bond.'

"You ready for your weekly assassination?" Mateo called from across the court, bouncing on his heels like he didn't just make my stomach do actual gymnastics.

"In your dreams, Fernández."

The game started. I was actually playing decently until my dad showed up with his 'encouragement' — which mostly consisted of him loudly coaching from the sidelines in Spanglish while everyone pretended not to hear.

"That's my bull!" he shouted when I managed a decent shot. "Like a bull charging! Cómo un toro!"

"Dad, please stop," I hissed between points, my face burning hotter than the Texas sun.

But here's the thing — I didn't die of embarrassment. In fact, Mateo thought the whole thing was hilarious. His laugh was this deep, genuine sound that made me forget about my dad's performance art and my questionable Padel skills and pretty much everything else.

"Your dad's awesome," he said afterward, as we sat on the bench sharing water. "My parents never come to my games."

I looked at him — really looked at him — and realized I'd been so caught up in trying to be cool that I hadn't just been... real. The hat was still pulled low, but I pushed it back.

"Want to come over? Abuela made too much papaya, and I'm pretty sure she's planning to interrogate you next."

Mateo smiled. "I'd love that."

Maybe I wasn't winning Padel. But something else was definitely starting.