Courtside Revelation

The padel court smelled like expensive rubber and privilege. I adjusted my borrowed racket, feeling like an imposter in my worn-out converse. This was Bryce's world — country club memberships, Sunday matches, parents who actually showed up to watch.

"You ready to get destroyed?" Bryce grinned, his polo shirt somehow perfectly pressed.

"Just hit the ball, trust fund."

My real talent wasn't this. It was running — those 5 AM mornings when the world felt like it belonged only to me and the pavement. Nobody knew I'd placed third at regionals last year. That was the secret I kept tucked away like those vitamin gummies my mom left on my counter, thinking I wouldn't notice.

We played. I sucked. The ball ricocheted off the glass walls, mocking me.

"You're standing like you're about to bolt," Bryce said, suddenly serious. "Like you'd rather be anywhere else."

I froze. "What?"

"I see you. During practice." He tossed me his water bottle. "You think nobody notices the weirdo running laps at dawn? My dad says you've got form like he's never seen from a self-taught kid."

"You've been watching me?"

"Track starts Monday. I'm trying out." Bryce shrugged. "Figured if you can wake up that early, so can I."

The vitamin gummies flashed in my mind — that one weird ingredient you didn't know you needed until it was there. "You're trading padel for running?"

"Trading? No." Bryce's smile returned, different this time. "Expanding my portfolio. But seriously, those vitamins your mom makes you take? They're working. Your stamina's insane."

I laughed, actually laughed. "You noticed that too?"

"I notice everything, running weirdo." He checked his watch. "Same time tomorrow?"

"What, padel?"

"Running. 5 AM. Don't be late."

I walked home feeling lighter, somehow. The padel racket bounced against my backpack. Maybe tomorrow I'd actually tell him about regionals. Maybe I'd even let him win.