Crash Course in Cool

The first day of sophomore year, I made a vow: no more being invisible. My sister Maya left a bottle of gummy vitamins on my desk with a sticky note that said 'Grow a spine, lil bear.' Funny coming from someone who spent freshman year hiding in the library.

So when Jake-the-abs-lacrosse-player announced he was hosting padel matches at the country club his dad managed, I signed up. Never mind that I'd never held a racquet. Never mind that my hand-eye coordination was practically a medical mystery.

'You good?' asked Chloe, who sat behind me in bio and gave zero vibes except superiority.

'So good,' I lied, adjusting my borrowed wristband for the third time. 'Just warming up the arm.'

The first ball I hit ricocheted off my own forehead. Someone's phone camera shuttered. I wanted to dissolve into the fancy turf, but instead I sprinted after the ball like my dignity depended on it—which, honestly, it did.

My dog Buster would've been disappointed in that form. Even with three legs, the old golden moved more gracefully than I did.

Second swing connected, but sent the ball flying toward the refreshment table, where it knocked over a protein shake tower like a domino cascade of beige disappointment. Jake's perfect eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.

'Sorry,' I choked out. 'My vitamin D levels are probably low. It's a whole thing.'

Chloe snorted. Then she actually laughed.

'Bet you five bucks you can't hit it backwards over your head,' she said, tossing me a fresh ball.

For some reason, I didn't feel like running away anymore. I tossed the ball up, swung blind, and—somehow—sent it arcing perfectly over my shoulder, landing exactly where Chloe pointed.

'Teach me your ways,' Jake called out, actually impressed.

'Not a chance,' Chloe grinned, bumping my shoulder. 'Trade secret.'

Walking home later, head throbbing slightly but chest weirdly light, I realized Maya's note was half-right. I didn't need to stop being a bear. I just needed to stop hibernating.