First Serve, Second Chance

The universe had it out for me today, and it started with the cable. I woke up fifteen minutes late to discover our family cat, Barnaby, had chewed through the ethernet cable overnight. No internet meant no Google Meet with my study group, no streaming my pump-up playlist, and absolutely no dignity left to spare.

I was already running late for my first day of padel club—the fancy tennis-squash hybrid that all the cool kids played. My mom had packed me a "healthy lunch" which, knowing her, was probably 80% spinach and 100% embarrassing.

"You've got this, honey!" she called as I grabbed my bike. "Just be yourself!"

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the new girl at Northwood High, trying to prove she wasn't just another awkward transfer student.

When I rolled up to the courts, my stomach did that awful flip thing. Everyone looked so effortless in their athletic gear, laughing and warming up like they'd been doing this since birth. Then I spotted Jordan—the junior varsity captain I'd been low-key crushing on since orientation—and my brain short-circuited.

"New girl!" someone called. "We need a fourth for doubles!"

That's how I found myself on a padel court, heart hammering against my ribs, gripping a racquet like it might save my life. Jordan flashed me this easy grin that made my knees weak. "Don't worry, we'll go easy on you."

Wrong. So wrong.

I played like my limbs were made of cooked spaghetti. Every serve hit the net. Every return went long. And at some point during a particularly intense rally, I felt something green and leafy wedged in my front teeth.

My spinach-packed lunch had betrayed me.

I played three more points with spinach anchoring my smile, too terrified to check if anyone had noticed. They definitely noticed. The sophomore across from me kept glancing at my teeth like he was witnessing a slow-motion car crash.

"You okay?" Jordan asked after the game. I could barely look him in the eye.

"Yeah!" I practically shouted. "Just need to—run!"