Forehand and False Starts

I hated padel. Like, actually hated it. But when your crush literally texts "you should come" and adds that pull-quote emoji that makes your stomach flip, you don't exactly say no. So there I was, clutching a borrowed racquet like it might bite me, watching Chase demonstrate his backhand with effortless grace that made my entire existence feel clumsy and wrong.

"You good?" Maya asked from the next court over, grinning like she knew something I didn't.

I started to smile back—that's when she made the face. The universal cringe-wince. The one that says "I see something and I wish I didn't" and also "oh no, oh NO."

The spinach. That stupid **spinach** from my lunch wrap, which I'd optimistically called "being healthy" but was actually a cosmic setup for humiliation. It was wedged between my front teeth like a tiny green flag of surrender.

Across the court, Chase leaned in to whisper something to Jordan. They both glanced my way, shoulders shaking. Obviously laughing. Obviously cementing my status as That Girl with the public display of poor dental hygiene. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck—that specific teenage nightmare where you're pretty sure you should just transfer schools immediately. Maybe change your name. Move to a different country.

I made a beeline for the **water** fountain, chicken exit engaged. But in my panic to rinse my mouth and simultaneously disappear from existence, I managed to splash half the fountain down my front. So now I was the girl with spinach teeth AND a soaking wet shirt. Peak excellence. Truly crushing it.

"Hey." Maya appeared beside me, handing me a paper towel. "Everyone does it. Last week, I walked around with toilet paper on my shoe for literally three periods. Nobody even mentioned it—to my face, anyway."

She leaned against the wall, lowering her voice like she was sharing state secrets. "I've been your personal **spy** all afternoon, by the way. Chase wasn't laughing at you. They were literally arguing about who got to be your partner. Jordan said you went to that coding camp last summer, which is apparently objectively awesome, and Chase said he noticed you in AP Bio and thinks you're "lowkey genius" but "intimidatingly pretty.""

I stared at her, water dripping from my chin. "What?"

"People aren't always laughing at you, Zara. Sometimes they're just... nervous around you too." She grinned. "Also, your teeth are clean now. You ready to destroy them at **padel** or what?"

Chase waved from the court, looking hopeful. A little nervous, even.

I wiped my face with the paper towel, grabbed my racquet, and walked back onto the court like I belonged there. Maybe I did. Maybe nobody ever actually belongs anywhere—they just show up, make mistakes, and keep playing anyway.