Fox Court Friday

The lightning cracked outside the padel club windows, making everyone flinch. Perfect. My first time playing, naturally invited by Jake—the guy who somehow made varsity everything look effortless—and the sky decides to throw a tantrum.

"You got this, Maya," Chloe whispered, squeezing my shoulder. I'd told her about my crush on Jake exactly once, and now she was fully invested in Operation Make Maya Not Look Like an Uncoordinated Disaster.

"I'm gonna flop so hard," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the rental racket like it was a foreign object I'd never encountered in my life.

"Yo, Fox!" Jake called across the court. Someone had started that nickname last week after I'd somehow managed to dodge a volleyball in gym class like I saw it coming in slow motion. Which I did, but that's not the point. "You ready or what?"

"Born ready," I lied, striding onto the court like I owned the place.

Turns out, padel is nothing like tennis. The walls are in play, the ball doesn't bounce like you expect it to, and suddenly I'm diving for a shot that's already careened off three surfaces. I sprawled across the court—graceful as a dying fish—and somehow managed to flick my wrist just right. The ball cleared the net, hit the back glass, and dropped exactly where Jake couldn't reach it.

"What—" He stared at me, genuinely shook.

"Fox reflexes," I said, standing up and brushing myself off despite my knees absolutely screaming.

We played for an hour. I missed easy shots. I made incredible saves. I laughed so hard at myself that I couldn't breathe. And somewhere between Chloe hyping me up from the sidelines and Jake grinning every time I pulled off something wild, I forgot to be self-conscious.

"You're actually cracked," Jake said afterward as we grabbed slushies from the club's vending machine. The rain had cleared, leaving that clean-after-storm smell that made everything feel possible. "We should play again. Friday?"

"Friday's good," I said, trying to play it cool while my brain was absolutely screaming.

Then his phone buzzed. "Yo, my cat's at the vet again, mom's flipping. Gonna bounce."

"Later, Fox," he said, bumping my shoulder with his as he headed out.

I watched him leave, slushie cup sweating against my palm, and realized something: I'd been so worried about looking good that I'd forgotten how good it felt to just play.

Lightning struck somewhere in the distance. I smiled.

Friday couldn't come fast enough.