Fox Girl's Summer Serve

My hair decided to betray me the morning of the Championship Padel Tournament. Three hours before my first match against Eastside, I woke up to a frizzy disaster that looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Mom handed me a papaya smoothie with her you'll-be-fine smile, but my stomach was already doing backflips.

"You've got this, Foxy," she called, using the nickname that started last year when Jake Matthews said I was sly as a fox on the court. The problem? Jake was my partner today, and Jake was the reason my stomach refused to settle.

The AC smelled like coconut sunscreen and nervous sweat. I found Jake by Court 4, fiddling with his padel racquet like he always did before big matches. His dark hair was messy, and he wore that faded blue tank top that made my brain short-circuit.

"Your hair looks different," he said, and I felt my face heat up. "Good different."

I'd straightened it, but admitting that felt too vulnerable. So I just shrugged. "Ready to crush Eastside?"

The match was brutal. We were down 4-2 in the final set when I caught Jake watching me instead of the ball. But somehow, something clicked. I started playing like I had nothing to lose—slicing the ball low, rushing the net, taking risks I'd never take. The fox nickname made sense now.

We won 7-5, 3-6, 7-6.

After, we ended up by the pool, legs dangling in the water. Someone pushed Jake in, clothes and all. He surfaced laughing, hair plastered to his forehead, and splashed water at me.

"Come in, Foxy," he yelled. "The water's perfect."

So I jumped in, hair and all, straightened curls be damned. Floating there under the June sun, watching Jake grin at me from across the pool, I realized some things weren't as scary as I thought. Including maybe, just maybe, finding the courage to tell him he was the reason I couldn't eat before matches.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I just paddled backward and closed my eyes, feeling weightless for the first time all summer.