Fox on the Court

Maya's palms were sweating through her padel grip. Again. She'd joined the club three weeks ago because Lily said it would be 'low-key chill,' which turned out to be the biggest lie since 'the dog ate my homework.' The court felt like an interrogation room, everyone watching her every move.

'You're thinking too much,' said Fox, gliding over with that effortless grace that made everyone else look like they were moving through molasses. Fox—real name Fiona, but nobody called her that—had earned the nickname in sixth grade when she'd somehow convinced the entire class that the cafeteria was serving 'mystery meat' from an unidentified animal. Now she ruled the school's social pyramid like it was her personal kingdom.

Maya's cat, Barnaby, would be mortified by how uncool she was being. Not that Barnaby cared about coolness—he spent 18 hours a day sleeping in a sunbeam that moved across the living room like clockwork. God, she missed him. Home was safe. Here? Here was where freshmen accidentally wandered into the senior section of the cafeteria and practically got food thrown at them.

'Try this.' Fox demonstrated a forehand volley that somehow defied physics. 'It's all about the wrist flick.'

Maya tried. The ball sailed directly into the fence with a sad thwack.

Behind the chain-link, Mrs. Chen's golden retriever, Buster, let out the most judgmental bark Maya had ever heard from an animal. This was the same dog that had eaten her history project last year and had the nerve to look proud about it.

'My wrist is broken,' Maya groaned.

'Your wrist is fine. Your head's just too loud.' Fox sat on the bench, suddenly human-sized instead of larger-than-life. 'You know what helps?'

'Going home and binge-watching Netflix until I forget I exist?'

'Funny. No.' Fox pulled out her phone, opened Instagram, and showed Maya a post from last year—Fox herself, mid-air, completely missing the ball, face frozen in unflattering terror. 'I posted this as my main for like six months. My friends made it their lock screens. I wanted to die.'

Maya stared at the photo. 'Wait. YOU? The girl who pulled off the fake promposal prank that made the school newspaper?'

'That was sophomore year. This was freshman me.' Fox grinned. 'We're all disasters, Maya. Some of us just hide it better.'

Something in Maya's chest loosened. The social pyramid didn't feel so steep anymore. 'Want to see my cat's Instagram?' she found herself saying. 'He has more followers than I do.'

'Only if he's cute.'

'Barnaby's basically an influencer. He just doesn't know it yet.'

Fox laughed—a real laugh, not the polished one she used in the cafeteria. 'Show me the cat. And then we're going to practice that volley until you don't hit the fence. Deal?'

'Deal.'

Buster barked again, but this time it sounded less like judgment and more like approval.