Fox on the Padel Court

The summer before sophomore year, the neighborhood padel courts became everything. Jordan's older sister called it 'tennis for people who can't commit,' but to us, it was the stage where reputations were built or crushed.

I was terrible. My backhand hit the fence more than the ball, and Tyler—the absolute bull of our grade—made sure everyone knew it. 'Yo, watch out, Fox!' he'd shout every time I stepped up to serve. 'She's gonna calculate the trajectory instead of hitting it.' The nickname stuck because I was in AP Calc and apparently that made me a math robot.

Friday, the heat wave broke. Someone's dad left the gate to their inground pool open, and suddenly the entire grade was there, fully clothed, screaming as we cannonballed into water so cold it nearly stopped our hearts.

Tyler pushed me in.

I came up sputtering to everyone losing it, but before I could even process the embarrassment, his golden retriever—this giant, derpy dog named Buster—launched himself off the deck and landed directly on Tyler. Complete chaos. Tyler went under. Buster was paddling around, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

'You good?' I asked, trying not to laugh as Tyler surfaced, wiping water from his eyes.

He stared at me, then at his dog, then started cracking up. 'Yeah, Fox. I'm good.'

We ended up playing padel at midnight under the security lights, just the two of us, taking terrible shots and genuinely laughing. Tyler wasn't a bully anymore—he was just some guy who was awkward in his own way, and maybe I wasn't just the math robot either.

Monday, he sat next to me at lunch. 'Padel this weekend?'

'Sure,' I said. 'But I'm still gonna calculate my trajectory.'

'Yeah,' he grinned. 'Wouldn't have it any other way.'