Fox on the Padel Court

The vitamin gummies sat in my backpack like a radioactive secret. Mom had packed them—"for your immune system, honey"—along with handwritten notes about hydration and sunscreen. I was fifteen, practically an adult, and she still treated me like I'd catch something fatal at summer camp.

"You gonna serve or what?" Marcus called from the other side of the padel court. He was wearing this beat-up baseball hat backward, the way cool guys did, and somehow it worked. Everything about Marcus worked. His forehand had power. His laugh had this easy confidence that made everyone want to be near him.

And I was just standing there like an idiot.

"Coming," I managed, gripping my racquet. The glass walls of the court reflected the palm trees swaying beyond the fence—Florida in July, hot enough to melt asphalt, and here I was voluntarily playing sports.

Marcus served. The ball slammed into the glass backboard, ricocheted toward me. I swung and missed completely.

"Nice swing, Shakespeare," he teased, but his tone was gentle. "You're overthinking it. Just hit the thing."

That was the problem with Marcus. He was never mean, which made it worse. If he'd been a jerk, I could've dismissed him as arrogant. But he was genuinely nice, and I was genuinely terrible, and the combination made my chest feel weird in ways I didn't have words for yet.

After the game, we sat on a bench under the palms, sharing water bottles. The camp counselor walked by with a real fox on a leash—some rescue animal from the wildlife center up the road. The fox had these intelligent eyes that seemed to see everything, including my completely obvious crush.

"That fox is judging me," I said.

Marcus laughed, and it was this sound that made me want to record it and listen to it on repeat. "Nah. He's just hungry."

He reached over and adjusted my hat—wait, I wasn't wearing a hat. He adjusted his own, then noticed me watching. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, even though it was everything. "Just—thanks for being patient with me. I know I suck at padel."

"Everyone sucks at first," he said, standing up and offering me a hand. "Come on. One more game. I'll go easy on you."

He didn't go easy. But when he finally beat me 6-2, he high-fived me so enthusiastically that my palm stung, and for the first time all summer, I didn't care that Mom had packed vitamin gummies in my bag.

Some things were worth being awkward for.