Goldfish Attention Span

Maya's **palm**s were sweating — like, actually dripping — as she clutched her phone outside the community pool. Every Tuesday since summer started, The Populars™ gathered here, and every Tuesday, Maya walked past, pretending she was busy.

Today was different. Today, Lucas — the guy she'd been lowkey obsessed with since freshman year — had actually invited her. Well, kind of. He'd yelled "Hey Maya, grab a **padel** racket!" across the parking lot, which probably counted as social interaction in his book.

The problem: Maya had never played padel in her life. She barely knew what it was. Something like tennis but with walls?

Inside the pool area, she found herself **swimming** through a sea of polo shirts and designer swimsuits. Everyone seemed to speak in their own language — inside jokes, shared memories, that effortless cool that came from being born with it.

"You coming?" Lucas materialized beside her, water droplets clinging to his hair like he'd just emerged from the ocean instead of the community pool.

"Yeah, just... let me put my stuff down."

She claimed a plastic chair and noticed a small bowl on the table next to it. Inside, a single **goldfish** darted nervously between plastic plants.

"That's Barry," said a girl in a pink bikini who Maya recognized as Chloe, Lucas's ex-girlfriend (according to her extensive research). "He's my emotional support pet. My parents said no to a dog, so..."

Maya nodded like this was normal. "Cool. Cool fish."

"You play padel?" Chloe asked, sizing her up.

"Oh yeah, absolutely. Love it. Big fan of the... walls."

Chloe's expression said she wasn't buying it.

By the time Maya grabbed a racket, her brain felt like **zombie** mode had activated. Someone made a joke about something that happened last weekend, and she laughed three seconds too late. Someone said her name wrong, and she didn't correct them. She was just moving through the motions, dead inside but pretending.

Then Lucas tossed her a ball.

"Your serve, Maya."

She missed. The ball hit her ankle.

Everyone stared.

And then — miraculously — Lucas laughed. Not mean laughing. Real laughing. "Bro, your form is tragic. Here, let me show you."

He moved behind her, positioning her hands on the racket. His touch was gentle, and suddenly Maya wasn't a zombie anymore. She was a girl with a crush who was absolutely going to overanalyze this moment for weeks.

"Thanks," she managed.

"Anytime," he said. "By the way, it's pad-el. Not paddle. Like the Spanish word."

"I knew that."

"You definitely didn't." He grinned. "It's chill though. Barry doesn't judge."

She looked at the goldfish, who stared back with what she decided was encouragement.

Okay, maybe she could do this. Not perfectly. Not smoothly. But she could show up. She could miss the serve and laugh about it. She could be awkward and still belong.

Her palm stopped sweating. Mostly.