Green Between My Teeth

The padel court smelled like rubber and desperation. I stood there holding a rental racquet like it might bite me, while Jenna demonstrated her backhand with effortless grace. Of course she'd be good at padel. Jenna was good at everything—captain of the swim team, honors classes, the kind of person who actually remembered to floss.

"Your serve, Marcus!" Jenna called out, flipping her ponytail like she was in a commercial.

I stepped up to the line, my heart doing that stupid flutter thing it always did when pretty girls were watching. I'd agreed to this padel lesson because I was trying to be brave, you know? Put myself out there. But bravery felt a lot like wanting to throw up.

I swung hard. The ball hit the net and dribbled back onto my side of the court.

"Smooth," said Tyler from the sidelines. He'd been swimming laps at the country club pool for two hours straight, probably because he'd heard Jenna would be here. Now he sat on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders like a cape, smirking.

My face burned. I'd gotten spinach stuck in my braces earlier at lunch, spent twenty minutes in the bathroom picking it out with my fingernail, and still felt like everyone was secretly laughing at me. Now this.

"Let me help," Jenna said, walking over. Her skin smelled like coconut sunscreen and expensive shampoo. She positioned herself behind me, reached around to adjust my grip. "You're too stiff. Relax."

"I'm not stiff," I said, sounding extremely stiff.

"Marcus, you're tenser than my dad before a performance review." She laughed, and it was this actual genuine sound, not mean-girl fake. "Here, watch my feet. Padel's all about positioning."

She demonstrated a quick shuffle step, her sneakers squeaking on the court. I tried to copy her and nearly tripped over my own feet. Tyler snorted from the bench.

But then something weird happened. Jenna missed an easy shot. The ball sailed way past her into the fence.

"Whoops," she said, turning to me with this crooked little smile. "Guess I'm not as graceful as I look."

"You? Miss?" I said. "I thought you were good at everything."

"Swimming, maybe," she said. "But ask me to hit a moving object and I'm hopeless. My coach says I have zero hand-eye coordination. It's embarrassing, actually."

We looked at each other for a second, and I felt it—that weird click when you realize someone you thought was perfect is actually just figuring it out too, same as you.

"Hey," I said. "You have a little..." I pointed to my own teeth.

Jenna gasped. "No."

"Yeah."

"From lunch?"

"Yup."

"How long has it been there?"

"The whole lesson."

She covered her face with both hands, groaning. But then she started laughing, really laughing, bent over at the waist. And I found myself laughing too, even though ten seconds ago I'd wanted to disappear.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, right?" she asked.

"Your secret's safe with me," I said. "Long as you don't tell anyone about my serve."

"Deal."

Tyler got up and left without saying goodbye. Whatever. Jenna and I played for another hour, missing shots and laughing every time one of us did something stupid. I left with blisters on my heels and her number in my phone.

That night I texted her: Same time next week?

She replied immediately: Only if you promise to bring extra spinach. For good luck.

I grinned at my phone in the dark. Some days, I thought, being brave wasn't about not being scared. It was about being scared and doing it anyway—even with green stuff in your teeth.