Green in the Teeth

Maya's hair was doing that thing again — the frizz that refused to be tamed no matter how much product she swore at in the mirror. She smoothed down the stray curls for the fiftieth time, her reflection staring back with those too-big glasses and the braces she'd finally gotten off last month. Small victories, she guessed.

"You going or what?" Mom called from downstairs.

"Going!" Maya grabbed her padel racquet from the bed, heart doing that familiar fluttery thing it always did when Cody was involved. He'd invited her to the courts today. Just the two of them. The invitation had been casual — thrown over his shoulder in homeroom like it was nothing — but Maya had spent three days overanalyzing it.

The family dog, Buster, trotted beside her as she walked to the park. A golden retriever mix with one ear that refused to stand up, Buster was her emotional support animal without the official certification. He'd sat with her through her parents' divorce last year, through the failed math test she'd cried over for hours, through the acne breakout before picture day.

"You got this," she told Buster, though she was really talking to herself. Her hair had reached maximum frizz levels in the humidity, and she'd accidentally grabbed spinach from the fridge instead of the apple she wanted. She'd eaten it anyway because her nutritionist aunt said something about iron and puberty, and now she was paranoid it was stuck in her teeth.

Cody was already at the padel court, shirtless in the June heat, his dark hair damp at the temples. Maya's stomach dropped through the floor.

"Hey!" He waved, all easy confidence. "Ready to get destroyed?"

"In your dreams." She stepped onto the court, trying to channel the cool she definitely didn't feel. Buster settled in the grass nearby, chin on paws, watching.

They played for twenty minutes, and Maya was actually holding her own. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe she was channeling all her teenage awkwardness into competitive energy, but she was returning shots she had no business returning.

Then Cody hit a ball just out of reach, and she lunged for it, racquet extended, and tripped over absolutely nothing.

She went down hard, racquet clattering, knees skidding against the court.

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the humiliation to consume her completely.

"You okay?" Cody's face appeared above hers, genuinely concerned. He offered a hand.

She took it, and he pulled her up. Their faces were close. Too close. She could see a tiny freckle by his left ear.

"You have," he started, then stopped himself.

Maya's heart pounded. "What?"

"Nothing." He smiled, kind of soft. "You played really well. Better than me, actually."

"Liar." She grinned back, feeling something in her chest loosen.

Buster chose that moment to trot onto the court and deposit a drool-covered tennis ball at Cody's feet.

"Good boy," Cody laughed, scratching Buster's ears. "Hey, want to get ice cream? My treat. You earned it."

As they walked away, Maya caught her reflection in the court's glass wall — frizzy hair, slightly grass-stained shorts, and when she checked her phone camera, yes, a tiny piece of spinach in her teeth.

She'd walked around looking like that for an hour, and he still asked her to get ice cream.

Maybe high school wasn't completely terrible after all.