How to Not Drown at Padel Camp

The first thing I learned at summer padel camp: don't wear your favorite sneakers when you're already terrible at sports. The second thing: everyone else seems to have been born with a racket in their hands.

I was at the far end of Court Seven, watching Brooke Martinez destroy yet another opponent. She moved like she was gliding on air, every shot precise, every swing intentional. I, on the other hand, had been hit in the face by the ball three times. My reflection in the clubhouse mirror wasn't pretty.

"You're thinking too hard," said Mateo, appearing beside me with two bottles of water. He was the camp counselor who somehow made everything look effortless. "Padel's like fifty percent confidence, fifty percent not overthinking it."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered, accepting the bottle. "You're not out here fighting for your life against a plastic ball."

He laughed. "True. But I've seen you play. You've got instincts. You're just not trusting them."

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But then camp director announced the tournament pairings, and my stomach dropped. I was paired with Brooke Martinez. THE Brooke Martinez. The girl who had somehow managed to make sweat look like a fashion statement.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I was too busy overthinking every possible way I could embarrass myself tomorrow. I was running through scenarios in my head when my roommate Kayla burst in.

"Dude, you need to chill," she said, tossing me something. It was a bottle of gummy vitamins. "My mom says these help with stress. Take one. Or five. I don't judge."

"Thanks," I said, despite the fact that I was pretty sure that's not how vitamins worked. "But I think I need something stronger than gummy bears to survive tomorrow."

"You'll be fine," Kayla said, already setting up her phone. "Want to see something hilarious? My sister sent me this video of her goldfish that learned to swim through a hoop. It's low-key iconic."

We watched the goldfish video approximately seven times. It was ridiculous and exactly what I needed.

The next day, I stood beside Brooke on the court, my heart doing something that felt suspiciously like a cardiac event.

"You ready?" she asked, and I realized she was nervous too. Her hands were shaking slightly as she adjusted her grip on the racket.

"Not even close," I said honestly.

"Good," she said, grinning. "Me neither. Let's just not embarrass ourselves too badly."

We didn't win. But we didn't completely crash and burn either. And somewhere between the second set and Brooke's celebratory high-five that left my hand stinging for an hour, I realized something: nobody else had it all figured out either. We were all just faking it, hoping nobody noticed we were making it up as we went along.

Later that night, Kayla found me sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water.

"So?" she asked. "How was it playing with the queen of the court?"

"She's actually kind of terrible at dad jokes," I said. "And she may or may not have asked if I wanted to practice again tomorrow."

"No way," Kayla said, sitting beside me. "You're practically best friends now."

"Maybe," I said, watching the pool lights reflect on the surface. "Or maybe we're just two people who are figuring it out. One racket swing at a time."

"Deep," Kayla said. "Also, I texted my sister. The goldfish video went viral. It literally has half a million views now."

I laughed. Some days, you don't conquer your fears. You just find people who are scared of the same things, and you figure out together that the water isn't actually that deep after all.