Lightning at the Padel Courts

The social hierarchy at Westwood High operated like a pyramid—me and the other theater kids at the wide base, varsity athletes forming the prestigious upper tier, and at the very apex, Jordan Torres and the padel squad.

When Jordan actually invited me to Friday pickup games, I assumed it was some mistake. Or maybe a prank. But there I was, standing at the padel courts with a borrowed racquet and palms so sweaty I could barely grip the handle.

"You gonna hit that or just stare at it?" Jordan called out, laughing. The sun reflected off his absurdly white sneakers.

I swung. Missed completely. The ball bounced twice behind me.

"My bad," I muttered, face burning.

"No worries, bro. Everyone's trash their first time."

That was the thing about Jordan—he was nice. Which made everything more confusing. Why was apex-of-the-pyramid Jordan Torres hanging out with base-dwelling me?

Then it happened.

Lightning cracked across the sky—a single, jagged bolt that turned the world purple for half a second. Rain started falling, fat drops that sizzled against the court surface.

"Pack it up!" someone shouted. Everyone scattered toward the covered pavilion.

Everyone except Jordan and me. We stood there in the downpour, getting absolutely soaked.

"You know," Jordan said, squinting through the rain, "I hate this stuff. The games. The pretending."

"What?"

He looked at me, really looked at me. "My dad owns three car dealerships. Everyone thinks I'm this perfect guy because I'm good at padel and my parents have money. But I'm literally just vibing. I don't know what I'm doing."

The pyramid wasn't real. It hit me like—that lightning bolt. There was no pyramid. There were just people pretending they knew what they were doing, and some were better at pretending than others.

"You want to get boba?" I asked. "My treat."

Jordan grinned. Water dripped from his hair. "Only if you promise to never talk about that serve again."

"Deal."

We walked to our cars in the rain. And for the first time in my life, the social hierarchy felt like exactly what it was—something we made up to feel better about being terrified of growing up.