Lightning Over the Padel Court

The summer before sophomore year, I was convinced I had two choices: become interesting or become invisible. My hair — this giant, uncooperative cloud I'd spent years straightening into submission — seemed to be voting for invisible.

Then the lightning storm happened during padel camp.

I'd only signed up because Chloe, the girl I'd been desperately trying to befriend since seventh grade, was going. "It's lowkey fun," she'd said at lunch that day, flicking her perfect beach waves.

It wasn't lowkey fun. It was terrifying.

My partner was this quiet guy named Amir who kept accidentally hitting me with the ball. Meanwhile, Chloe and her squad were on the next court over, looking like they'd stepped out of a TikTok.

"You're overthinking it," Amir said after I whiffed an easy shot for the third time.

"I'm not," I snapped.

"Your hair's in your face," he said.

I almost died.

But then the storm rolled in. Lightning cracked across the sky like someone had taken a photograph of the exact moment I realized: Chloe had never once asked me a single question about myself. Not one.

We all ran to the covered area. Everyone was complaining about their phones dying, their outfits getting ruined, their rides being late.

I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my mom: "Your goldfish died. I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Mr. Bubbles had been there since kindergarten. He'd seen everything — the braces phase, the bad haircuts, the time I cried because I didn't get invited to that party in eighth grade.

And suddenly I was crying in front of everyone, and it wasn't even about the fish, not really.

Chloe walked over. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking like she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

It was like the sphinx's riddle: what do you say when someone who's never actually cared about you suddenly pretends to?

"He was a good fish," I said, wiping my face.

"Okay," she said, and walked away.

Amir handed me a gross, sweaty towel from his bag. "My fish died in sixth grade. I named all the replacement ones Fish 2, Fish 3, Fish 4. It got confusing."

I laughed. Actually laughed.

"You know," he said, "you play better when you're not trying so hard to impress people who don't care."

The rain hammered down on the metal roof. Something about the way he said it — like he'd learned this the hard way too.

"My hair's a disaster," I said.

"It's just hair," he said, and it wasn't mean, just true.

After the storm, Chloe's group went to get bubble tea. They didn't invite me.

Amir and I went to the pet store and bought Fish 5.

We ate gas station slushies on the curb. I didn't straighten my hair for the first week of school.

Chloe never noticed.

But Amir did.