Lightning Strikes the Court

My lucky Dodgers hat sat crooked on my head, shielding eyes that wouldn't stop darting toward her. Maya leaned against the fence, phone in hand, probably scrolling TikTok while I attempted to look competent at padel.

"Your backhand's getting better," she said, and my stomach did that annoying flippy thing.

"Yeah, right." I wiped sweat from my forehead. "I'm still trash compared to you."

Truth was, I'd only started playing because she mentioned it once. Now here I was, running three times a week, practicing serves against my garage wall like some obsessed idiot. The cable guy had literally asked me last week why I was always outside when he came by.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Great.

"One more game?" Maya grinned, that perfect smile that made my brain short-circuit.

"Sure, why not. Weather's perfect for it."

The first drop hit as we reached deuce. Then the sky opened up—sheets of rain, lightning flashing so bright it left spots in my vision. We scrambled toward the covered bench, shoulders brushing. My hat was soaked through, hair plastered to my skull. Definitely not my finest moment.

"So," Maya said, shaking rain from her arms. "You gonna tell me why you really started playing?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, louder than the storm. "What do you mean?"

She laughed, nudging my shoulder. "Marco, you hated sports until last month. And you always wear that stupid hat, even though it's 85 degrees."

I stared at my sneakers. "Maybe I just found something I actually like."

"Or maybe you're just trying to impress someone."

Another flash of lightning illuminated her face, and for once, I didn't look away.

"Yeah," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe that's it."

The rain kept falling, but somehow everything felt clearer than it ever had before.