Operation Padel Court

The mission: find out why Maya—the girl with effortless rizz and perfect hair—kept showing up at the community center every Tuesday.

"You're basically a private spy at this point," Jordan had said, handing me the extra-long charging cable I'd need for stakeout duty. "Just find out what's up with the padel cult."

I slid into the plastic chair behind the vending machine, phone at 12%. The cable stretched across the floor like a sad snake. My first time *spy*ing on anyone, and I was already failing.

Through the glass wall, I watched them play. Padel looked like tennis ate squash and had a weird baby—racquets with holes, walls you could hit off, intense energy. Maya moved differently here, laughing when she messed up, high-fiving people I didn't recognize.

My phone buzzed. Jordan: *Any intel yet??*

*Working on it,* I typed back.

That's when Maya walked out.

I froze. Do I run? Pretend I'm intensely interested in the vending machine's Snickers selection? She spotted me before I could decide.

"Hey!" She smiled, actually recognized me from bio. "You watching?"

"Uh, kinda?" I gestured vaguely at the padel courts. "Looks... intense?"

"It's actually not scary, I promise. We need a fourth for Thursday—"

"Wait, you want ME to play?"

"Why not? You're always staring at the court." She winked. "Unless you're on some secret mission or something."

My face burned. She knew.

"Okay, fine," I admitted. "My friend Jordan thinks you guys are like, some exclusive cult or something."

Maya laughed. "Tell Jordan we're just terrible at sports and found something where being bad at it is half the fun. That's the whole secret."

She pulled out her own phone—dead. "You got that cable? I forgot mine again."

I handed it over.

"So, Thursday?" She raised an eyebrow. "Bring Jordan too. More people to embarrass ourselves in front of."

"Bet," I heard myself say.

Later, Jordan demanded the full report. But honestly? Some missions are better when you go off-script.