Orange Court Lights

My stomach did literal backflips as I laced up my padel shoes, the orange laces mocking my anxiety. First week of sophomore year and I'd already been dubbed "Fox" by the varsity team—not because I was clever, but because my last name was Fawcett and I'd bolted from the cafeteria when Someone's tray tipped over. Classic me.

The outdoor courts glowed under the sunset, everything bathed in this insane orange light that made it feel like a movie scene. Or a nightmare, depending on your social battery level.

"You coming, Fawcett?" Jordan called from the baseline. Jordan, with the effortless laugh and the squad and the entire existence that screamed main character energy.

"Yeah," I managed, my voice cracking slightly because the universe loved me.

That's when the cat appeared. This scrawny, judgmental orange tabby that lived behind the equipment shed, wandering onto Court 3 like it owned the place. Jordan crouched down, making these soft clicking sounds, and the cat actually approached. I stood there frozen, palms sweating through my grip.

"She's been showing up all week," Jordan said, scratching behind the cat's ears. "Kinda our mascot now. Think we should name her."

"Goldfish," I blurted without thinking.

Jordan looked up, eyebrows raised. "Goldfish? For a cat?"

My face burned. "Because, you know, cats eat fish? And it's ironic? I don't know, my brain just—"

"I love it," Jordan said, grinning. "Goldfish the cat. So stupid it's perfect."

We played padel until the court lights flickered on, mosquitoes diving at our ankles. I missed half my serves, laughed at jokes that weren't that funny, and accidentally hit a ball that sent Goldfish sprinting for the safety of the bushes. But Jordan didn't mock my terrible backhand. Instead, we sat on the bench as darkness fell, sharing a twisted-up orange slice someone's mom had packed, and talked about everything and nothing.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jordan asked as we walked toward the parking lot.

"Absolutely," I said, my voice steady this time.

The fox nickname might stick, but maybe—just maybe—I was starting to figure out this whole high school thing. One terrible serve, one orange sunset, one weirdly named cat at a time.