Orange Court Secrets

Standing at the padel net, my racquet felt like a foreign object in my sweaty hands. First day at Canyon Ridge Academy, and somehow I'd already been roped into the sophomore tournament. Classic me.

"You ready for this?" Rio asked, tapping his racquet against mine. I mumbled something that sounded like confidence.

Across the court, the Division 1 squad looked like they'd been born with racquets attached to their hands. Especially the guy they called Fox—all amber eyes and copper hair, moving with this predatory grace that made my stomach do gymnastics. He wore his jersey like he owned the court, like he owned everything.

The orange court blurred beneath my sneakers as the game began. Every shot Fox sent over was surgical, intentional. Every move I made felt clumsy, like I was still waiting for someone to hand me the instruction manual to high school.

"Don't think," someone yelled from the sidelines. "Just BE."

I caught sight of myself in the glass wall behind the bench—hair escaping my ponytail, knees barely managing all the feelings. Mom had picked my outfit that morning, insisting I looked "very professional." Instead, I felt like a cat wearing a tuxedo: uncomfortable and obviously pretending.

Fox's serve came at me like a question demanding an answer. The ball hovered in the air like a suspended breath, like those riddles the sphinx asked travelers before letting them pass. Answer wrong, get eaten alive. Answer right, survive another day.

The school motto blazed across the far wall: VERITAS—truth. Like truth was something you could just summon on command. Like there weren't a thousand versions of yourself fighting to be real.

I swung.

The ball skimmed the tape and dropped.

Fox raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

My cheeks burned. I wanted to disappear, wanted to be someone who knew exactly who she was and how she fit into this perfectly orchestrated ecosystem of teenagers who seemed to speak a language I'd never studied.

But then Fox's lip curved—just slightly. "You're the new sophomore, right? We could use another player for club team."

The orange court stretched between us like an invitation. Maybe the answer wasn't about solving the riddle all at once. Maybe it was about staying in the game long enough to figure out the questions.

"I'm in," I said.

And for the first time all day, something about being seventeen felt exactly right.