Orange Crush Summer

The orange iPhone case was supposed to be my personality upgrade. Summer before sophomore year, I'd decided: quiet, invisible Leo was getting a reboot. Bold. Confident. The kind of guy who didn't sit alone at lunch watching vine edits while everyone else lived actual lives.

But here I was, three weeks in, still talking to my sister's goldfish about my problems. Bubbles would float to the glass, his orange scales catching light, while I practiced conversations I'd never have with actual humans.

"You'd be good at padel," my friend Jax said suddenly, appearing in my doorway like he'd materialized from myawkward silence. "The new club downtown. Everyone's going."

Padel. The sport that had magically replaced everything as the social currency of our grade. I'd watched enough TikTok breakdowns to know I wasn't built for it — coordination required, confidence mandatory, coolness implied.

"I don't know," I said, already reaching for my phone to escape.

"Dude, you've got that orange case. It's giving 'tennis club energy.' Just come."

My mom found me later staring at my reflection, phone in hand. She handed me a vitamin gummy from the bottle she'd bought because I 'looked pale.'

"You know," she said, "your fish died three years ago, right?"

I froze. She'd never mentioned it before. The silence stretched, and suddenly I was laughing — this ugly, surprised sound that felt like breaking surface after holding your breath too long.

The padel court was blindingly bright. My phone stayed in my pocket. I missed every ball. But somewhere between the sweaty serves and Jax wheeze-laughing at my form, I realized: the orange case wasn't the upgrade. It was just the case.

The real glow-up was finally showing up.