Orange Palms and First Serves

Maya's palms turned orange right before the most important serve of her life. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like she'd been eating Cheetos for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"You good?" Liam asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet across the padel court. His hair was doing that thing where it looked perfectly messy, and Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to be a stomach.

"Totally good," Maya lied. "Just... nervous energy."

Her palms were sweating. She could feel it. And apparently, whatever weird vitamin deficiency her mom had been researching online was making her sweat turn her hands the color of a traffic cone. Great. Exactly what a fifteen-year-old girl needed. First day of padel club tryouts, first time talking to the guy she'd been lowkey obsessing over since September, and now she looked like she'd been finger-painting with carrots.

The coach blew the whistle. "Pair up! We're doing drills!"

Liam's eyes met hers. "Wanna be partners?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. "Uh-huh. I mean, yeah. Sure. Absolutely."

They walked onto the court together, and Maya tried to hide her hands behind her back. But then Liam reached out and bumped her fist with his. His skin was warm. His knuckles were skinned from who knows what—skateboarding, probably, or maybe just being Liam.

"Your hands," he said, looking down at where their fists had touched.

Maya's face burned. "I know, I know. It's this whole vitamin thing my mom's got me on. She thinks I'm deficient in something or whatever."

Liam tilted his head. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "No, I mean—they're orange. Like, actually orange."

"Yeah, I know. It's weird. I'm weird. You can just say it."

"No, that's not what I—" Liam laughed, and it was the best sound Maya had heard in forever. "I think it's kind of sick, actually. Like you're secretly a superhero or something."

Maya blinked. "A superhero?"

"Sure. Orange Palm Girl. Fights crime with moderate discoloration."

She couldn't help it. She laughed. Really laughed. And for the first time all day, her hands didn't feel like the most embarrassing thing in the universe.

"You're ridiculous," she said, serving the ball straight into his backhand.

"I'm excellent," he corrected, returning it perfectly. "And you've got a solid serve, Orange Palm Girl."

They played until the sun dipped below the fence, turning everything golden. Maya's palms were still orange. She was still nervous. But somehow, none of that mattered as much as it had ten minutes ago.

"Same time tomorrow?" Liam asked as they walked off the court.

"Definitely," Maya said. "Same time tomorrow."

Her hands were orange. Her serve was decent. And somehow, impossibly, she'd made it through the most terrifying afternoon of her life with something that felt suspiciously like confidence.