Orange Skies & First Serves

The summer sun was already painting the sky a brilliant **orange** when I dragged myself to the community center, my stomach doing nervous backflips. This was it — the first day of padel lessons, and apparently, every halfway cute girl from Riverside High had decided this was the summer to pick up a racquet sport.

I spotted her immediately: Maya, leaning against the fence near court three, laughing at something Jordan — the absolute **bull** of our grade, all muscles and zero chill — had just said. My heart sank. Of course Jordan was here. Of course he was already showing off his serve to anyone who'd look.

"Yo, Tyler! You gonna stand there all day or actually play?" That was Leo, my best friend since kindergarten, already sweating through his shirt. "Come on, there's an open court over here."

I took a deep breath and walked onto the **padel** court, the enclosed walls feeling like a cage. My first serve slammed into the back glass so hard it bounced back and nearly took my head off. Jordan and his crew erupted in laughter from three courts over. My face burned hotter than the asphalt.

"You're overthinking it," a voice said behind me. Maya. Up close, she smelled like coconut sunscreen and determination. "Relax your grip. You're strangling the racquet."

She spent the next twenty minutes coaching me through a proper serve. Jordan kept glancing over, jaw tight. The sun started dipping lower, turning the sky that perfect summer orange again, when Maya invited me to the end-of-lesson **pool** party at her house.

"Everyone's coming," she said, then added with a tiny smile, "Even Jordan. But he's kind of a bull in the water too. Thinks he owns every lane."

That evening, floating in Maya's pool as orange streaks painted the horizon, I realized something. The bull could have the flashy serves and the loud bragging. I had something better — someone who saw past the awkward first attempts. And honestly? That felt like winning.