Orange Slice Strategy

Maya stood at the edge of the community pool, clutching her towel like a lifeline. The end-of-summer bash was in full swing—splash wars, bass-heavy music, and way too many people displaying way too much skin. Classic Maya move: arrive early, leave late, avoid actual interaction.

"You're blocking the padel court," someone said.

Maya turned to see Jake Rivera, gorgeous and impossible, standing there with a racket. The pop-up padel nets had appeared yesterday, turning the pool deck into a sports complex. Now everyone was obsessed.

"Sorry," she mumbled, moving aside.

"Actually," Jake said, "we need a fourth. You play?"

She didn't. But his friends were waiting—Chloe, who'd sat behind her in bio since forever, and Priya, who always borrowed pencils she never returned. Maya nodded.

They played. She sucked. The ball kept ricocheting off her racket at embarrassing angles. But somewhere between the fourth point and Chloe's "dude, you're literally not even trying," Maya forgot to be self-conscious.

"Here," Jake said, handing her an orange slice from the snack table during a break. "Carb loading. Very athletic."

His fingers brushed hers. Something electric and cliché that Maya would roll her eyes at in any other context.

"Thanks," she said, peeling the orange. "I'm carb loading for my impressive zero points."

"Low bar," Chloe grinned. "I believe in you."

They played another round. This time Maya hit the ball. Actually hit it. Then again. By sunset, her arms ached and her hair was a disaster and she'd laughed so hard her stomach hurt.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jake asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah," Maya said. "Same time."

Walking home, orange sticky on her fingers, Maya realized she'd spent the entire day not thinking once about being the quiet girl who hovered at pool parties. Funny how the stuff that changes you never looks like a big deal until it's already happened.