Orange Soda Summer

Jordan stood at the edge of the **baseball** diamond, cleats digging into the dirt, watching the **padel** court next door where the cool kids gathered. Padel was everything now — ever since that Spanish exchange student showed up with his fancy racquet and weird accent, suddenly everyone was obsessed. The tennis courts sat empty while the padel courts were packed with people trying to look sophisticated.

"You coming?" Marcus called, spinning a worn baseball on his finger. "Practice starts in five."

Jordan hesitated. His mom had left another voicemail that morning about his **vitamin** D deficiency, dropping off a bottle of supplements at school like he was a toddler. She'd been extra weird lately, ever since his dad left, like she was trying to **running**-style parent harder to make up for it. Triple-parenting. It was embarrassing.

"Yeah," Jordan said finally. "Just... gotta do something first."

The padel kids laughed at something — probably the new kid's accent again. Jordan's stomach did that thing it always did lately, like it was trying to escape his body. Freshman year was supposed to be different. The movies made it look like you'd suddenly know who you were, like puberty came with a free personality upgrade.

Instead, Jordan was just... tired. All the time.

He walked to the vending machine, planning to get an **orange** soda because sometimes you just need something that tastes like artificial sunshine and bad decisions. But when he pressed the button, nothing happened. The machine made this sad wheezing sound.

"You have to hit it," said a voice behind him.

It was the Spanish exchange student. Santiago. Of course.

"Like... hard?" Jordan asked.

Santiago demonstrated, slamming the side of the machine with surprising force. The soda clunked down.

"My brother taught me," Santiago said, shrugging. "In Madrid, the vending machines are... how you say... dramatic?"

Jordan cracked the soda open. "Thanks."

"You play **baseball**?" Santiago nodded toward the field.

"Yeah. Well, trying to. Not very good at it."

"I tried once. Hit myself in the face with the bat."

Jordan laughed, surprised. "Same. Well, not my face, but..."

"Maybe you teach me baseball?" Santiago suggested. "I teach you **padel**? It is... not so serious as everyone thinks."

Jordan looked at the cool kids still laughing by the court, then at Marcus waiting by the baseball diamond, then at Santiago offering this weird, small friendship.

"Yeah," Jordan said, feeling something in his chest loosen. "Yeah, okay."

The orange soda fizzed in his hand. Maybe freshman year wouldn't be so bad after all.