Orange Soda Zombies

The padel courts at the country club were blazing with sunset light, everything painted this crazy orange glow. Mia stood there clutching her racket like her life depended on it, sweat dripping down her back even though it was barely seventy degrees.

"You're literally shaking," said Tyler, leaning against the fence with that effortless cool that made Mia's stomach do backflips. "Chill. It's just summer league."

Just summer league. Right. Like her entire social reputation wasn't on the line.

Mia's phone buzzed in her pocket—probably her third group chat blowing up about whatever drama was unfolding at Jake's party tonight. The one she wasn't invited to. The one everyone was talking about since Tuesday.

She felt like a zombie going through the motions, practice after practice, game after game, while her friends lived their best lives without her. But tennis—okay, padel—was her thing. Her parents had dropped stupid money on lessons, and she was actually good. Maybe.

"Game point," Tyler called out, snapping her back to reality.

The ball came flying at her. Mia's racket connected with a satisfying thwack, and she watched it arc over the net, barely clearing the tape. Their opponents scrambled but couldn't return it.

"Yesss!" Mia practically screamed, throwing her hands up.

Tyler high-fived her, and for a second, everything was perfect. The orange light, the victory, the way he looked at her like she was actually kind of impressive.

After the match, they ended up at the snack bar, sharing a bench and dripping Gatorade into the water fountain. Tyler cracked open an orange soda—her favorite, which was weird because he usually drank that expensive sparkling water stuff.

"You know," he said, cracking the tab, "you're not bad. For someone who looks like they're gonna puke before every serve."

Mia laughed, feeling something unclench in her chest. Maybe she wasn't missing out on much. Maybe this orange-skied, padel-playing, slightly awkward moment was exactly where she was supposed to be.

"Same time next week?" Tyler asked, already walking backward toward the courts.

"Bet," she called back, zombie mode officially deactivated.