Padel Court Secrets

I never meant to be a spy. But when you're fifteen and sitting alone on the bleachers while your crush destroys everyone at padel, you kind of become one by default.

Jake's serve moved like lightning — fast, unpredictable, making the ball thud against the glass walls. I'd been watching him for three weeks now, hiding behind my phone, pretending to text while memorizing the way his forehand made that satisfying *pop* sound when it connected perfectly.

"You again," said Chloe, dropping her gym bag beside me. She was one of those effortlessly pretty girls whose hair somehow looked better after forty-five minutes of sweat.

I jumped. "Just... enjoying the athleticism?"

Chloe laughed. "Dude, you've been here every Tuesday. You gonna play, or just keep lurking?"

Before I could answer with some lame excuse, Coach Martinez called out. "We need one more for mixed doubles! Jordan, you in?"

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to be an organ. "I don't even have a racquet."

"Borrow mine," Chloe said, already unzipping her bag.

My hands shook as I stepped onto the court. I'd played tennis, like, twice in gym class, but padel was different — the walls, the smaller court, the way the ball came back at you even when you thought you'd missed. I fumbled the first three returns. Jake's teammates snickered.

Then Jake walked over. "Relax. It's just a game, not a vitamin supplement you have to force down."

I blinked. That was weirdly specific.

"My mom makes me take these giant ones every morning," he explained. "Tastes like chalk and regret. Anyway — knees bent, eyes on the ball. You're overthinking it."

Something clicked. Not lightning-strike dramatic, but like finding the last puzzle piece under the couch. I stopped trying to look cool and just... played. My first solid return hit the back wall and looped perfectly over the net.

"There she is!" Jake whooped.

We lost, obviously. But later, as I wiped sweat off my forehead with the bottom of my shirt, Coach Martinez handed me a signup sheet. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," I said, surprised by my own voice being steady. "I'll be here."

"Cool." He paused. "And tell your mom if she wants a player who actually gets her vitamins checked, the wellness fair is Thursday."

I groaned. "How did you —"

"Small school." He grinned. "See you Tuesday, spy."