Palm Court Bruises

My first mistake was thinking I could play padel. The second mistake was letting Tyler talk me into joining the country club's summer tournament in front of literally everyone.

"Bro, you got this," Tyler said, fist-bumping me. But the ominous music playing in my head said otherwise.

My palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating. I could barely grip the racquet. Across the net, Ashley—a varsity tennis player who'd been playing since preschool—stared me down like I was a bug she'd discovered in her organic kale smoothie.

"Game point," she called out, all confidence and coach-funding.

I'd never even *seen* a padel court before moving here. The walls? Confusing. The scoring? Made zero sense. The fact that everyone from school was watching behind the glass fence? Absolute nightmare.

The ball came at me. I swung. I missed.

"So close," my crush Jenna whispered from behind the fence. That was worse than if she'd said nothing.

Next round, something shifted. I stopped trying to play like Ashley—grunting after every hit, doing that weird between-the-legs warmup thing that looked more painful than athletic—and started playing like me. Messy but real. I even laughed when I tripped over my own feet.

"You're actually kinda fun to watch," someone said. I looked up. Jenna. Not Ashley. Jenna.

After the match—yes, I lost, no, I didn't care—Tyler found me by the palm tree near the parking lot. I expected him to roast me. Instead, he handed me a coconut water.

"You went full beast mode at the end," he said. "That shot where you accidentally hit it off the wall and scored? Peak comedy."

I laughed. Actually laughed. My palms weren't sweating anymore.

Ashley walked past, cellphone in hand, livestreaming her victory like she'd just won Wimbledon. Jenna waved at me from the entrance. Tyler clapped my shoulder like we'd been friends forever.

I'd lost the match. But somehow, I'd won something way more important than a plastic trophy and a bragging rights Instagram post.

Same time next week? Absolutely.

"You're terrible," Tyler said, already planning our rematch. "But you're hilarious."

"I'll take it," I said. And my palms were finally dry.