Palm Sweat Season

My palms were sweating before I even stepped onto the padel court. Again.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, already bouncing on his toes like he'd mainlined three Red Bulls.

"Yeah, yeah. Just... warming up." I adjusted my hat for the fiftieth time, trying to look casual. Failing, probably.

The truth? I was terrified. Not of the game—okay, maybe a little—but of HER. Maya, who'd joined our friend group last month and somehow managed to make basic padel rallies look like they belonged in a Nike commercial. Maya, who I'd accidentally High School Musical-ed at last week when I tripped over my own cat Mittens in the school hallway. Mittens, who decided that exact moment to bat at my ankles like she was auditioning for America's Funniest Home Videos.

Maya waved from across the court, her ponytail swinging. "Ready to lose, hat boy?"

"In your dreams." My voice cracked. Smooth.

"That's what she said," Marcus muttered.

Game on. Marcus served, I returned, and suddenly we were in it—the rhythmic thwack of balls, the squeak of sneakers, my heart doing weird cartwheels every time Maya laughed. Which was constantly, because she was actually good at this, unlike me, who was basically hoping the ball would magically avoid my racquet.

"Nice shot!" she called after I somehow managed to actually hit it back.

"Thanks!" I called back, my voice doing that awkward squeaky thing it does when I'm nervous. My palms were so sweaty I could practically water plants with them.

After the game—spoiler: we got crushed—Marcus's older sister showed up with smoothies. "Papaya ginger for everyone!"

"Gross," I said, then immediately regretted it because Maya had already grabbed one.

"More for me," she winked. "You don't know what you're missing, hat boy."

Later, sitting on the curb while everyone else talked about college applications and TikToks, I found myself next to her. She was drinking that weird papaya smoothie like it was the best thing ever.

"So," she said, "you always this nervous, or is it just my mad padel skills?"

"Both?" I admitted. "Also, Mittens—the cat—has been sabotaging me all week. I think she's working for the other team."

Maya laughed. "Tell Mittens I said good job. But seriously, you're not terrible. You just... think too much."

"Yeah, my therapist says that too."

"You have a therapist?" Her eyes lit up. "Same. Mine's always telling me I need to stop overanalyzing everything."

"No way."

"Way." She held out her papaya smoothie. "Peace offering?"

I took a sip. Actually kind of good.

"See?" she grinned. "Not everything scary is terrible."

I took off my hat for the first time all day. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that."