Papaya Sunset at Padel Point

The first thing I noticed about the resort? Literally everyone was annoyingly good at everything. The girls by the pool looked like they'd stepped out of a TikTok, their perfect laughs floating over the chlorine and coconut sunscreen smell. I hid behind my phone, the cable-knit sweater I'd stupidly packed already feeling like a mistake.

"Yo, you gonna stand there all day or actually get in?"

I looked up. Marcus. The guy I'd been lowkey obsessed with since eighth grade stood at the edge of the pool, water dripping down his abs.

"I'm good," I lied, voice cracking.

"Come on." He grinned. "We're doing padel later if you want to join."

Padel. Because obviously everyone at this resort played padel now. I'd never even held a racquet.

The papaya at breakfast had been my first mistake. Trying to look sophisticated, I'd taken a giant bite and nearly gagged. My sister had filmed the whole thing, naturally. Now the video had 472 views on her story.

By afternoon, I was sweating through my swimsuit while Marcus tried to teach me padel.

"Relax your grip," he said, standing way too close.

I relaxed nothing. My palms were literally leaving sweat marks on the handle.

"You're overthinking it."

"Am not."

"You are. I can see your brain working from here."

I missed the ball completely. It bounced off the fence, and somewhere behind me, a group of seniors laughed. My face burned hotter than the sun.

"Hey." Marcus stepped in front of me, blocking their view. "Wanna go swimming instead? Padel's overrated anyway."

The pool was empty by then—golden hour painting everything in that perfect Instagram filter light. We floated on our backs, palm trees swaying overhead, talking about everything and nothing. School, his weird obsession with vintage band tees, my anxiety about college applications.

"You know," he said after a while, "I was terrified coming here."

"You?" I snorted.

"Yeah. New people. New place. What if everyone hated me?"

I turned to look at him. The sun caught the gold flecks in his eyes.

"But you're Marcus. Everyone loves you."

"Not everyone." He looked at me, really looked at me, and my stomach did that thing it only does in movies. "Some people are too busy worrying about themselves to notice anyone else."

That night, I sat on the balcony with a fresh papaya from the buffet. Not because I suddenly loved it—I definitely didn't—but because trying it had been brave in its own way. Below, the resort flickered with fairy lights. My phone buzzed.

Marcus: Padel rematch tomorrow? No phones this time.

I smiled, typing back: You're on. And deleted 47 photos from my camera roll first.