Riddles on the Court

Marcus stared at the neon orange gummy in his palm. His mom's latest phase: Vitamin D supplements because apparently her sixteen-year-old son was basically a cave-dwelling mushroom.

"Take your vitamin, honey!" she'd chirp every morning like it was some kind of magical solution to his entire existence.

He dry-swallowed it. The aftertaste was artificial sunshine and regret.

At school, the new buzz was PADEL. Not tennis, not squash — padel. The popular kids had suddenly discovered this sport at some fancy club their parents joined, and now every conversation in the cafeteria was about backhands and glass walls.

"You coming today, Marcus?" Jake asked, sliding into the seat across from him. Jake had that effortless cool Marcus had been trying to replicate since seventh grade. The kind of guy who wore hoodies in July and somehow didn't sweat.

"Yeah," Marcus lied. "Totally."

He'd never even held a padel racket.

That's when he noticed her at the next table: Elena, reading a book about Egyptian mythology. She'd transferred in three weeks ago and existed in that weird space where everyone knew of her but nobody really KNEW her. She looked up and caught him staring.

Her eyes were unreadable. Sphinx-like, he thought randomly.

She walked over.

"You're lying about padel," she stated.

"What?"

"You've never played. Your grip's all wrong when you pick up your water bottle. Tennis player, probably."

Marcus blinked. "Okay, Sphinx. What's your deal?"

"I answer questions," she said, "I don't deal in vague statements. Want me to teach you padel?"

"Why?"

She smiled — just a tiny curve of her lip. "Because watching you fake it through third period gym is becoming painful. Also, I need a partner."

"For padel?"

"No, for crime. Obviously padel."

Two weeks later, Marcus was actually playing, his wrists wrapped because he'd forgotten his mom's advice about Vitamin D apparently being crucial for not-your-joints-falling-apart. Elena had this way of teaching that was ninety percent sarcasm and ten percent actual instruction.

"You're thinking too much," she called from across the court. "Be the ball. Be the wall. Be literally anything except your current state of overthinking everything."

A ball flew at his face.

He didn't duck.

Elena raised an eyebrow. "You passed the sphinx test."

"What test?"

"The one where I throw things at you and see if you're brave or just unlucky." She smirked. "You're both. It's charming."

That night, Marcus's mom asked how his day was.

"Fine," he said, pocketing the vitamin gummy he'd secretly palmed. He didn't need artificial sunshine anymore. "Actually, it was pretty good."

Elena had texted him: Same time tomorrow? Don't forget your vitamin-induced superpowers.

He grinned. Some things, he decided, were actually worth remembering to take.