Running on Empty and Full of Spinach

The first time I met Marcus, I was literally running away from my own life. Okay, technically I was just running late for first period, but at fifteen, those felt like the same thing. I'd stayed up until 3 AM scrolling through TikTok, fueled by espresso and my mom's "healthy" spinach smoothies that tasted like liquid lawn. Now I was sprinting down the hallway, backpack slamming against my spine, feeling like a zombie from some low-budget apocalypse movie where the monsters were just tired teenagers.

"Whoa, careful!"

I crashed into something solid. A guy. A really cute guy with dimples that should come with a warning label. Books flew everywhere. My face burned hotter than the caf pizza.

"Sorry! I'm—" I started gathering fallen papers.

"Running from something?" He grinned, handing me a bio textbook. "Or just running?"

"Both," I admitted, because why not embrace the chaos? "I'm Luna."

"Marcus." He pointed toward the gym. "You trying out for padel?"

"What's padel?"

He laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like tennis mixed with squash? Coach Lopez needs players, and I saw you at track practice. You've got speed."

I stared. Was he flirting? I wouldn't know. My social skills were about as developed as a toddler's cooking abilities.

"Maybe," I said, channeling confidence I definitely didn't feel.

"Cool. Practice today, 4 PM." He paused. "Don't be late."

"I'll try not to make it my brand."

By fourth period, I was debating faking sick. Padel sounded terrifying—social interaction AND physical coordination? But then I remembered Marcus's smile and decided to risk it.

Until I got home and found my brother's dog, Buster, had eaten my homework. Literally. The history worksheet was shredded across my bedroom floor, Buster looking guilty from my bed.

"Buster, WHAT."

He wagged his tail, completely unbothered by my academic destruction.

At tryouts, Marcus spotted me immediately. "You made it!"

"Barely. My dog tried to sabotage my education."

"Classic."

He handed me a racquet. "Show me what you've got, Zombie Girl."

I played terribly. I missed balls, hit the net, tripped over my own feet. But Marcus kept encouraging me, calling out tips, laughing when I accidentally served the ball into the fence.

"You're fast," he said afterward, handing me a water bottle. "That's something."

"Something is better than nothing, I guess."

"Way better."

That night, my mom made her spinach lasagna. "How was school?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

I pushed spinach around my plate. "I joined padel."

"Paddle? Like canoeing?"

"Padel. It's a sport."

"Good! Being well-rounded is important for college applications—"

There it was. Everything always circled back to college applications. But this time, I didn't mind. Because for the first time in forever, I had something that wasn't about GPAs or extracurriculars for the résumé.

I had a reason to wake up tomorrow.

The next day, Marcus found me at lunch. "Sit with us?"

His friends welcomed me like I'd always been there. They talked about video games and complained about teachers and made zombie apocalypse jokes. I laughed. I ate my spinach-packed sandwich without thinking about how uncool it looked.

For once, I wasn't running away from anything.

I was running toward something.