Running the Court

Max's snapback sat low on his forehead, his self-imposed security blanket since seventh grade when he'd tripped in the cafeteria and spaghetti ended up everywhere. The hat was his armor—unblushing, unfazed, unembarrassable Max.

"Dude, you coming?" Liam called from the padel court, bouncing on his toes like he'd consumed an espresso.

Max's heart did that nervous flutter thing. He'd never played padel. He'd never played anything except Fortnite and occasional basketball at his cousin's house, where he mostly guarded the Gatorade cooler.

"Yeah," Max said, then realized his voice had cracked. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Totally."

The court was smaller than a tennis court, enclosed by glass walls. Maya was already there, stretching in those expensive athletic outfits that looked effortless but probably cost more than Max's entire wardrobe. His stomach twisted. This was it—the moment he'd been both dreading and weirdly anticipating since Liam had invited him to hang with the popular crowd.

"What position do you play?" Maya asked, flipping her ponytail.

Max stared at her. Positions? Was this chess?

"Uh..." His hand went to his hat brim, his nervous tic. "I usually..."

"He's running defense today," Liam announced, tossing Max a racquet. "Trust me, you'll love it."

The game was chaos—smashing balls off glass walls, diving returns, Maya and Liam shouting strategy like they were in the Olympics. Max was running everywhere, sneakers squeaking, sweat making his grip slippery. Every time he messed up, he'd pull his hat lower, but somehow they didn't seem to notice.

"Nice save!" Maya high-fived him after he'd somehow managed to return a ball that had ricocheted off three walls.

"You're actually kind of a beast at this," Liam said, and the weird thing was—he sounded genuine.

After the third game, Max's legs burned, his shirt stuck to his back, and his hat felt sweaty and gross. But for the first time in years, he took it off.

"You know," Maya said, grabbing her water bottle, "you should join our league. We need a fourth."

Max's fingers went to adjust a hat that wasn't there. The cool air hit his forehead. He'd messed up serves, he'd tripped, he'd definitely looked uncool at least twice.

But he was still there. They still wanted him.

"Yeah," Max said, grinning despite himself. "I'm in."