Serve Into the Orange Sunset

The ball bounced off the padel racket with a satisfying thwack, but I missed it completely. Again.

"You good, Maya?" Jordan called from across the court, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He'd been playing padel since middle school, while I'd only picked it up a week ago because someone - okay, specifically someone named Riley - had mentioned they thought girls who played sports were cool.

I nodded, even though my throat felt like sandpaper. I'd forgotten my water bottle at home, and the public fountain near the courts was weirdly warm. "Yeah. Just... warming up."

My iPhone buzzed in my bag on the sidelines, and I literally had to physically restrain myself from checking it. It was probably Riley, finally responding to my text from TWO HOURS ago. Or maybe it was my group chat blowing up about something actually important. The FOMO was real.

But then I saw her.

Riley was walking past the courts, wearing this bright orange shirt that made her look like a walking sunset, carrying her own racket bag. She was with her friends, laughing about something, not even glancing at Court 4 where I was absolutely failing at sports.

"Maya, you're up!" Jordan yelled.

I scrambled to position myself, heart suddenly racing for reasons that had nothing to do with exercise. The serve came flying toward me, and I swung with everything I had.

I actually hit it. And it went over the net.

"Finally!" Jordan cheered.

But I wasn't paying attention. I was watching Riley stop near the fence. She was peeling an orange, casually, like some kind of athletic citrus goddess, and she was looking right at our court.

My phone buzzed again from the sidelines, but I didn't care. For the first time all afternoon, I wasn't thinking about what notification I was missing. I was thinking about how I needed to up my game, like, immediately.

"Again," I called out, gripping my racket tighter. "Hit it again."

Jordan raised an eyebrow but served anyway. This time, I didn't just hit it back. I smashed it, watching the ball sail perfectly into the corner, scoring my first real point all day.

When I looked back at the fence, Riley was still watching. And I swear, she smiled.

My phone buzzed a third time from the bench. I ignored it. Some things were more important than whatever was happening on my iPhone - like finally getting good at padel, and maybe, just maybe, getting noticed by the girl in the orange shirt.