Serve Volley Spiked

Cameron's first mistake was letting Maya convince him that padel was basically tennis-lite. How hard could it be? The court looked smaller. The racquets looked friendlier. This was supposed to be their casual Friday hang, not an existential crisis.

He adjusted his dad's vintage basketball cap—backward, obviously, because forwards would give off major energy—and picked up the rental racquet. His Golden Retriever, Buster, watched through the chain-link fence, tail thumping like a metronome, because Buster believed every activity deserved enthusiastic moral support.

"You got this!" Maya called from the opposite side. She'd already taken her ponytail out. Why did girls do that? It was such a power move. Like, oh, this is so casual I can literally let my hair down while I destroy you.

The first serve came at him like a UFO. Cameron swung and missed. Air. Pure, unadulterated air.

Buster barked his support. Or judgment. Hard to tell.

"No worries!" Maya yelled. "Padel takes a minute!"

By minute seven, sweat was dripping down Cameron's back. The hat was absolutely not helping. He could feel his hair underneath, probably looking like he'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Why did he care? He didn't care. He was just here for the vibes.

"GAME POINT," the app on the fence announced, because apparently they couldn't just play like normal people without technology announcing their shame to the entire rec center.

Maya served. The ball hit the back wall, ricocheted, and came spinning toward him at a physics-defying angle. Cameron's brain said swing left. His body said panic.

He connected.

The ball launched upward, clearing the fence, bouncing once on the sidewalk, and landing directly in front of Buster.

The dog's eyes widened. Finally. His moment.

"BUSTER NO," Cameron shrieked.

Too late. The Golden Retriever of Chaos seized the ball like it was a squirrel who'd personally offended his ancestors, tearing across the parking lot with glee.

Maya was doubled over laughing. Cameron's hat had fallen off somewhere in the commotion. His hair was definitely destroyed.

But as he chased his dog across the parking lot, Maya's laugh echoing behind him, Cameron thought: okay. Maybe padel wasn't his sport. Maybe he'd never be the cool athletic guy who made everything look effortless.

But he was the guy whose dog stole the padel ball during game point, and apparently, that was its own kind of legendary.

"I'll buy you a new ball," he called back, still running. "I swear."

"You better," Maya yelled. "And Cameron?"

"Yeah?"

"You should probably keep the hat off. The hair's not that bad."

Cameron slowed down. Let himself smile.

Buster dropped the ball, panting like he'd just won Wimbledon.

Yeah. He could work with that.