Served Fresh

Leo stood at the edge of the padel court, his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest. The orange ball whizzed past his ear, missing by inches.

"You gonna actually hit anything today, freshie?" Marcus called out. Marcus—aka "The Bull" for his bulldozer style of play and his habit of literally snorting when he laughed.

The whole team snickered. Leo's face burned hotter than the Phoenix sun. Three weeks at Canyon Ridge High, and he was still very much the new kid. The one who ate lunch in the library. The one who said "you too" when the cashier told him to enjoy his meal.

His older sister Jasmine had forced him to join the padel team. "You need to put yourself out there, Leo," she'd said, like it was that simple. Like you could just flip a switch and stop being socially awkward.

Marcus smashed another serve. Leo flinched.

"Dude's scared of the ball," someone muttered.

That's when Leo saw it—his chance. Marcus was showing off, running way up to the net, leaving his backcourt wide open. Leo's racquet felt heavy in his hand. He could play it safe, lob it back easy. Or he could go for it.

His eyes locked on that orange ball spinning toward him.

Leo didn't think. He just swung.

The ball skimmed the net, dropped, and spun backward—impossible to return. Marcus scrambled. The Bull charged. But physics won this round. The ball died inches from the wall.

Dead silence.

Then Marcus straightened up, eyebrows raised. "Okay, freshie. Not bad." A pause. "You got a name?"

"Leo," he managed, his voice barely cracking.

"Well, Leo," Marcus said, actually kind of smiling, "you're up. Let's see what else you got."

Leo's grin started somewhere deep in his chest. Maybe tomorrow he'd still eat lunch in the library. Maybe he'd still say the wrong stuff. But right now, racquet in hand, orange ball spinning toward him—he didn't feel like the new kid anymore.

He just felt like he belonged.