Served Fresh

Maya's stomach did backflips as she clutched her dad's old racket, standing at the edge of the padel court. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow that made her already-frayed nerves feel exposed.

"You got this, M!

" Tasha chirped from across the court, flipping her perfect hair with practiced ease. "Just don't choke. Again."

The word hung in the air like toxic gas. Because Maya did choke—regularly and spectacularly.

Her iphone buzzed in her pocket, a phantom heartbeat against her thigh. Probably another text from her mom asking if she'd eaten anything green today. Because apparently, at sixteen, Maya still needed nutritional supervision like a toddler.

The game started, and Maya's limbs moved independently of her brain. She shanked a simple volley into the net.

"My bad!

" she called, voice cracking. Someone snickered. It was definitely Tasha's squad—those girls who made everything look effortless, whose lives were curated feeds of golden-hour perfection.

After yet another embarrassing miss, the coach blew the whistle. "Water break!"

Maya slumped against the fence, scrolling through her phone. Every post was someone living their best life while she was out here surviving her worst. Then she saw it—her mom's latest Instagram: a photo of Maya's younger brother Liam, grinning with a massive green smoothie mustache, captioned "My little health nut! 💪"

She'd bought him a blender for his birthday. A *blender*. Meanwhile, Maya got recycled lecture notes about "making better choices."

The anger hit her like a sledgehammer. She marched to the vending machine and bought every bag of spinach chips they had. Then another.

When she returned to court, Tasha raised an eyebrow. "What's with the greens?"

"Fuel," Maya said, popping a chip into her mouth with exaggerated defiance. "Spinach builds character."

"Weird flex, but okay," Tasha said, then—unexpectedly—grinned. "Can I try one?"

They ended up passing the bag around during timeouts. By the final match, something had shifted. Maya still missed shots, but for the first time, she wasn't the only one laughing about it. As they walked out, Tasha bumped her shoulder. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," Maya said, her phone finally silent in her pocket. "Same time."

She was still figuring out who she was, but at least now she knew she didn't have to be perfect to belong. Just real. And maybe a little weird with the spinach.