Serving Up Courage

The cable car dangled over the city like a metal confession booth, and I was stuck inside with my sweaty palms and the worst idea ever.

"You're actually doing this?" Maya texted. I stared at my phone, watching the signal bars dance.

"Yeah. Padel with Lucas. Tomorrow."

"Bro didn't even know what padel was LAST WEEK," she replied. "This is what we call character development."

I leaned my forehead against the cold glass. Character development was one way to put it. Another way: I was about to embarrass myself in front of the guy I'd been lowkey obsessed with since September, all because I'd claimed to be 'basically a pro' when I'd literally never held a paddle in my life.

The cable car lurched. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach.

At home, Mittens the cat was waiting. She was not impressed with my predicament.

"You could just not go," she seemed to say, judging me with those unimpressed yellow eyes as I flopped onto my bed.

"I can't flake. That's literally not an option." I held up my phone. "He already bought us court time."

Mittens yawned, displaying her opinion clearly.

"Besides," I muttered, "what if he's actually interested? Like, what if this is a thing?"

The thing about crushes is they make you do absolutely unhinged things. Like lying about your athletic abilities. Or spending three hours watching padel tutorials on YouTube until your brain felt like scrambled eggs.

"Just hit the ball, don't overthink it," a YouTube guy with too much energy said. "Padel's all about vibes."

Vibes. I had vibes. Just not athletic ones.

The next day, I showed up at the sports complex wearing my lucky socks (don't judge) and carrying a paddle I'd borrowed from my cousin. Lucas was already there, stretching in that effortless way that made my stomach feel like cable car suspension again.

"Hey!" He waved.

"Hey," I managed. My voice cracked. Classic.

But then something weird happened. We started playing, and I didn't immediately crash and burn. Lucas laughed at my terrible serves—like, actually laughed, not mean laughed. The ball bounced off the wire walls, the sound satisfying and rhythmic.

"You're better than you said," he told me after I somehow managed a decent shot.

"I lied," I admitted breathlessly. "I literally learned yesterday."

He paused, then grinned. "Honestly? That's more impressive."

Afterward, we sat on the bench, sharing a water bottle because we were both that kind of comfortable.

"Next time?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, and my chest felt bright and terrifying. "Next time."

Mittens was asleep when I got home. I scratched her ears. "You wouldn't believe it," I whispered. "I think I've been upgraded from socially awkward to socially awkward-but-making-progress."

She opened one eye.

"Baby steps," she seemed to say.

And honestly? Baby steps were still steps.