Serving Up Something Real

The padel court at Summerhurst Country Club smelled like privilege and expensive sunscreen. I adjusted my grip on the racquet, trying to look like I belonged. Dad's new girlfriend, Chelsea, had signed me up for the junior tournament without asking. Classic Chelsea move.

"You'll love it, Maya! All the cool kids play padel." She'd said it with that bright, desperate energy that made my stomach hurt.

Now here I was, wearing a skirt that cost more than my entire wardrobe, facing off against actual Summerhurst kids who'd probably been holding racquets since birth.

The boy across the net, whose name was apparently Tyler, kept checking his phone between serves. His friends sat by the pool, watching and whispering. Great.

I managed to return his serve — barely. The ball hit the wire fence and ricocheted back at me. I dodged, tripped backward, and landed on my butt in front of everyone.

"Yo, you good?" Tyler asked, not moving from his spot.

"Peachy." I scrambled up, face burning. This was fine. Everything was fine.

After losing 6-0, 6-1 (that one point was pure luck), I escaped to the cabana. The fruit bar was supposed to be fancy — papaya, dragon fruit, stuff you couldn't get at the regular grocery store. I'd never tried papaya. Didn't want to try it, honestly. It looked like alien flesh.

"First time?" A girl appeared beside me. Dark hair, club uniform, zero judgment in her voice. "I'm Avery."

"Maya." I hesitated. "Is it weird I've never had papaya?"

"Dude, I ate a kiwi with the skin on until I was twelve." Avery scooped some onto a plate. "It's an acquired taste. Kind of musky? But the texture's nice." She held out a fork.

I took a bite. It was... weird. Soft and slightly sweet, but also kinda like a vegetable had an identity crisis.

"It's interesting," I said honestly.

"That's the polite way to say 'what in the world is this.'" Avery grinned. "Hey, you were on court three. You played Tyler."

"Yeah. I got absolutely cooked."

"Tyler's dad owns three dealerships. He thinks padel makes him an athlete." Avery rolled her eyes. "Want to hit around? I can teach you the walls."

"Actually? I thought —"

"What? That all the club kids are awful?" She shrugged. "Some are. But I'm just here for the free fruit and avoiding my mom's pilates class."

We ended up playing for an hour. Avery taught me how to use the back wall, how to angle shots so they spun weird. I even hit one past her. Once.

When we finally stopped, sweating and laughing, Tyler and his friends were gone. Probably moved on to something else to feel superior about.

"Same time next week?" Avery asked. "We could work on your backhand. And I'll bring mangosteens."

"I'm in." I took another bite of papaya. "This stuff's growing on me."

"Told you. Acquired taste." She smiled, and for the first time all summer, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.