Serving Up Sunshine

The neon orange paddle felt slippery in my sweaty hands. I'd never even played padel before, but somehow I'd let Chloe talk me into filling in for her partner in the junior tournament at the club.

"You'll be fine," she'd said earlier, adjusting her cream-colored palm tree print visor in the mirror. "Just hit the ball. Don't overthink it."

Easy for her to say. Chloe had been playing padel since she was twelve and moved like she'd been born on a court. Me? I'd barely mastered not tripping over my own feet in gym class.

The guy across the net—a lanky junior everyone called Bull for his aggressive playing style—kept slamming serves toward me like he genuinely wanted me dead. His actual name was Tyler, but nobody used it. Not even the coaches.

"You got this!" Chloe yelled from her chair courtside, clutching a giant orange Gatorade like it was her emotional support beverage.

I scuffed my sneaker against the blue synthetic surface. What was I doing here? I wasn't an athlete. I was the kid who sat in the back of history class drawing faces in the margins of my notebook, the one who'd never had a real friend until Chloe had transferred to our school last semester and decided—completely arbitrarily—that we were going to be best friends.

But then I remembered what she'd told me after I'd panicked about our first hangout: sometimes you have to fake confidence until it becomes real.

So I planted my feet. I bent my knees. And when Bull's next serve came sizzling toward me, I didn't flinch. I didn't let it bounce. I pivoted, extended my arm, and—

CRACK.

The ball skimmed the net and dropped just inside the line. Perfect.

Bull's mouth actually fell open.

The sunset over the courts turned everything orange and gold as we high-fived afterward, my palm stinging from the impact. Chloe thrust her Gatorade at me in celebration.

"See?" she grinned. "I told you. You're not just sitting on the sidelines anymore."

Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't have to stay the quiet kid in the back of the classroom forever. Maybe sometimes, you just have to step onto the court and swing.