Shaky Hands on Court

The cable to my earbuds was tangled around my phone for the third time today—typical. I was trying to hype myself up outside the padel club, but my palms were already sweating, and I hadn't even stepped inside yet.

"You coming, bro?" Marcus called from the entrance, bouncing on his heels like he didn't have a care in the world. "Or are you gonna stand there contemplating life all day?"

"I'm coming," I lied, adjusting my oversized hoodie. Why had I agreed to this? I hadn't played a real sport since YMCA swimming lessons in fifth grade, and even then, I'd spent most of practice 'adjusting my goggles' to avoid actually doing laps.

Inside, the air smelled like rubber and determination. Two girls from our grade, Chloe and Sarah, were already on the court, laughing as they whacked a bright blue ball back and forth. They looked effortless. I looked like I was about to throw up.

"This is Leo," Marcus announced, completely ignoring how I was obviously regretting every life choice that led to this moment. "He's a natural."

I was definitely not a natural. My first swing sent the ball flying backward, nearly clocking Marcus in the head. The girls laughed, but to my surprise, it wasn't mean-girl laughing. It was genuine, you're-a-dork-but-we-don't-mind laughing.

"Okay, lesson one," Chloe said, tossing me a racket. "Stop thinking so hard. You're running mental laps around yourself."

An hour later, I was exhausted, sweaty, and—I had to admit—it was kind of fun. My hand-eye coordination was still tragic, but I'd actually managed to return a few shots. My palm didn't even shake anymore when I gripped the racket.

"Same time next week?" Marcus asked as we headed out.

I thought about saying no. I thought about making up some excuse about homework or family obligations. But then I thought about how good it felt to not be the person sitting on the sidelines anymore.

"Yeah," I said, and for the first time all day, I didn't feel like I was faking it. "Same time next week."