Smash Hit

Marcus stood outside the community center, clutching his dad's old racket like it might explode. Inside, the sounds of padel balls hitting walls echoed — that distinctive *thwack* that signaled you were either cool or about to humiliate yourself.

"You got this, bro," Jay said, grinning like he'd just suggested something awesome instead of social suicide. "Chloe's watching."

That was the problem. Chloe Anderson, varsity tennis captain, the kind of girl who made forgetting how to words happen. Jay's plan: Marcus would join the pickup padel game, impress everyone with hidden athletic talent, and somehow not faceplant.

"I literally cannot hit anything that isn't stationary," Marcus protested. "My hand-eye coordination is tragic."

"Just take this." Jay pressed a weird gummy vitamin into his palm. "Pre-game energy. My brother swears by them before games."

Marcus swallowed it. Probably placebo. Probably unnecessary panic.

The game started. The court was smaller than tennis, surrounded by glass walls. Marcus's opponents: two juniors who looked like they'd been born holding rackets. The first ball came at him fast, spinning with menace.

*Thwack.* Into the net.

"My bad," he muttered, face burning.

Then something weird happened. The *vitamin* kicked in — or maybe it was just adrenaline. His heart raced. Fast. Too fast. His senses sharpened. When the next ball came, he saw it in slow motion, tracking its arc like a hawk.

*Smack.* Perfect return.

"YOOO!" Jay yelled from the sidelines.

The game got intense. Marcus was diving, lunging, hitting winners he couldn't explain. He felt like lightning was running through his veins instead of blood. Chloe was watching. Actually watching.

But then his opponent — this huge guy named Kyle who definitely played varsity something — smashed a ball toward Marcus's face. Marcus ducked. The ball hit the glass behind him with a gunshot-loud crack.

"Whoa, easy, bull," someone called out. "You trying to kill him?"

Kyle shrugged. "All's fair."

Something snapped in Marcus's chest. Maybe it was the vitamin-induced energy, maybe it was just — he was done being scared. Done letting people push him around because he was new, because he didn't know the rules, because he was just trying to survive high school without embarrassing himself to death.

The next point, Kyle hit another smash. Marcus didn't duck.

He leaped.

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed back, impossible angle, kissing the corner. Perfect.

The court went silent. Then everyone lost it. Even Kyle nodded, respect creeping onto his face.

Chloe met his eyes across the net and smiled.

"Not bad," she said. "You've got a lightning forehand."

Jay practically tackled him afterward. "DUDE. You literally crushed that. We're getting you on the club team."

Marcus's hands were shaking. His heart was still racing. But for the first time all year, he felt like he actually belonged somewhere.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Yeah, we are."