Smash Point

The neon green padel ball whizzed past my ear, missing by like, two inches.

"You've got this, Maya!" Chloe yelled from the other side of the court, her acrylics somehow still intact after an hour of smashing.

I adjusted my grip on the racket. This was supposed to be my fresh start at Northwood High—join the padel team, make actual friends, stop being that quiet transfer student who sat alone at lunch. But here I was, sweating through my favorite crop top while Chloe and her perfectly coordinated squad watched me fail.

My phone buzzed in my bag. Probably another text from Mom asking if I'd fed the cat before school. Barnaby—this judgmental orange tabby I'd rescued last summer—was probably home right now, sleeping on my homework and judging my life choices.

"Maya, you're overthinking it," said someone behind me.

I turned to see this guy in a faded hoodie leaning against the fence. Dark curly hair, kind smile, holding—wait, was that a sketchbook?

"I'm Jordan," he said. "I've been watching you play. You're tense as hell."

"Gee, thanks."

"Nah, I mean it as a compliment." He pushed off the fence. "You care too much about what they think. It's messing up your form."

I looked back at Chloe, who was now gossiping with another player about someone's Instagram story. Jordan was right. I'd been trying so hard to impress them that I'd forgotten to actually, like, enjoy the game.

"Show me," I said.

Jordan grinned. "Throw me the ball."

We spent the next hour just hitting back and forth. No pressure, no audience, just the satisfying thwack of the racket and Jordan's terrible jokes. He told me about his art portfolio. I complained about Barnaby knocking over my water glass every single morning.

"You know," Jordan said as we walked to the bike rack, "Chloe and her crew? They're not worth the stress. Real friends don't make you work for it."

I thought about Barnaby, how he'd chosen me that rainy day last summer. How he'd curled up in my lap like he'd known me forever. Some things weren't supposed to be forced.

"Wanna grab boba?" Jordan asked. "There's this place downtown—"

"Only if you promise not to roast my padel skills anymore."

"No promises."

I laughed, and it felt real. My phone buzzed again—Mom, definitely wondering about the cat. But right now, in this moment, everything was exactly as it should be.