Spinach Between My Teeth

The padel court at the country club smelled like expensive sunscreen and desperation. I stood there holding a rented racquet, my cousin Jenna's boyfriend's cousin Chad smirking at me from across the net.

"You ever played before?" Chad asked, bouncing a ball like he owned the place.

"Yeah, totally," I lied. "I'm basically a pro."

My first swing missed the ball entirely and almost took out a potted plant. Chad laughed—that awful laugh that sounds like a dying seal—and I felt my face heat up. This was supposed to be my chance to finally fit in with Jenna's fancy friend group, but so far I was just the weird homeschooled kid who couldn't hit a ball.

After the game, we headed to the club's café. My stomach growled loud enough to startle a waitress. I ordered the spinach and artichoke dip because it sounded sophisticated, not like the kid who still ate dinosaur chicken nuggets at home.

Big mistake.

The dip arrived bubbling hot, and I took a massive chip-full, trying to look casual and unbothered. Jenna waved at someone across the room, and I turned to smile and nod—and that's when it happened. The spinach.

It wrapped around my front tooth like a green Christmas garland. I could feel it there, mocking me, but I couldn't just reach in and dig it out in front of everyone. So I sat there, pretending everything was fine, answering questions about my "gap year" (we were just broke) with a closed-mouth smile that probably made me look like I was hiding something.

Which I was.

Then Chad's phone pinged. "Dude, the cable's out at my place," he complained. "My parents are gonna kill me, they're watching some show and it just died."

Something clicked. My dad had showed me how to reset cable boxes like a million times when we moved into our apartment last year.

"I can fix it," I heard myself say. "Probably just needs a reset."

Chad looked skeptical, but desperate. So there I was, twenty minutes later, behind Chad's fancy entertainment system, untangling a mess of cables that looked like a snake party, finding the right one, resetting everything while his parents watched like I was performing surgery.

When the TV flickered back to life, Chad's high-fived me. His mom actually said, "You're a lifesaver."

Walking home, I caught my reflection in a shop window. The spinach was finally gone. So was the need to impress anyone. Some things—like cable management and being yourself—are way more important than pretending to be someone you're not.