Spinach Between My Teeth

The spinach in my teeth felt like a green flag of surrender waving for everyone to see.

"You've got something, like, right there," Tyler had said at lunch, gesturing vaguely at his own mouth while his friends snickered. I'd spent twenty minutes in the bathroom picking at my braces until my gums bled, convinced my social life was officially over before second period even ended.

Now I stood on the padel court, clutching a rented racquet like it was a weapon I didn't know how to use. Coach Martinez had paired me with Leo—the guy who sat in the back of English reading mythology books like they were sacred texts, quiet as a sphinx, impossible to read.

"You good?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His hair fell into his eyes when he moved. Even sweating, he looked annoyingly composed.

"Never been better," I lied. My stomach did that thing where it felt like I'd swallowed my own homework.

The first ball came at me and I whiffed completely, spinning in a circle while it bounced twice. Someone from the next court over—possibly one of Tyler's friends—called out, "Nice pirouette!"

"Ignore them," Leo said softly. He moved into position, sleeves rolled up. "Just watch the ball. Everything else is noise."

Something about the way he said it made my shoulders drop an inch. He wasn't looking at the imaginary spinach still haunting my smile. He was just watching the court, calm as any riddle I'd never solve.

We lost that match 6-2, but when Leo fist-bumped me afterward and said "solid effort, Maya," I realized I'd gone twenty minutes without thinking about lunch at all. The sphinx had cracked, just a little.

"Same time next week?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, and for the first time all day, I actually smiled without checking my reflection first. "Yeah, same time."