Spinach in My Hair

The padel court smelled like expensive rubber and desperation. I stood there, racket heavy in hands that wouldn't stop sweating, watching Chase laugh with his friends across the net. His hair—imperfectly perfect, like he'd just rolled out of bed looking like a Greek god—caught the light every time he moved.

"You coming, Maya?" Chase called out, grinning.

"Yeah," I squeaked. My voice cracked. Nice.

My dog Buster had chosen this morning to escape the backyard and chase the mail carrier, leaving me with muddy sneakers and zero time to fix the catastrophe on top of my head. My mom's attempt at "healthy breakfast" had left me with spinach stuck between my front teeth for half of first period before LJ mercifully whispered, "You got a little... you know."

Now here I was, about to humiliate myself in front of Chase and his country club friends, pretending I knew anything about padel when I'd literally googled "what is padel" two days ago.

"Hey," Chase said, suddenly beside me. He smelled like coconut and confidence. "You okay? You seem..."

"Nervous?" I finished for him. "Yeah. I've never played before. I just—"

"Me neither," he admitted, laughing. "My dad signed me up for these lessons. Said it's the 'it' sport now. Honestly? I'd rather be playing video games."

I blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. You want to just..." He gestured toward the bench. "Skip? There's this food truck outside. They have smoothies."

We sat on the curb while my hair frizzed in the humidity, Buster happily asleep in my lap (he'd somehow followed me here), sharing a spinach and mango smoothie with two straws. Chase had spinach in his teeth too. Neither of us said anything. Some things didn't need fixing.