Spinach Smile at Match Point

The padel racket felt slippery in my sweaty palms. Tryouts. First day at Crestwood High. My heartbeat echoed like a bass drop at a homecoming I'd never been invited to.

"Yo, you gonna serve or what?" Jake Morrison leaned against the mesh fence, his crew of varsity-jacket clones chuckling behind him. The bull of the sophomore class, apparently. I'd been warned about him during third period by Maya, who'd saved me a seat in AP Bio and accidentally become my first friend.

I forced myself to breathe. Just hit the ball, Leo. That's it.

My phone buzzed in my bag. Mom again. She'd packed me this "healthy" lunch with spinach wraps that smelled like a garden had died in my backpack. The spinach had been stuck in my braces all through fourth period English, and nobody—NOBODY—had told me. I'd spent twenty minutes smiling at people with green crap wedged in my teeth like some kind of undead vegetable monster. A literal zombie with better social skills than me.

"Hello? Earth to new kid?" Jake's voice cut through my spiral.

I bounced the ball once. Twice. Served.

It sailed over the net, dropped perfectly inside the line. Jake's eyebrows shot up.

"Not bad," he admitted, actually impressed. "You play before?"

"Back at my old school," I said, surprising myself. "My dad's obsessed with padel. It's kinda his thing."

My braces caught the light when I smiled. No spinach this time.

"We need a fourth for our crew," Jake said, nodding toward the court. "Tryouts end Friday. Show up tomorrow."

Walking home, I pulled out my phone. Texted Mom: *Lunch was gross. But thanks for caring.*

Behind me, the school disappeared into the autumn haze. Tomorrow I'd show up with my racket, try out again, and probably still say something awkward. But maybe—just maybe—I'd found my place. Or at least, a start.

My phone buzzed again. Maya: *How'd it go??*

I grinned and typed back. Turns out, being the new kid wasn't so terrifying after all. Even with spinach in your braces.