Spinach Teeth & Backhand Betrayal

The padel court smelled like old rubber and teenage desperation. I adjusted my grip on the borrowed racket, suddenly aware that everyone was watching—especially Jordan, whose hair defied physics in this humidity.

"You got this, fox," Jordan winked, using the nickname that stuck after I'd cunningly avoided gym class for three weeks straight.

I nodded, trying to look confident while internally spiraling. This was supposed to be easy. Join the club. Impress the crush. Avoid making a fool of myself. Simple.

The ball came flying at me. I swung.

My racket connected with nothing but air as I stumbled forward, nearly faceplanting on the court. Jordan's friends snickered. I laughed too, because what else could I do? That's when I tasted it—spinach. From the smoothie I'd chugged earlier for "energy." I'd been walking around with green stuff in my teeth this whole time.

"Yo, you got something—" Jordan started, gesturing to their own smile.

My face burned. I mumbled something about getting water and practically sprinted to the fountain, but the water pressure was basically a polite suggestion. I ended up splashing it on my face like a desperate contestant in a beauty pageant.

That's when I saw it: an actual fox, trotting along the fence line like it owned the place. It paused, looked at me with eyes that said, "Damn, you're having a rough day," and kept moving.

I wiped my face, checked my teeth in my phone camera—all clear—and walked back.

"You good?" Jordan asked, actually concerned.

"Yeah," I said, and then I did something brave. "That was embarrassing. Want to teach me how to not suck at this?"

Jordan's grin was genuine. "Absolutely. But first—" they pointed at their teeth again—"check your smile. There's a little—"

I checked. Still nothing.

"Gotcha," Jordan laughed.

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Some days you miss the ball. Some days you have spinach in your teeth. And sometimes, just sometimes, that's exactly how things are supposed to start.