Spinach Teeth & Padel Dreams

Maya's heart was doing that thing—like a trapped **cat** in her chest—as she checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. The **orange** tank top she'd spent thirty minutes choosing was finally perfect. Not trying too hard, but definitely trying.

"You're going to Jake's **padel** thing, right?" her little brother Toby called from the living room. "His parents are gonna be SO chill about it."

Maya grabbed her phone. Fifteen texts from her best friend Sierra:

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING

I CAN'T BELIEVE HE INVITED YOU FIRST

DON'T SCREW THIS UP

The **goldfish** situation hadn't helped her confidence. Yesterday, during her shift at Pet Paradise, she'd accidentally dropped entire food flakes into the wrong tank. Now thirty fish were probably having the best day of their lives, while she died inside.

She arrived at the recreation center to find Jake already on the court, his dark curls damp with sweat. He waved—actually waved—and Maya's stomach did something illegal.

"You play?" he asked, tossing her a racket.

"Oh, totally," she lied. "I'm basically a pro."

She wasn't.

Twenty minutes later, Maya had hit the ball into the net six times, tripped over her own feet twice, and created a new move where she somehow hit herself in the shin with the racket. Jake, to his credit, was pretending not to notice.

"My treat," he said afterward, gesturing to the snack bar. "For almost winning."

They sat at a picnic table with smoothies. Maya was mid-sentence about her "love" for padel (trying to sell the lie) when Jake started laughing. Not just laughing—full-on cracking up.

"What?"

"Your teeth," he managed. "You've got..." He gestured vaguely at his own smile.

Maya's blood ran cold. She excused herself, sprinted to the bathroom, and stared into the mirror. Massive, offensive chunks of **spinach** from her earlier salad were wedged between her front teeth like green glory.

She'd been talking to Jake for twenty minutes. With spinach teeth.

She returned to the table prepared to move to another country. But Jake was still sitting there, scrolling on his phone like he wasn't going anywhere.

"All clean?" He looked up, grinning. "Good, because I was going to say—it's kind of cute that you're terrible at padel but act like you're not."

Maya's face burned, but something shifted. The **cat** in her chest settled. Maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to be perfect.

"I'm worse than terrible," she said. "I'm an embarrassment to the sport."

"Same," Jake said. "I made my brother teach me for like a week before this because I didn't want to look stupid in front of you."

Maya laughed so hard her smoothie came out her nose.

Definitely not her finest moment. But somehow, it was perfect anyway.