Spinach Teeth & Second Serves

Maya felt like a zombie. Three hours of sleep, two AP history tests, and now here she stood at the country club, gripping a padel racquet like it was a weapon she didn't know how to use. Her mom had signed her up for lessons because "social sports build character," whatever that meant.

"You got a little... thing," said Leo, the cute guy from her pre-calc class, gesturing vaguely at his own teeth.

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd had that spinach smoothie for breakfast. The one her nutrition-obsessed aunt swore would "clear her skin" and "sharpen her focus." So far it had done neither, unless you counted focusing on how much she wanted to die.

"Oh my god," Maya whispered, turning away. "Thanks."

"No worries, happens to everyone," Leo said, already turning back to his conversation with the effortlessly cool girls who somehow didn't sweat through their pastel polos.

Her internal monologue was screaming. This was it. This was her peak humiliation moment. She would change her name and move to Wyoming.

But then—something weird happened. Leo looked back at her, actually looked at her, and grinned. "Hey, you play? We need a fourth for doubles."

Maya blinked. "What? I've literally never held this thing before today."

"Perfect," Leo said. "Neither have they." He nodded at the cool girls. "We're all terrible. It's more fun that way."

And somehow, between botched serves and overhand smashes that went into the net more often than over it, Maya forgot about being a sleep-deprived, spinach-toothed zombie. She laughed so hard her sides hurt. Leo's high-five when she finally returned one properly felt like winning the lottery.

Later, as she wiped her face with a towel, her phone buzzed. A text from Leo: you gonna come back next week?

Maya smiled, typing back: if there's no spinach involved.

The dots bounced, then: deal. bring chips instead

Maybe being a mess wasn't the worst thing in the world. Maybe it was just called being sixteen.