Storm Court Secrets

I'd been spying on him for two weeks before I got caught.

It wasn't creepy—okay, maybe a little. But Leo played padel every Tuesday and Thursday at the courts behind the community center, and my bedroom window had a perfect view of Court Three. I'd started recognizing his serve routine: three bounces, a spin of the racket, that little nose-scrunch thing he did right before he smashed the ball.

Today was different though. Today, I'd promised myself I'd actually talk to him instead of just watching from behind my floral curtains like some low-budget detective.

"You're being ridiculous," I whispered to my reflection, smoothing my skirt for the tenth time. My phone buzzed—Mia asking where I was. Practice started in twenty minutes, and I was standing in my bedroom having a full-blown existential crisis.

Thunder rumbled outside. Perfect. The weather matched my internal chaos.

I grabbed my racket—the one I hadn't used since last summer's disastrous tournament—and bolted out the door. The sky was already that weird greenish-gray color that meant serious weather was coming. By the time I reached the courts, the first distant crack of lightning split the sky.

Leo was alone, packing up his gear. "Hey!" I called out, before I could lose my nerve. "You need a partner?"

He turned, and his face did that thing where he looked confused but also—was I imagining this?—kind of pleased. "I was just leaving, actually. Storm's coming in."

"Right, obviously." I gestured vaguely at the sky like I was a meteorologist. "Just wanted to say, you're really good. I see you play. Sometimes. From my window. Not in a weird way."

I wanted to evaporate. Right there. Just become one with the pavement.

But Leo laughed, and it was this real, genuine sound that made something in my chest do backflips. "I've seen you too. You're the girl who almost hit that squirrel with that serve last month."

"That was ONE TIME," I protested, but I was grinning. "And the squirrel totally lived."

Another lightning flash, closer this time. The air smelled like ozone and impending chaos.

"We should play sometime," Leo said, shouldering his bag. "You know, when there's not a literal storm trying to kill us."

"Yeah," I said, feeling lightheaded in the best possible way. "I'd like that."

As I walked home in the first drops of rain, I realized something: sometimes the scariest things—like talking to your crush or admitting you've been semi-stalking them from your window—could turn into something amazing. Also, I definitely needed to work on my serve.

The real spy game wasn't about watching from the sidelines. It was about being brave enough to get in the game.