Storm Warning at the Courts

The sky turned that ominous shade of green-gray that everyone in Oak Creek knew meant trouble. But for once, I wasn't worried about my baseball game getting rained out—I was terrified about looking like an absolute idiot in front of Maya.

"You've got this," she said, handing me a padel racquet like she'd done it a million times. "It's basically tennis meets squash, but cooler."

"Sure," I managed, because apparently that's all my brain could produce when Maya Santos stood two feet from me, wearing that jacket with the paint splatters from art club.

The truth? I'd never played padel in my life. But when I'd overheard her talking about it at lunch, I'd casually mentioned I'd "played a bunch"—because that's what you do when you're a freshman trying too hard. Now here I was, at the outdoor courts with my baseball cut-off and zero padel experience, praying nobody would notice I was faking it.

Then came the first rumble of thunder. Like, actual ominous doom-thunder.

"We should probably head back," I said, trying to sound chill but mostly wanting to escape before my padel incompetence was exposed.

Maya looked up. "Five more minutes. The cable's out at my house anyway, so I can't even doom-scroll through the storm."

"The cable's—wait, your WiFi's down too?"

"It's connected somehow, don't ask me to explain physics. My brother's been complaining for hours." She smirked. "Scared of a little rain, baseball boy?"

Something about the way she said it—half teasing, half challenging. Like she actually wanted to stay.

We kept hitting. And okay, padel was actually kind of sick. The ball had this satisfying pop off the walls, and the court was smaller than tennis so you could actually have conversations while playing. Maya laughed when I accidentally smashed a ball into the fence, and when she returned my serve with this insane backhand, I might have forgotten to breathe for a second.

Then the sky split open—literally.

A jagged bolt of lightning flashed so bright everything went white for a full second. The thunder was instant, a crack that shook the ground beneath our sneakers.

"Okay, THAT was close," Maya yelled, already grabbing her bag.

We ran for the covered area by the parking lot, rain soaking our shirts before we made it. Safe under the shelter, both of us dripping wet and breathing hard from the sprint, Maya turned to me with this huge grin.

"So," she said, squeezing water from her hair. "Same time next Tuesday? Unless you're busy with baseball."

Lightning flashed again, less scary now. "Baseball can wait," I said, and it felt like the first true thing I'd said all afternoon.