Summer at the Edge

The summer before sophomore year, I spent every afternoon at the rec center, watching from the fence while the cool kids played padel on the courts behind the pool. Padel was like tennis met squash and had a popularity explosion — exactly the kind of thing I'd never tried because trying meant failing publicly.

My hair had been doing this weird frizzy thing since June, and I'd taken to wearing this ratty orange trucker hat I found in my brother's closet. It was ugly. It was perfect camouflage.

'You gonna stand there all summer or what?'

I almost jumped out of my skin. Maya from my history class was standing there, padel racket in hand, sweat making her bangs stick to her forehead. 'We need a fourth. Lucas ditched.' She nodded toward the court. 'You in?'

'I don't — I've never —' I stammered.

'Running away already?' She grinned, and something about her tone made me realize she wasn't making fun of me. She was actually asking.

So I said yes, and my hands shook gripping that unfamiliar racket, and I missed probably seventy percent of the balls, but when I finally connected with one — a perfect shot that sailed over the net and landed exactly where I'd aimed — Maya high-fived me so hard my palm stung afterward.

Later, legs dangling in the pool while the sun painted everything gold, I took off the orange hat. My hair was still frizzy. Maya didn't seem to notice.

'Tomorrow?' she asked.

'Tomorrow,' I said.

Some summers are about becoming someone new. This one was about finally being okay with who I'd been all along.