Summer at the Padel Courts

Maya's summer gig at the country club was supposed to be easy money—serving drinks to rich kids who didn't know her name. But everything changed when Chase, the resident king of the **padel** courts, actually looked at her.

She'd been watching him all July from behind the snack bar counter, her **iPhone** hidden under a napkin, stealing glances whenever he smashed that yellow ball across the court. Chase with his stupid perfect hair and his laugh that made something in her chest do actual gymnastics.

"Hey, new girl," he'd said that Tuesday, swaggering up to her counter. "You gonna stand there all day or actually serve me?"

Her brain had short-circuited. "I—what?"

"Gatorade. Blue." He'd smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing to her heart rate. "And don't put too much ice. I'm not basic."

She'd managed to spill it on his shirt.

The absolute mortification still lived in her head rent-free. But somehow, that's what started it—Chase showing up at her counter every day, flirting badly, making her laugh until her ribs hurt. Until the night of the big **pool** party, when everything went sideways.

The popular crowd was there, of course. Tyler—everyone called him "**Bull**" behind his back because he charged through life like he owned it—had decided Maya was his territory now. His hand kept "accidentally" finding her waist, his breath hot against her ear, saying stuff that made her skin crawl.

"You know," Bull whispered, "Chase is just playing with you. But I'm real."

She'd frozen. Chase was across the deck, watching. Not doing anything. Just watching with this look she couldn't read.

"Get off me," she'd said, and her voice actually shook.

"Relax, I'm just—"

"She said get off."

Chase was there. Suddenly, right there, inserting himself between them with a casual ease that belied the tension in his shoulders. "She's not interested, Tyler. Back off."

The whole deck had gone quiet. Bull had sized Chase up, muttered "whatever," and disappeared into the crowd.

Chase had turned to her, all earlier swagger gone. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She'd swallowed hard. "Thanks."

"He's been a jerk since sixth grade." Chase had kicked at the deck boards. "I should've stepped in sooner."

"Why didn't you?"

"Honestly?" He'd looked up, and his eyes were stupidly earnest. "I was scared you liked him."

The laugh had burst out of her before she could stop it. "Bull? Seriously?"

"Hey, I don't know your type!" But he was grinning now, and something unspooled in her chest, warm and terrifying and exactly like what people wrote songs about.

They'd ended up sitting at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, talking until the party thinned out. Chase told her about his parents' divorce, his secret obsession with marine biology, how he took a **vitamin** D supplement because he never went outside anymore.

"So you're secretly a nerd,"

"Shh, don't tell anyone. My reputation depends on it."

"Your secret's safe with me," she'd said, and maybe she'd leaned into his shoulder a little. Maybe he hadn't pulled away.

Summer was ending soon. School would start, and everything would get complicated again—social hierarchies and expectations and the thousand ways they weren't supposed to fit. But right now, under the pool lights, Chase's knee pressing against hers, Maya thought maybe some things were worth the risk.

"Hey," he said softly. "Next padel tournament—you watching?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she said, and meant it.