Summer of First Places

My phone was at 4% when I reached the **padel** courts, the Charging **cable** hopelessly tangled at the bottom of my beach bag. Typical. The one day Leo finally noticed me existed, and my lifeline to social sanity was about to die.

"You coming?" He stood by the net, **palm** tree shadow cutting across his ridiculous perfectly-messy hair. Maya was already there, laughing at something he said, her orange bikini somehow making my Target one-piece feel like a personal failure.

I'd spent all summer third-wheeling them, watching their romance unfold like every predictable teen movie ever. The **goldfish** memory I'd developed about my own worth — you know, forgetting I had any the second someone better came along.

"Yeah! Just..." I faked checking my phone. "Gotta text my mom real quick."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Maya's mom's picking us up after for bubble tea. You in?"

Third place. Again. Always the afterthought, the backup plan, the friend who fills out the trio but never stars in the duo.

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was finally being tired of my own cowardice.

"Actually," I said, voice somehow steady, "I'm good. Think I'll hit the beach instead."

Leo blinked, surprised. "Oh. Cool. You sure?"

"Yeah." I straightened my spine. "I promised my brother I'd teach him to surf. He's been begging all summer."

Lie. Absolute lie. My brother was twelve and thought surfing was "cringe."

But as I walked toward the water, phone finally dead, no longer a safety net between me and whatever terrifying thing came next, I felt something shift. The ocean looked huge and scary and completely mine.

First place feels lonely, but at least it's real.