Summer of Reinvention

Marcus deleted TikTok from his iphone for the third time that morning. His feed was somehow still showing him those same lean, athletic guys at the padel club—perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect everything. Meanwhile, he was sitting on his bedroom floor in yesterday's shirt while his golden retriever, Buster, licked an empty Dorito bag with concerning enthusiasm.

"You're living your best life, huh?" Marcus sighed, scratching behind Buster's ears. The dog's tail thumped against the floor like a metronome set to 'zero chill.'

His phone buzzed. Another group chat notification. The padel crew was meeting at the courts at 4. This was it—his chance to finally break into Skylar's orbit after two years of being that quiet guy in chem who sometimes laughed at their jokes. The problem: Marcus had never played padel in his life. He'd played tennis exactly once, in seventh grade PE, and spent most of that lesson trying to look busy while tying his shoes.

He grabbed his backpack. Inside: a racket he'd bought secondhand (still had someone else's initial sharpied on the handle), sunglasses he hoped made him look mysterious instead of suspicious, and a bottle of gummy vitamins his mom swore would "help with growth." He was seventeen. The ship had sailed on growth spurts. But he figured fake confidence was better than no confidence.

At the courts, Skylar waved him over. "Marcus! You made it."

"Wouldn't miss it," he said, voice cracking slightly. Smooth.

They paired off for doubles. Marcus's partner turned out to be this girl named Zara who kept making these questionable wheeze-laughs and couldn't serve to save her life. But somewhere between the fourth missed shot and Zara's commentary about how the ball sounded like it was being murdered, Marcus realized he was actually having fun. Like, for real laughing, not performing-laughing.

When his phone slid out of his pocket during a rally, nobody cared. Zara just called, "Left pocket!" and kept playing.

Afterward, Skylar suggested they all grab boba. Marcus waited until he was safely at his locker before checking his phone—thirty-two notifications, mostly from Buster-cam (his mom's invention). But there was also a text from Zara: same time tomorrow?

He grinned. So what if his vitamin gummies were shaped like dinosaurs. Some things didn't need reinventing. They just needed the right court.