Summer of Second Serves

The vitamin gummies tasted like artificial grape and desperation. Maya stood at the edge of the padel court, her borrowed racket feeling like a foreign object in her sweating palm. This was what it took now — this weird hybrid tennis-squash thing that everyone at Northwood High was suddenly obsessed with. Her mom had bought her a bottle of gummy vitamins yesterday, "for energy," but Maya knew the truth. She was trying too hard.

"You coming or what?" Jason called from the baseline, iPhone in hand, probably recording his serve for TikTok. Of course he was.

The water bottle in Maya's other hand had condensation dripping down her fingers, making everything slippery. Perfect. Just perfect.

She'd been running from this moment all summer. Literally running — morning jogs around the neighborhood that her dad said would "clear her head" but mostly just made her legs hurt and her lungs burn. Metaphorically running too — dodging texts, making excuses, pretending that caring about whether Jason Rivera thought she was cool was somehow beneath her.

It wasn't beneath her. She wanted it so bad it made her teeth hurt.

The vitamin gummies hadn't helped. The running hadn't helped. The TikTok tutorials she'd watched at 2 AM hadn't helped. Here she was, about to embarrass herself in front of everyone, surrounded by girls who'd been playing padel since before it was cool.

Maya stepped onto the court. The glass walls created this weird echo chamber effect, amplifying every squeak of her sneakers, every breath that came too fast. Someone's phone pinged. Someone laughed. The world narrowed down to this: a small rubber ball, a glass wall, and Jason waiting for her to serve.

Her first serve hit the net.

"Nice form," someone said, and it wasn't mean. It wasn't mean at all.

Maya looked up. Jason wasn't recording anymore. He was just watching her, like he was actually waiting for her next shot.

She took a breath. She let the water bottle drop to the sidelines. She served again.

This time, it went over.