Summer's Curveball

Marcus's life was basically baseball—practices at dawn, travel tournaments on weekends, and a glove that practically lived on his hand. So when his best friend Tyrell dragged him to the new padel courts at the rec center, Marcus was like, hard pass. But Tyrell was persistent, and Marcus was desperate to escape his dad's constant lecture about his batting slump.

"It's basically tennis meets squash, but chill," Tyrell said, tossing him a racquet with way too many holes in it. "Besides, Jenna's playing with her friend today."

Marcus perked up. Jenna from AP Chem? The one he'd been lowkey staring at since September? Suddenly padel didn't seem so lame.

The court was smaller than he expected, and the ball didn't bounce like a baseball. Marcus swung like he was at bat and completely whiffed, the ball sailing past him while Jenna and her friend watched. His face burned. This was worse than striking out with bases loaded.

"You're swinging like it's going out of style," Jenna called out, laughing. "Try wrist action, not shoulder action."

Her friend Maya rolled her eyes but demonstrated the proper motion. Marcus tried again, and this time—contact! He even managed to hit the ball into the service box. They played for hours, Marcus improving gradually, Jenna giving actual helpful tips instead of just watching him fail.

Afterward, the four of them hit the community pool, diving into the cool water while the summer sun blazed overhead. Marcus and Tyrell raced to see who could reach the deep end first, and Marcus actually won for once. Maybe this whole cross-training thing wasn't so bad.

"So," Jenna said later, when they were hanging by the pool edge, legs submerged. "You coming back tomorrow?" She smiled like she actually wanted him to say yes.

"Yeah," Marcus found himself grinning. "But I'm bringing my A-game."

"Whatever you say, Baseball Boy," she teased. But she didn't move away from him in the water.

That night, Marcus texted Tyrell: padel wasn't terrible. His baseball glove sat by the door, but tomorrow he'd grab the padel racquet first. Sometimes the best curveballs aren't the ones you see coming at home plate—they're the ones life throws when you're not even looking.