Summer Serve

The vitamin C supplement sat on my tongue like a tiny white lie—one of those wellness things my mom swore would boost my immune system but actually just tasted like regret. I swallowed it dry, watching the padel courts through the windshield.

"You'll be fine, Maya," Mom said, reading my panic like a text message she'd already screenshotted. "Just be yourself."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the new girl walking into a summer league where everyone already knew each other's middle names and Spotify playlists.

The Florida heat hit me like a wall of wet air. Palm trees swayed in the background, casting these long, dramatic shadows across the court like they were trying way too hard to set a mood. I adjusted my skirt—why did I buy the neon pink one again?—and walked toward where a group of kids my age was stretching.

"You joining?" A guy with curly hair and dimples that should be illegal looked up from tying his shoes. "I'm Caleb."

"Maya." I tried to sound chill, like I hadn't practiced saying my name in the mirror three times that morning.

Cool kids by the fence were discussing something intensely, their energy sharp and exclusive. I wanted to be over there. Instead, I was here, about to embarrass myself in front of the guy with dimples.

"You ever play padel?" Caleb asked.

"Literally never." The honesty slipped out before I could filter it. "But I'm lowkey athletic? I think?"

He laughed, and something in my chest did this little lightning-strike thing. Not dramatic lightning, more like the tiny spark when you touch something after walking across carpet.

Weird timing, because actual storm clouds were rolling in. The air felt electric, that heavy Florida pre-rain atmosphere that makes everyone slightly manic.

"I'll teach you." Caleb tossed me a racquet. "It's like tennis but less formal. More hitting things against walls."

First hit went directly into the net. Second hit ricocheted off the glass wall and nearly took out someone's coconut water.

"Progress," Caleb said, deadpan.

But then something clicked. The rhythm, the sound of the ball, the way my body moved when I stopped overthinking it. I hit a solid forehand that sailed perfectly into Caleb's backhand corner.

"Okay, who ARE you?" He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "You're literally good at this."

The storm broke just as we finished—thunder rumbling, real lightning cracking the sky purple. Everyone scattered toward the covered area, and suddenly we were all shoulder to shoulder, squeezed together like we'd been friends forever.

"Tomorrow?" Caleb asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Tomorrow." I smiled, and for the first time all summer, I didn't feel like I was faking it.

The vitamin C could wait. I'd found something better.