Summer Smash at Sunset Beach

Maya gripped the **padel** racquet like her life depended on it, which honestly, felt like the case when Connor—the hottest guy at Sunset Beach Resort—was watching from the fence.

"Your form's trash, but you've got potential," bear-sized Coach Ramos grunted, adjusting the **cable** fence that rattled every time someone slammed a ball against it.

Maya's summer had been one disaster after another. First, she'd accidentally ordered a **papaya** smoothie instead of strawberry, and everyone at the pool saw her gag. Then her parents forced her into social "activities" to help her "come out of her shell." As if shells were something you just shed.

The heat on the outdoor court was brutal. Maya gulped **water** from her bottle, sweating through her pastel-blue tank top. Why did teen movies make summer look so effortless? Real summer meant frizz, sweat stains, and humiliating yourself in front of crushes.

"Watch my swing," Connor said, suddenly beside her. His voice cracked halfway through.

Maya nearly died. Of all times for his voice to break.

She took a deep breath and swung. The ball sailed past Connor, landed directly in a **water** fountain nearby, and splashed a random sunbather.

"Nice arm," said the sunbather, who turned out to be some girl's grandpa.

Everyone stared.

But then Connor laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actually laughed.

"Yo, that was legendary," he said. "I'm Connor, by the way."

"Maya," she managed, her heart doing something embarrassing.

"Wanna play mixed doubles tomorrow?" Coach Ramos called from his chair. "Maya and Connor versus the grandkids who own this place."

"They're literally twelve," Connor whispered. "We could actually win."

Maya smiled, forgetting about her papaya incident, the humidity frizzing her hair, and how badly she'd wanted to disappear twenty minutes ago.

"I'm in," she said.

And just like that, summer didn't feel so impossible anymore.