Surface Tension

Maya gripped her padel racquet until her knuckles turned white, which was impressive considering she'd spent the last twenty minutes scrolling through her iPhone, refreshing the same three posts like her life depended on it.

"Dude, you gonna serve or what?"

Ethan. The bull himself, all broad shoulders and easy confidence, like he'd never had a single insecure thought in his entire sixteen years.

"Yeah, yeah, chill," she said, but her voice betrayed her.

The water bottle in her bag mocked her. She'd been so nervous about today — first time playing with the popular kids, courtesy of her mom's new job and sudden membership to this bougie-ass club — that she'd barely eaten all morning.

Her phone buzzed.

@queen_jordan commented: "lol who invited her💀"

Her stomach dropped. Jordan — Ethan's ex-girlfriend, actual royalty of the sophomore class — sat on the sidelines with her flock, watching like hawks spotting prey.

Maya's hands shook. She could fake it. She could posturing-through-it like she always did, armor herself in sarcasm and indifference and whatever persona she'd curated that week. But god, she was so tired of performing.

"Hey."

She looked up. Jordan had walked over, standing way too close.

"Your form's trash," Jordan said flatly.

Maya opened her mouth to snap back, but Jordan continued: "But your backhand's fire though. You play before?"

"What?"

"At the Y. My dad coaches there sometimes. You gonna finish this game or what?"

Jordan tossed her a fresh water bottle from the cooler.

"Also, your story from yesterday? That meme about teachers assigning homework over break? Actually hilarious. Like, don't even get me started."

Maya blinked.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever. Serve the ball, new girl."

Maya's grip on the racquet relaxed. The water was cold against her palm. For the first time all day, she didn't feel like she was drowning.

She tossed the ball up and swung.

Game on.