Sweaty Palms and Second Chances

Maya's palms were sweating through her grip on the padel racket. Again. This was exactly why she'd vowed never to step onto a court after seventh grade gym class humiliation, but here she was, letting Lila talk her into the resort's teen tournament because "it's literally just for fun, Maya, you're so dramatic."

Her dad had insisted she take her vitamin D supplement that morning, his latest obsession after discovering the family was "shockingly deficient." Now, stuck in the blinding Mexican sun, Maya wondered if that was some kind of cosmic joke.

Across the net, Jake adjusted his backwards hat—the same one he'd worn every day since sixth grade, through his skate phase, his emo phase, and now his whatever-cool-kids-did-this-week phase. Maya had had a crush on him since they'd been assigned as lab partners in October, but they'd barely spoken since. Her stomach did that weird fluttery thing whenever he caught her eye, which was approximately never.

"Game point!" someone shouted, snapping Maya back to reality. Lila smashed the ball, it bounced off the fence, and somehow—SOMEHOW—Maya's racket connected. The ball sailed past Jake's outstretched arm, landing just inside the line.

They won. Actually won.

Jake high-fived her. His palm was warm and slightly calloused. "Nice shot," he said, actually looking at her this time. "You've got a killer backhand."

Later, as they sat by the pool sharing an overpriced smoothie, Maya's phone buzzed. Her dad: Did you take your vitamins today?

She typed back: Yes dad. Then deleted it and typed: Yes. Also, I made a friend.

She looked at Jake, who was now explaining why he'd never watched a single Marvel movie, and realized her palms weren't sweating anymore. Sometimes the scariest choices turned out to be the best ones. Even if they involved sports and social interaction and confronting literally every anxiety she'd ever had.

Tomorrow she'd probably regret the sunburn. But right now, this was exactly where she wanted to be.