Sweaty Palms and Second Serves

My first mistake was letting Maya talk me into padel camp. "It's basically tennis but cooler," she'd said, breezing through the mall food court with her iced matcha like she owned the place. "Plus, Jake's gonna be there."

That was the problem. Jake Evans, who sat two rows behind me in AP Bio and somehow made breathing look athletic. I'd been lowkey obsessed since he'd helped me pick up my dropped folders in September, his hand brushing mine for approximately 0.3 seconds that I'd replayed in my head approximately 500 times.

Now here I was, standing on a court in 90-degree heat, my padel racket feeling like a foreign object. My palms were sweating so much I could barely grip the handle. Around me, everyone else looked like they'd stepped out of a sports commercial — flowing movements, casual laughter, actual athletic ability.

"You good, Chloe?" Jake called from across the net. He'd removed his hoodie (of course he'd worn a hoodie in July) and his arms were honestly distracting.

"Yeah! Totally good!" I chirped, voice cracking slightly. Goodbye, dignity.

The coach blew his whistle. "Pair up for drills!"

Jake jogged over. "Wanna be partners?"

My brain short-circuited. "Sure!"

We started hitting the ball back and forth, and somehow I was actually not terrible? I even managed a solid shot down the line.

"Nice!" Jake grinned, holding up his palm for a high-five. I slapped it, trying to look chill while internally screaming.

Then came the conditioning — running laps around the courts. My legs felt like jelly, my chest burned, but Jake kept pace beside me, breathing steadily like this was nothing.

"So," he said between breaths, "Maya said you're into photography?"

I nearly tripped. "Yeah? I mean, yeah. Kinda."

"That's sick. I've been wanting to learn. Maybe you could show me some stuff sometime?"

We'd stopped running, both of us bent over catching our breath. I looked up to find him actually smiling at me — not polite customer service smiling, but like, actually smiling.

"Yeah," I said, my own palm suddenly not sweaty at all but tingling with possibility. "I'd like that."