Sweaty Palms and Second Sets

Maya's palms were literally dripping onto her paddle grip. Gross. The new kid Kai stood across the net, looking effortless in his mismatched socks and that vintage Lakers jersey everyone had been talking about.

"You ready?" he called, spinning his racquet like it was nothing.

"Yeah," Maya lied. Her best friend Chloe had ditched her for Tyler's padel lesson, and now Maya was stuck partnering with the transfer student who'd somehow already become kind of a legend.

Her golden retriever, Barnaby, stretched on the bench nearby, completely unbothered by Maya's internal spiral. Her dad had dropped him off on his way to work, because apparently Maya needed "emotional support" for what was supposed to be a casual hang at the rec center.

First point served. Maya whiffed.

"My bad," she muttered, face burning.

"No worries," Kai said, but she saw it—that tiny cringe everyone tried to hide when someone embarrassed themselves.

But then Barnaby decided to chase a ball that rolled onto the court, barking like he'd just won Wimbledon. Kai started cracking up, actually doubled over, and suddenly Maya was laughing too because it WAS ridiculous, her dog interrupting like he owned the place.

"That's Barnaby," she said. "Professional court disruption specialist."

"Respect," Kai said.

Something shifted. They played three more sets, Maya actually landing some shots, and Kai kept making these stupid jokes that weren't even trying to be cool. By the time her dad showed up to collect Barnaby, Maya's palms weren't sweating anymore.

"Same time next week?" Kai asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Yeah," Maya said. And this time, she wasn't lying.