Sweaty Palms and Sweet Sets

Maya's palms were literally dripping onto her padel racket. Again.

"You good, Maya?" Jordan called from the other side of the court, flipping his perfect hair that somehow stayed perfect even after three sets.

"Yeah, just... warming up," she lied. Her phone buzzed in her bag — probably another group chat blow-up about who was sitting with whom at lunch tomorrow. Padel was supposed to be her thing this semester, the way to finally infiltrate the popular crowd that Jordan orbited like he owned the gravitational pull.

But here's the thing: Maya sucked at padel. Like, genuinely terrible. The ball hit her racket and somehow ended up in the next zip code.

Game point. Jordan served. The ball came at her. She swung—

And nailed it perfectly. A perfect cross-court winner that landed exactly on the line.

"No freaking way," Jordan said, actually impressed for once. "Since when do you have game?"

"Since now," Maya said, feeling something shift in her chest. Maybe it wasn't about infiltrating anything. Maybe she was just allowed to be good at things.

After practice, she took the shortcut behind the courts where the stray cat lived. The calico she'd named Paddle (yes, it was a terrible pun, no, she didn't care) appeared like clockwork, weaving between her legs and demanding tribute in the form of the protein bar she'd brought.

"You're the only one who doesn't expect me to be cool," Maya told the cat, scratching behind its ears. "You just want food. Respect."

Paddle purred like a tiny engine, head-butting her hand. Maya's phone buzzed again. Another group chat drama.

She ignored it.

Jordan appeared at the corner of the court, doing that thing where he acted casual but was obviously checking if she was still there. "Hey, you want to—" He stopped. "Is that a cat?"

"His name is Paddle," Maya said, daring him to laugh.

Jordan didn't laugh. He sat down beside her, letting the cat inspect his shoes. "My sister used to bring home strays. My mom freaked every time."

"Same," Maya said. And just like that, the weird nervous energy that always lived in her palms whenever Jordan was around dissipated. They sat there while Paddle demanded pets from both of them, and Maya realized she'd been playing it wrong the whole time.

Not the game. The social part.

She didn't have to perform or pretend or force her way into anything. She could just suck at padel and rescue cats and somehow that was enough.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jordan asked, standing up.

"Maybe," Maya said, and for the first time, her palms were dry.