Sweaty Palms at the Club

My palms were literally dripping as I walked onto the padel court at the Sunset Country Club. Mom and Dad had finally upgraded our membership this summer, which apparently meant I was now required to learn sports with names that sounded made up.

"You ready, Maya?" Tyler asked, his grin annoyingly perfect. He'd been going here since, like, birth. His family probably invented padel.

"So ready," I lied, wiping my hands on my skirt. The glass walls of the court reflected my awkward stance back at me.

Coach Maria demonstrated the basic swing while about twelve of us watched. The club's outdoor patio overlooked a decorative pond where three massive goldfish drifted through the water like they owned the place. I focused on them instead of my imminent humiliation.

"Your turn," Tyler said, tossing me a ball.

I missed. By a lot. The ball hit the glass and bounced into the pond. One of the goldfish – an orange beast the size of my forearm – swam near the surface, eyeing me judgmentally.

"My bad," I muttered.

"It's cool," Tyler said, but his friends were already giggling. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. This is why I preferred reading at home to country club social warfare.

Coach Maria clapped her hands. "Everyone starts somewhere. Maya, again."

I adjusted my grip on the racquet, pretended my sweaty palms were just part of the vibe, and actually hit the next ball over the net. Then I did it again. And again. Tyler stopped grinning like he knew something I didn't.

"Not bad," he said later, sitting beside me at the edge of the pond while the others played. "For a beginner."

"The goldfish was judging me," I admitted. "I felt it."

He laughed – a real one, not his performative country club laugh. "That's Carl. He's been judging my padel game since I was twelve. He's basically the club's unpaid life coach."

I looked at the fish, now floating near a giant palm tree that cast shadows across the water. "Carl the goldfish. Got it."

"Want to practice tomorrow?" Tyler asked, almost casually. "Before Coach gets here."

I looked at my palms – still damp, but now from excitement instead of terror. "Sure."

Maybe the club wouldn't be so bad after all. And maybe Carl and I would get along just fine.