Sweaty Palms on Court Three

The country club's palm trees cast long shadows across the padel court as Maya adjusted her grip on the racket. Her palms were sweating — gross, but whatever. This wasn't even about the sport anymore.

"You're overthinking it," Leo said, bouncing the ball against the glass wall. He'd been her friend since sixth grade, back when friendship bracelets were actually cool and not something you ironically bought at Claire's.

"I'm not overthinking," Maya lied. She was definitely overthinking. Leo's cousin Sam was watching from the sidelines, looking unfairly good in that effortless way that made Maya's brain short-circuit. Sam had transferred here last month and somehow already had the whole cafeteria vibe figured out.

Leo served. The ball hit the padel racket with a satisfying *thwack* and ricocheted off the back wall. Maya lunged for it, missing completely and nearly face-planting on the court.

"Smooth," Sam called out, laughing. But not in a mean way. In a way that made Maya's stomach do that weird fluttery thing.

"Shut up," she muttered, wiping her sweaty palms on her shorts. Why did her body have to betray her like this?

"Want me to show you the proper backhand?" Sam walked onto the court, suddenly way closer than Maya had prepared for. Up close, Sam smelled like coconut sunscreen and something expensive.

Maya nodded, unable to form actual words. Sam's hand covered hers on the racket handle, guiding her arm back. "Relax your grip. You're too tense."

*You think?* Maya wanted to say. Instead she managed, "Oh. Okay."

From across the court, Leo mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "you're welcome." Because that's what best friends did — they set you up and then teased you about it forever.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in streaks of pink and orange. The palm trees swayed in the breeze, and for once, Maya's palms stopped sweating. Maybe country club summers weren't so bad after all.