Sweaty Palms & Padel Courts

Leo's palms were sweating. Again. He wiped them on his shorts — third time in two minutes — and gripped the padel racket like his life depended on it.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he'd been born holding a racquet.

"Yeah. Just... warming up." Leo's voice cracked. Great.

The truth was, Leo didn't give a single crap about padel. He'd joined the club for one reason: Maya. Since eighth grade, he'd been basically a low-key spy, watching from the library windows while she dominated these courts every Tuesday after school. Her ponytail swinging, her laugh carrying across the parking lot, the way she high-fived her teammates after every point.

Now here he was, a sophomore who'd never held a racquet in his life, pretending he belonged.

"Service!" Maya called out from across the net. She looked different up close — more real, less like some distant goddess he'd constructed in his head. She had a tiny Band-Aid on her chin and her knees were scraped.

Leo missed the ball completely. It bounced pathetically off his shoe.

The whole court went quiet.

His face burned. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and for a second he considered just walking out. Let them think whatever. This had been a mistake anyway —

"Your grip's too tight," Maya said, walking to the net. She didn't laugh. "You're overthinking it. Loosen up."

She demonstrated, her movements fluid and easy. "Like this. It's just a game, not the SATs."

Leo tried again. This time, the ball actually connected with the racquet. It sailed over the net — barely — and dropped in bounds.

"There you go!" Maya grinned. "Not bad for a rookie."

By the end of practice, Leo was terrible, objectively. But his palms had stopped sweating. And when Maya texted him that night — same group chat, nothing special — he smiled at his phone like the total cliché he was.

Some spy operation he'd turned out to be. But maybe that was okay. Maybe being seen — even as the awkward new kid who couldn't hit a backhand to save his life — was better than watching from afar.

Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.