Sweaty Palms & Padel Courts

The sweat pooling in my palms had nothing to do with the ninety-degree heat or the fact that I'd been playing padel for forty-five minutes straight. No, it was definitely because Leo was watching me from the bench, and I was about to humiliate myself in front of my crush and half the sophomore class.

"You got this, Maya!" yelled Jordan, my best friend since kindergarten and current worst enemy. Jordan, who had convinced me to join the padel tournament despite knowing I have the hand-eye coordination of a drunk toddler. Jordan, whose perfectly messy bun and effortless athletic ability made everything look easy while I was over here choking on my own hair—which had somehow escaped its braid and was now plastered to my forehead.

I glared at Jordan before turning back to face the court. The ball came flying at me, and I swung the racket like my life depended on it. Totally missed. The ball hit the fence behind me with a pathetic thud.

"Nice swing, Eleanor Rigby," Leo called out. He was grinning. He was actually grinning at me.

My brain short-circuited. Had he just made a Beatles reference? Was he flirting? Was I dreaming?

"What?" I yelled back, my voice cracking like I was still in middle school.

"Your hair," he said, gesturing to his own head. "You look like you've been through a hurricane. It's badass."

My hand went to my hair instinctively. I probably looked like a hot mess—frizzy, sweaty, with strands going every direction. But he called it badass?

"Thanks?" I said, making it sound like a question.

Jordan appeared beside me, looking way too pleased with themselves. "Told you you should try out for the team. You've got raw talent."

"I literally just whiffed the ball," I deadpanned.

"Details," Jordan waved a hand dismissively. "Leo doesn't care about your mad padel skills. He's been watching you all day."

My palms got even sweatier. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying," Jordan lowered their voice, "someone should probably go talk to him. Maybe someone who should definitely fix their hair first, but still."

I looked at Leo, who was now chatting with his friends but kept glancing over. The palm trees swayed lazily behind the courts, their fronds catching the golden afternoon light. My heart was doing something weird and fluttery, and for the first time all day, the sweat in my palms had absolutely nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, being a disaster on the padel court wasn't the worst thing that could happen.