Sweaty Palms & Second Serves

The palm of my hand wouldn't stop sweating against my padel racket. Three courts over, Skylar was laughing at something Jake said—probably his terrible baseball stories from travel league. I adjusted my grip, trying to look casual instead of like I was about to throw up.

"You gonna serve or what, Leo?" Marcus called from the other side of the net.

"Yeah, yeah." I bounced the ball. My mind flashed back to last month when I'd accidentally called it 'pop tennis' in PE. The look on everyone's face still haunted me.

"Focus," I muttered. I tossed the ball up and smacked it into the net. Perfect.

"At least you're consistent," Marcus said, but he was smiling. Small win.

Later, we ended up at Chloe's house—her family had a pool. Everyone was already in, splashing around. I hesitated. Summer before freshman year, some kid threw me in fully clothed at Tyler's party. The laughing, the feeling of my heavy shorts dragging me down, everyone staring while I tried to play it off like I meant to do that. Not today.

Then Chloe appeared beside me, water dripping from her hair. "You coming in or what?"

"I don't have—" I started, but she just grabbed my hand and pulled. Her palm was warm, slightly pruned from the water. We fell in together, surfacing to everyone cheering. I felt my face heat up, but this time it was different.

After, we raided Chloe's kitchen. Her mom had made stuffed chicken for dinner—something with spinach and feta. I took a bite, expecting to hate it.

"This is actually kinda fire," I said, surprised.

"Right?" Skylar said, loading her plate. "She put goat cheese in it too."

We ended up around the fire pit that night. Jake was talking about his baseball coach who made them run laps for every dropped fly ball. Marcus was roasting him. Chloe sat next to me, our knees touching sometimes, neither of us moving away.

"Hey," she said quietly while the others debated the best pizza toppings. "You're really good at padel."

"I literally hit it into the net like five times," I laughed.

"Yeah but your backhand is clean," she said, and my stomach did that weird flutter thing. "Plus you're the only person who actually tries instead of just messing around."

I looked at her, firelight catching the side of her face. My palm wasn't sweating anymore.

"Thanks," I said. "For dragging me in earlier. I was overthinking it."

"I know," she smiled. "You always do."