Sweaty Palms & Secret Spies

The pool deck at the Reynolds' house looked like something out of a teen movie — twinkling lights, actual palm trees (in Ohio? their dad was loaded), and about half our sophomore class scattered around in various states of towel-wrapped. I adjusted my snapback for the fiftieth time, using the brim to shield my eyes from what I was about to do: spy.

Not like, creepy spy. I just needed to know if Jordan was actually flirting with Marcus by the padel court or just being friendly. My best friend Priya claimed she'd catch me "eye-fighting" Jordan all week at practice, but I denied it. Obviously.

"You good?" Priya appeared beside me, holding two sodas. "You look like you're calculating launch coordinates for NASA."

"I'm fine," I lied. My palms were sweating so much I could barely grip my phone. "Just... observing the social dynamics."

"You mean stalking Jordan from behind a strategically positioned hat?" She raised an eyebrow. "Bold strategy."

Jordan laughed at something Marcus said. My stomach did that annoying fluttery thing that refused to be suppressed. They high-fived — the kind that lasts a little too long, with fingers lingering. I felt like I'd swallowed a pool's worth of chlorine.

"Okay, that's it." I shoved my phone in my pocket. "I'm going over there."

"Finally!" Priya practically shoved me. "But read the room, okay? Don't make it weird."

As I walked toward the padel court, my palms were somehow sweating more than they had during my entire freshman year finals week combined. Jordan spotted me and waved.

"Hey! You made it!" They grinned, and I noticed Marcus was already walking away toward the snacks. "Want to hit around?"

"Yeah," I managed, my voice doing that crackly thing that should be illegal at sixteen. "Sure."

We played for twenty minutes. I missed easy shots. Jordan laughed when I tripped over my own feet. But when they handed me a water bottle and our fingers brushed, I caught them looking at me — really looking at me — and suddenly my sweaty palms didn't matter so much anymore.

"Good game," they said, kind of soft.

"Yeah," I answered, finally adjusting my hat properly. "Really good."