Sweaty Palms Sunday

The moment I stepped onto the padel court, my entire life felt like it was about to change. Not in a dramatic, movie-montage way—more like a I'm-about-to-humiliate-myself-in-front-of-everyone way.

"You got this, Maya," Chloe whispered, but her palms were already glistening with sweat too. We were the only two freshmen who'd even been invited to Javier's end-of-summer party, and the pressure to not be weird was somehow overwhelming.

I gripped my racquet tighter. Across the net, Kai and his friends looked annoyingly relaxed. Kai, with his stupid perfect hair and his stupid perfect laugh that had been living rent-free in my head since August.

The game started. Every time I missed a ball, I could feel my face getting hotter. Every time Kai laughed at something, I felt like he was secretly laughing at me. I'd spent all summer being a total spy on his Instagram stories, analyzing his playlist choices like they were hidden messages, and now that he was ten feet away, I could barely function.

Then it happened. Kai slammed the ball toward me. I scrambled backward, my sneakers squealing against the court, and swung with everything I had.

The ball sailed over the net—perfectly. Kai's team couldn't return it.

"No way!" Kai's eyes widened. "Since when do you actually play?"

"Since today," I said, and then, because my brain had clearly left the chat: "I studied your technique. From watching you play. Like, a lot."

The words hung in the air. Chloe choked on her water. I wanted to dissolve into the ground and become one with the concrete.

But Kai grinned. "That's kinda cool, actually. Weird, but cool."

After the game, we ended up sitting by the pool, feet dangling in the water while we talked about everything and nothing. Kai's palm brushed against mine when he reached for his phone, and I didn't even care that my hands were still sweaty from the game.

Sometimes the stuff you think will destroy you? It's just the beginning.