Swipe Left on Reality

Maya's cat, Barnaby, gave her that look. The one that said you're doing that thing again where your brain is a terrible place to visit. She shrugged at him and kept scrolling.

Her iPhone felt like an extension of her hand at this point. Thirty minutes ago, she'd been spy-level creeping on Leo's Instagram stories again. There he was at the padel courts, laughing with Jessica, his arm around her shoulder like it belonged there. Maya had practiced her serve alone in her backyard for weeks, hitting balls against the garage until her neighbor Mrs. Henderson had come out to ask if everything was okay.

Now, staring at the screen, Maya felt that familiar hollow feeling. The one that hit when you realized you'd been the main character in a story that was actually just you watching from the sidelines.

"You know," she told Barnaby, who'd jumped onto her desk and was now batting at her phone case with irritating precision, "I could've asked him to play. I literally bought a padel racket. I watched YouTube tutorials. I was READY."

Barnaby meowed his agreement, then promptly knocked her phone onto the floor.

The screen cracked. Not badly—just enough that a spiderweb of fractured glass now ran across Leo's smiling face.

Maya stared at it. Something in her chest loosened.

"Okay," she said, and actually laughed. "Okay, message received."

She grabbed her racket from the corner of her room, where it'd been gathering dust alongside her dignity. The courts would be empty this time of day. She could practice. For real this time—not for some boy who'd never notice her anyway, but because she actually liked the feeling of the ball hitting the sweet spot.

Her iPhone buzzed on the floor, probably another notification she didn't need to see.

She stepped over it and walked out the door.