Swipe Right on Real Life

My iPhone screen was literally the only thing lighting up my face at 2 AM. Doomscrolling through Insta again, watching everyone live their best lives while I was just... existing. Riley had posted a photo from the country club—her holding a padel racket, laughing with the popular crew, looking effortless and perfect. The caption read: "Country club summers hit different when you're with your fave people 💅✨"

I tossed my phone across the bed, where it landed next to my dog Buster. He raised his head, gave me that look that said, "You okay, human?" I buried my face in his fur. "They're at padel practice tomorrow, Bust. Everyone's joining the team. Maybe I should too?"

Buster just licked my nose.

Next morning, I stood in front of the mirror in my athletic gear, feeling like a fraud. I'd never played padel in my life—unless Wii Sports counted. But this was what popular kids did, right? They played sports at fancy country clubs and posted about it with aesthetics.

I grabbed my dad's old racket from the garage. The grip tape was peeling, and it smelled like decades of basement storage. I almost bailed right there.

But then Riley's text popped up: "tryouts r at 3!! dont be late bestie 😘" (We weren't actually besties. She'd said it once in the hall last year, and I'd been clinging to it ever since.)

The club was everything I expected—expensive cars out front, pristine courts, people who looked like they stepped out of a TikTok aesthetic board. My stomach twisted.

"You here for padel?" A guy my age appeared, carrying his own racket in a proper case. "I'm Tyler. You're... new?"

"Yeah. First time."

"Cool." He handed me something. "Here, you'll need this. It's a cable connector—for the scoreboard timer thing. Coach always forgets."

I took it, confused. "Scoreboard?"

He laughed. "Just messing with you. Though you do look like you're about to puke."

We ended up talking for twenty minutes about everything—school, music, how much we both hated tryouts. Tyler didn't even go to my school, but we clicked instantly. When Coach called us onto the court, I wasn't thinking about fitting in anymore. I was just... having fun.

My racket skills were tragic. Like, actually embarrassing. I missed balls, hit the fence, tripped over my own feet. But Tyler kept laughing with me, not at me.

Afterward, Riley found me. "So how was it? You making the team?"

"Honestly?" I looked at my damaged racket, my sweat-soaked clothes. "I sucked. But... I think I made a friend."

Her perfectly maintained smile faltered for a second. "Oh. Cool."

Later that night, I posted my first photo in weeks—not filtered, not curated, just me, Buster, and a terrible selfie of Tyler and me holding our rackets like weapons.

"Padel debut: absolute disaster. 10/10 would embarrass myself again. #NewFriend #RealLife 💫"

My iPhone buzzed immediately. Tyler had commented: "Next time: actual lessons? 😂"

I liked his comment and turned off my phone. For once, I didn't need to see what everyone else was doing. I was too busy living my own life.