The Bull at Backhand

The orange court baked under July sun as Nico adjusted his grip, sweat trickling down his temple. Three weeks into summer and he still couldn't believe he'd agreed to padel lessons with Jenna.

"You're thinking too hard," Jenna called from across the net, effortlessly returning his serve. "Just hit it."

Nico's swing connected with air. Again.

That's when he noticed him—the Bull, as everyone called Marcus Thompson. Fresh off state championships, wearing his signature headband like a crown. Marcus watched from the fence, clipboard in hand, probably ranking every player on the court like some kind of tennis dictator.

"Don't look at him," Jenna whispered, suddenly at his side. "He's just a person. A sweaty, overly intense person who happens to be good at racket sports."

"Easy for you to say," Nico muttered. "You didn't freeze up at regionals."

Jenna's face softened. "That was last year, Nico. Different version of you."

Nico's stomach tightened. The version who'd double-faulted on match point. Who'd heard muffled laughter from the stands. Who'd spent the entire ride home pretending his eyes were watering from allergies, not crying.

"Everyone swimming at Tyler's afterwards," Jenna changed the subject, knowing exactly what she was doing. "Marcus invited himself, obviously. But Tyler said you could come too."

Nico's eyes widened. "Marcus? At Tyler's?"

"Apparently they're cousins now or something." Jenna smirked. "Small world, right?"

Later that afternoon, Nico cannonballed into Tyler's pool, the shock of cold water washing away sticky humidity. He surfaced to find Marcus already there, leaning against the side with an orange Gatorade.

"You've got good form," Marcus said unexpectedly. "On your backhand. You're overthinking everything else, but the backhand's solid."

Nico blinked water from his eyes. "Thanks?"

"I choked at sectionals freshman year," Marcus continued, like they'd been friends forever. "Lost to some kid from Oak Creek. Spent the whole summer convinced my life was basically over."

Nico perked up. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious." Marcus cracked open his Gatorade. "Here's the thing nobody tells you: everyone's terrified. The ones who look like they're not? They're just better actors."

That night, Nico texted Jenna: think padel tomorrow?

She replied instantly: only if you promise not to think yourself out of every swing.

He didn't promise. But he showed up anyway.