The Bull Who Couldn't Swing

Marcus stood in front of Delgado's Sports Palace, his heart doing cartwheels. Three weeks at Jefferson High and he'd already managed to become invisible — which honestly felt like a win compared to his last school. But then Tyler, with his easy grin and annoyingly perfect hair, had somehow decided Marcus was his new best friend project.

"You coming or what?" Tyler called from inside, where the rhythmic thwack of **padel** balls echoed against the walls.

Marcus hesitated. His dad had played **baseball** in college and never let him forget how Marcus had struck out every single at-bat in Little League. "Dude, I don't do sports. Remember?"

"That's exactly why. Everyone's trying out the new padel courts. It's like tennis but cooler." Tyler's voice dropped. "Besides, Jensen and his crew are here. This is your chance to not be the new kid anymore."

The **bull** in the room — literal or metaphorical — was definitely Jensen Torres, who'd already made it his mission to remind Marcus daily that he didn't belong. Marcus's stomach churned. He'd had **spinach** stuck in his braces during sixth-grade picture day, and he'd rather relive that humiliation than walk through those doors.

But Tyler was already grabbing his arm, practically dragging him inside. "Just one game. I'll be your partner."

The court was smaller than he expected, the glass walls throwing back their reflections. Jensen stood by the net, looking terrifyingly confident, his friends laughing at something Marcus couldn't hear.

"Fresh meat," Jensen said, but Tyler just laughed it off.

Game on. Marcus's racket felt foreign in his hands, but then something weird happened. Padel wasn't like baseball — no one staring you down while you stood alone at the plate. It was constant motion, talking to your partner, covering each other's backs. He and Tyler fell into this rhythm, Tyler calling out plays, Marcus anticipating, their rackets finding this weird synchronization.

They weren't winning, but they weren't getting crushed either. And for the first time in three weeks, Marcus wasn't thinking about being the new kid, or what his dad would say, or whether Jensen was watching. He was just... playing.

"Not bad, new kid," Jensen said afterward, and for once, it didn't sound like an insult.

"We're doing this every Friday," Tyler declared, flopping onto the bench beside him, sweaty and grinning. "And you're officially not allowed to be invisible anymore."

Marcus looked at his reflection in the glass wall — spinach-free, brace-free, and for the first time in forever, maybe just a little bit not afraid.