The Cat That Served

The first day of summer, my mom started me on these neon-yellow vitamin gummies she swore would make me glow. Literally glow. Meanwhile, everyone at the country club was obsessed with padel—the sport that was basically tennis but cooler, somehow. I'd spent my entire freshman year watching from the sidelines, and this summer was supposed to be different. This was the summer I'd finally become someone.

The pool area was where everything happened. That's where Mia and her crew held court, their laughter cutting through the humidity like they owned the oxygen. I'd practiced serving against our garage wall for weeks, my dad's old racquet feeling like an extension of my arm by July.

"Hey, new girl," Mia called out when she saw me hovering near the padel courts. "Wanna sub in? Sarah's not coming."

My heart did this thing where it forgot how to beat. "Yeah. Sure."

I stepped onto the court, my legs suddenly feeling like they belonged to a baby giraffe. But then I saw him—this calico cat that lived behind the snack bar, watching me with these weirdly judgmental yellow eyes. The same cat I'd been secretly feeding turkey sandwiches to all summer.

The cat meowed. Like, actually meowed, and for some reason, it grounded me.

I served. The ball hit the corner perfectly. Mia's jaw dropped.

"Okay then," she said, and something in her voice shifted. "Not bad, vitamin girl."

We played for two hours. By the time we collapsed by the pool, sweaty and laughing, I'd somehow been invited to Mia's party on Friday. The cat wound around my ankles like she'd planned it all along.

"What's with the gummies?" Mia asked, nodding at my open backpack where the vitamin bottle peeked out.

I shrugged. "My mom thinks they'll make me glow."

Mia cracked up. "You're already glowing, genius. You just won your first padel match."

Maybe my mom's vitamins weren't so wrong after all. Or maybe it was just the cat, the summer, and finally being seen.