The Court Next Door

Summer before freshman year, and I'm already drowning. Not literally—though the swimming pool at our condo complex is basically my second home. Literally, I'm drowning in the awkwardness of being fourteen and having nowhere to belong.

Every morning, I'm swimming laps while my brain runs a million miles an hour about starting high school. Will I be invisible? Will I say something weird? Will everyone somehow know I still sleep with a stuffed octopus named Squishy?

Then there's the padel court next to our building. All summer, I've watched through the fence as these older kids play—laughing, shouting, existing like they own the world. Especially Maya. She's got this hair that defies gravity and a laugh that carries all the way to my balcony. I'd die if she knew I was basically spying on their games, but I can't help it. They're magnetic.

Today I'm halfway through my usual suffering—aka running three miles in the July heat because my dad said exercise would "build character"—when I hear: "Hey, you want in?"

I nearly trip over my own feet. Maya's standing at the padel court gate, racket in hand, grinning like she knows something I don't.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You've been watching us all summer. We're down a player today, and honestly? You've got good form on those laps. Pretty sure you could crush it."

My face is literally on fire. "I—uh—what?"

"Spies don't get to play coy," she winks. "Come on. Unless you're scared?"

I am terrified. But somehow, I'm walking through that gate.

Two hours later, I'm dripping sweat, my arms are jello, and I accidentally hit the ball straight into the swimming pool. But Maya high-fives me anyway, and her friends are shouting my name like we've been friends for years.

"Same time tomorrow?" Maya asks as I head out.

"Absolutely."

I'm still worried about high school. Still running through a million scenarios in my head. But for the first time all summer, I'm not drowning anymore. I'm finally playing.