The Deep End

My hair looked stupid. I'd spent twenty minutes trying to make it look effortless, the kind of messy-cool that Jake from chemistry always rocked, but I just ended up looking like I'd been attacked by a particularly aggressive windstorm. I slicked it back with too much gel, grabbed my mom's ''hair vitamins'' from the kitchen counter (she'd been on a health kick lately), and headed to the community pool where the summer padel tournament was happening.

The air smelled like chlorine and sunscreen. I spotted Maya immediately—she was by the snack bar, laughing with her friends. Her dark hair was perfect, obviously. I felt like a bull in a china shop, all awkward elbows and zero game.

''Hey Leo!'' Chase waved from the padel court. ''We need a fourth!''

I'd never played padel in my life. But Maya was watching. So I said, ''Sure, why not?''

The first game went about as well as you'd expect. I missed the ball entirely twice. My hair was already starting to rebel against the gel, springing up in weird directions. Meanwhile, this college guy with perfect everything kept making snarky comments about my ''technique.''

''Dude, are you even trying?'' he called out. Everyone laughed. I felt my face burning hotter than the summer sun.

But then something shifted. Maybe it was the vitamin I'd choked down earlier kicking in. Maybe it was just sheer desperation. I stopped thinking about how stupid I looked and actually started watching the ball. My next serve slammed right into the corner—perfect.

''Whoa,'' Chase said. ''Where'd that come from?''

We ended up winning three games in a row. My hair was a disaster by then, sticking up in every direction, sweat mixing with the gel. Maya came over during a break.

''You were actually kind of awesome,'' she said, and my stomach did that thing where it forgets how to be an organ.

''Thanks. I think.'' I gestured at my head. ''Sorry about the hair situation.''

She laughed. ''Are you kidding? It looks like you actually played a sport. It's cute.''

Cute. She'd said cute. The college guy rolled his eyes from across the court, but for the first time all summer, I didn't care. I grabbed my backpack, feeling the vitamin bottle rattling around inside, and walked home with my terrible hair and my serve-sore arm, already planning next week's rematch.