The Fox at Padel Court

The padel court smelled like rubber and nervous sweat, which was basically how sixteen felt. My brother's golden retriever, Buster, watched through the fence like I was about to commit a crime. Which, technically, I was.

"You're actually going through with this?" Maya asked, spinning her racket. She'd been my best friend since third grade, back when I'd accidentally killed her goldfish by overfeeding it. Some bonds survive murder.

"I have to." I adjusted my grip. "If I don't ask him to homecoming before summer ends, I literally never will."

Him was Lucas Fox. Everyone called him Fox because he was clever as hell and impossible to pin down. Also, his last name was Fox, but the clever part checked out.

Fox walked onto the court like he owned the place, which—he kind of did. His dad ran the club. "Ready to get destroyed, Martinez?"

"In your dreams, Fox."

We played. I played like my limbs were made of spaghetti. He played like he was conducting an orchestra. Every time I missed a ball, I felt it in my soul. But then he started missing too. And smiling. And NOT in a mean way.

"You're actually good," he said afterward, tossing me a water bottle. His fingers brushed mine. Static. Literally static. "You should come to the tournament next weekend."

"I'd bear-ly survive," I said, because my brain short-circuited. Bear-ly? Who says bear-ly?

Fox laughed. "Was that a pun?"

"No."

"It was definitely a pun."

"Shut up."

"See you next weekend, Martinez."

Maya found me behind the equipment shed, hyperventilating. "He thinks you're funny. That's a problem."

"Why?"

"Because now you have to talk to him again. And again. That's how relationships work. Infinite conversations."

Buster shoved his nose through the fence, licking my ear. I looked at Maya. I looked at the court where Fox was still packing up his gear, taking glances back when he thought I wasn't looking.

"Infinite conversations," I repeated. "Yeah. I think I can handle that."