The Fox's Court

Maya's palms were sweating against her padel racket as she stepped onto the court. The Coachella Valley sun beat down on her exposed shoulders, making her regret the crop top she'd agonized over for forty minutes that morning. This was it — her first day at the exclusive club where Reagan and her squad played every Saturday.

"You must be the new girl," said a lanky guy with messy dark hair that kept falling into his eyes. He had this effortless vibe that made Maya's stomach do this weird fluttery thing. "I'm Liam."

"Maya," she managed, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended.

Reagan appeared behind him, surrounded by her two minions who were apparently attached to her hip. "Oh, Maya! You actually came." She said it like she was surprised Maya had bothered to show up. "My dad's coach gave me these pre-workout vitamins — you need one, like, immediately. You look super tired."

Maya forced a smile. "Thanks, I'm good though."

Liam snorted. "Those things are basically horse pills. My sister tried them once and couldn't sleep for three days."

Reagan shot him a glare. "Whatever, Liam. Nobody asked you."

But Maya felt this rush of gratitude toward him. During warm-ups, she kept catching Liam watching her, and each time he'd give her this slight, crooked smile that made her chest feel weirdly tight. When she finally managed to return Reagan's serve, Liam mouthed "nice" from across the net.

After the game, Reagan flipped her ponytail and announced she was going to smoothies with everyone. "You can come, Maya. If you want."

"Actually," Liam said, stepping closer to Maya, "I was gonna show Maya the fox behind the courts. It comes out around this time every day. There's a whole family that lives under the equipment shed."

Reagan's minions exchanged glances. "A fox? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Liam said, meeting Maya's eyes. "I think Maya might actually appreciate it."

Maya felt her face heating up as she realized he was giving her an out — a way to say no to Reagan without making it weird. "I'd love to see the fox," she heard herself say.

Later, as they sat on a bench watching a russet-colored fox kit pounce on leaves in the fading light, Maya realized something: She didn't need Reagan's validation or the perfect serve or whatever vitamins everyone was taking. She just needed to find the people who got her weird appreciation for foxes and terrible at sports but trying anyway vibes.

"You're pretty good, you know," Liam said quietly. "For someone who's never played."

"I'm literally terrible," Maya laughed.

"Yeah," Liam grinned, "but you're terrible in a cool way."

And maybe that was enough.