The Green Between My Teeth

The bear of a problem wasn't that I didn't know how to play padel. It was that Maya, the prettiest girl in sophomore year, was on the other side of the net, and I was about to humiliate myself in front of half the school.

"You got this, Cameron!" my best friend Ryan shouted from the sidelines, entirely too loud. Sometimes I swear he was a spy sent by the universe to ensure my maximum embarrassment.

I adjusted my glasses and gripped the racquet. My palms were already sweating. This wasn't just gym class — this was social warfare, and I was severely outgunned.

The game started. I actually didn't suck — my dad had taught me to play last summer, back when he was still trying to bond with me through sports instead of, you know, actual conversations. I returned Maya's serve cleanly. She raised an eyebrow, impressed.

Okay. Maybe I could survive this.

Then came lunch.

I'd eaten spinach and feta wraps because they were healthy, because I was trying to be the kind of person who cared about being healthy. Apparently, my mirror and my conscience had both taken the day off.

Maya slid into the seat across from me in the cafeteria. "Hey, you were actually decent at padel. You play often?"

I panicked. Was she flirting? Was this just politeness? My brain chose this moment to abandon ship completely.

"Yeah, my dad taught me," I managed. Then I smiled.

Ryan's eyes went wide. He was gesturing frantically at his own teeth, making the international sign for YOU HAVE FOOD IN YOUR TEETH WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

I froze.

Maya kept looking at me, waiting for me to continue, one corner of her mouth lifting like she was trying not to laugh.

And then I understood: she knew. She'd known the whole time, and she'd still come over to talk to me. She'd sat there through my rambling about dad issues and padel strategies while I walked around with green bits in my teeth like some kind of oral salad decoration.

"You've got spinach," she said, finally letting herself laugh.

"I know," I said. And instead of running away, which was my special move, my bread and butter, I just started laughing too.

Maybe growing up wasn't about never embarrassing yourself. Maybe it was about learning to survive the embarrassing moments without letting them destroy you.

"Want to play again tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."

Baby steps.