The Lob That Changed Everything

I was midpoint through the worst lob in padel history when Barnaby—that traitorous golden retriever—burst onto the court like he'd just spotted a squirrel in the Wimbledon finals.

"Barnaby!" I shouted, abandoning all dignity as my racket clattered to the ground. The ball, meanwhile, had sailed three meters above the backboard, into orbit, probably never to return.

Chase, the cute junior I'd been trying to impress with my "athletic prowess" (read: YouTube tutorial binge last night), stared. His friend squad, currently demolishing us 6-1 in our first match, stared. Everyone stared.

Except my actual friend, Riley, who was doubled over laughing so hard she was wheezing.

"Your dog," she choked out between gasps. "Your dog just sabotaged your game."

Barnaby, sensing his moment of glory, pranced around the court like he'd just won Olympic gold. The referee—because apparently casual Friday afternoon padel had referees—blew his whistle. "Court interference! Point replayed!"

I scrambled after Barnaby, my face burning hotter than the Phoenix sun. Chase was still watching me, but not with the awestruck expression I'd fantasized about. He was grinning. Like, actually grinning.

"That's got to be the most entertaining padel match I've played all year," he called over.

I froze, Barnaby's leash clutched in one hand, my dignity in shreds around my ankles. "You're not... mad?"

"Mad?" He laughed, and it sounded genuine. "Dude, we were crushing you guys anyway. This just made it interesting."

Riley finally composed herself enough to shoot me a look. A Riley look. The one that said *I told you so* without saying anything at all.

She'd been right. I'd spent two weeks agonizing over this—watching tutorials, buying a "professional" racket I barely knew how to hold, practicing serves against my garage wall until Mrs. Henderson next door asked if I was okay. All because I'd wanted Chase to see me as cool. Athletic. Worthy.

"What?" I'd snapped when Riley tried to talk me out of the charade. "You think I should just be myself? Because myself hasn't exactly been killing it in the social department lately."

"Yourself," she'd said quietly, "is the girl who taught herself ukulele in three weeks. Who rescues earthworms after rainstorms. Who's got the driest sense of humor at Jefferson High and doesn't even know it. Chase would like that person a lot more than some fake padel prodigy."

I hadn't believed her. But now, standing on a court with my escaped dog and my crushed ego, Chase was still smiling. And not the polite smile you give someone when they've embarrassed themselves—the real kind.

"Hey," he said, walking over as I finally wrangled Barnaby. "You want to grab food after this? There's this taco place—"

"YES," I said too loudly. "I mean, yeah. Totally."

Riley's eyebrows shot up. I felt my face heat again, but this time differently.

As we walked off the court, Barnaby trotting beside us like the chaos agent he was, Riley nudged me. "See? Being yourself worked."

"I hate when you're right," I muttered, but I was smiling too.

"My dog," I added, as if that explained everything.

"Your dog," Chase agreed, scratching Barnaby behind the ears. "Best wingman ever."

Somehow, in the most embarrassing moment of my high school career, I'd gotten exactly what I wanted. Not by pretending to be someone else, but by letting my chaotic, dog-loving, terrible-at-padel self shine through.

Turns out, that was enough.

Turns out, that was everything.