The Orange Crush Incident

The vitamin D gummies mocked me from the kitchen counter, the one my mom insisted would fix my 'pasty gamer complexion.' I grabbed them anyway, shoving three in my mouth as I headed out to meet the crew.

"You're late again," Maya said, not looking up from her phone. She wore orange high-tops that somehow always looked cleaner than mine, despite us playing at the same padel court twice a week.

"My mom's on this new supplement kick," I muttered, chewing the chalky fruit-flavored disaster. "Apparently, I'm vitamin deficient."

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Bro, you're fifteen. You literally just ate breakfast."

We walked to the community center where the padel courts waited behind a chain-link fence, the same place where everything had changed last summer. Where Maya and I had almost kissed behind the equipment shed after she beat me 6-4, then laughed it off as 'just adrenaline, dude.' The words still echoed in my head.

The orange ball sailed through the air as Dustin served, hitting the wall with that satisfying thwack sound. I positioned myself for the return, but my brain was elsewhere. On Maya. On how her laugh sounded like wind chimes. On how she'd started wearing vanilla lip gloss this month.

"Earth to Leo!" Maya shouted.

I missed the ball completely. It bonked off my forehead and landed near the fence line, rolling toward an orange plastic chair where someone had left a perfectly peeled orange segments in a Tupperware.

My face burned hotter than the sun beating down on the court.

Maya's laughter wasn't mean. It was this bright, genuine sound that made my chest do this weird fluttery thing. "You good? That was... memorable."

"Vitamin deficiency must be catching up with my hand-eye coordination," I joked back, wiping sweat from my forehead.

She tossed me her orange Gatorade from the bench. "Here. Might help with the casualties."

Our fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity up my arm like I'd stuck a fork in an outlet. She didn't pull away immediately.

"Hey," she said, suddenly quiet. "After this, want to walk to the corner store? I'm craving one of those orange creamsicles."

"Yeah," I managed, my voice cracking. "Yeah, totally."

Dustin groaned. "Great, now you two are gonna do that thing where you pretend you're just friends while everyone sees right through it."

The vitamin gummies in my stomach did a flip. Maybe my mom was wrong about what I needed to feel alive. Maybe it wasn't supplements at all.

Maybe it was this. The game. The friends. The way Maya looked at me when she thought I wouldn't notice.

"Game point," Maya called out, tossing the orange ball back to me. "You serving, or what?"

I caught it, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. "Yeah. I'm serving."

And for the first time in months, I actually believed myself.