The Orange Padel Shorts

Marcus stared at his dusty baseball glove in the corner of his room. Three months since he'd touched it. Three months since he'd quit the team and the whole world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"Dinner!" his mom yelled up the stairs. The same dinner as always—some salmon, definitely spinach (his least favorite), and the same questions about his future that made his chest tight.

But tonight something was different. Tonight, he'd actually made a friend at the new padel club his mom had dragged him to. And not just any friend—Sofia, with her neon orange padel shorts and the way she didn't care that he served the ball straight into the fence four times.

"You're thinking too much," she'd said, tossing him another ball. "Just hit it. Overthinking's for baseball practice. Padel's for feeling."

He'd laughed. It was the first time he'd laughed in weeks.

At dinner, his dad asked the usual: "Any thoughts about joining the summer baseball league?"

Marcus's cable management under the TV was better organized than his thoughts right now. He speared a piece of spinach, avoiding eye contact. "Actually, I've been playing padel. There's this club..."

"Padel?" His dad's forehead crinkled. "Isn't that like tennis for people who can't commit?"

"It's different," Marcus said, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounded. "It's fast, it's social, and I don't hate every second of it."

His mom smiled. "That's wonderful, honey. Who've you been playing with?"

"Sofia," Marcus said, and then immediately regretted it. Because now he'd have to explain, and he wasn't even sure what was happening himself, only that Sofia's orange shorts were the brightest thing in his life right now and wasn't that pathetic?

But his parents didn't tease. They just exchanged this look—this whole conversation in glance language—and his dad nodded, once, like this was acceptable.

"Maybe you could teach us sometime," his dad said.

Marcus blinked. Then smiled, really smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."

That night, he hung up his baseball glove in the closet and didn't feel guilty. For the first time in forever, tomorrow actually felt like something to look forward to.