The Padel Court Catastrophe

Summer before sophomore year, and somehow I'd let Maya talk me into joining the padel league at the community center. Never mind that I was about as coordinated as a baby deer on ice. The real reason wasn't the sport—it was that Jamie played there every Tuesday afternoon, and Maya had appointed herself my personal hype woman slash strategist slash pain in my ass.

"You just need a signature look," Maya declared, analyzing my reflection in her bedroom mirror. She'd spent twenty minutes trying to tame my hair into something that screamed effortless cool instead of "I just rolled out of bed." The result was somewhere between artfully tousled and "I stuck my finger in an electrical socket."

I frowned. "It looks like I'm trying too hard."

"That's the point, genius. Boys are oblivious. You think Jamie noticed that time your cat jumped on your head during FaceTime and you literally bled because that little demon has claws for days? No. You think he noticed when you tripped over nothing in the cafeteria and somehow simultaneously knocked over three lunch trays? Also no. Trust me, Jamie is not observant."

I wasn't convinced. Jamie seemed pretty observant when it came to literally everyone else. But I let Maya continue her mission, which somehow involved me borrowing her older sister's expensive racket because "equipment confidence is real confidence" and practicing my serve in the backyard until her neighbor's cat started yowling at me from the fence like I was personally offending its ancestors.

Tuesday arrived, and I was sweating through my shirt before even stepping onto the court. Jamie was there, laughing with his friend, looking unfairly good in athletic gear. My brain short-circuited. I waved awkwardly. My racket slipped from my hand and clattered to the ground. Jamie turned. Our eyes met.

"Hey!" he called. "You're up after us."

"Cool," I managed. My voice cracked. Cool.

Then came the final indignity. As I turned to grab my gear, my charging cable snagged on my bag pocket, and I somehow managed to send my water bottle flying toward Jamie's feet. He caught it easily, grinning.

"Nice arm," he said, and I died a little inside. "Maybe you should join the league."

Maya was right about nothing, and I was going to kill her. But when Jamie walked over and asked if I wanted to practice together next week, I found myself saying yes.

"Your hair looks nice today," he added, completely casual, like he wasn't destroying my entire nervous system with seven words.

Maya winked at me from across the court. I was doomed, but maybe, just maybe, in the best way.