The Padel Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating. Again.

"You good?" Leo asked, not looking up from his phone.

"Fine. Just... nervous about the tournament."

Leo smirked. "It's club **padel**, Maya. Not the Olympics."

Easy for him to say. Leo was the kind of **friend** who floated through social situations like he'd been issued a manual at birth. Maya had received no such manual. She'd transferred to Oakhurst three months ago and still felt like everyone was speaking a dialect she hadn't learned yet.

The weirdness had started Tuesday when Chelsea, the undisputed queen of Year 10, had approached Maya after lunch.

"You're playing, right?" Chelsea's smile had been too perfect. "The mixed doubles tournament? My partner's sick, and I need someone who can actually hit the ball."

Maya had said yes before her brain could process that Chelsea Vanderhall—Chelsea who had never acknowledged Maya's existence—was asking HER to partner up.

"It's suspicious," Leo had said later. "Like, Ancient Greek level suspicious. You're basically staring down the **sphinx** here, Maya. What's the riddle?"

Now here she was, standing outside the community centre, clutching a borrowed racquet. Her stomach did something unpleasant.

Chelsea arrived with her squad in tow. "Maya! Perfect timing." She pressed a bright orange capsule into Maya's hand. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"**Vitamin** B-complex. Energy." Chelsea's eyes shifted. "Everyone takes them before matches. It's not like, PERFORMANCE or anything. Just... focus."

Maya hesitated. The capsule looked suspiciously like something she'd seen her older brother flushing down the toilet before their mum came home.

"Actually, I'm good."

Chelsea's smile didn't waver, but something flickered behind it. Annoyance? Assessment? "Suit yourself."

They won the first set easily. Chelsea was terrifyingly good—competitive in a way that felt less like sport and more like warfare. Between points, she kept glancing at Maya, like she was waiting for something.

During the break, Maya overheard Chelsea's friends whispering.

"Did she take it?"

"I don't THINK so..."

"Okay but then how's she playing like THAT?"

Maya's stomach dropped.

It was a setup. Some kind of social experiment or bet or—who even knew. That's what happened when you were the new girl. You became someone else's entertainment.

Her phone buzzed. Leo: *Everything ok? You look like you saw a ghost*

Maya looked at Chelsea, who was chatting with a referee, effortless and unaware. Or pretending to be.

Something in Maya snapped. She wasn't anyone's experiment.

"Hey Chelsea!" Maya called out, voice carrying across the court. "Just so you know—my palms sweat when I'm nervous. It's a medical thing. I should've warned you before we started high-fiving."

Chelsea froze.

"Also," Maya continued, "I've never played **padel** before in my life. This is literally my first time holding a racquet."

Silence.

Then Leo burst out laughing from the sidelines. "MAYA. WHAT."

Chelsea's friends exchanged glances. The power dynamic tilted. Whatever they'd been testing for, they hadn't expected THIS.

Chelsea turned slowly. "You've never played?"

"Nope. Figured I'd mention it before you invest any more in whatever this is."

The moment stretched. Then Chelsea smiled—really smiled, not the performed version from earlier.

"Well," she said, "that explains your backhand. Let's fix that."

And somehow, they finished the match. They didn't win, but for the first time in three months, Maya didn't feel like the new girl anymore.

Leo was waiting afterward. "So... you're just going to lie to everyone from now on?"

"Not lying. Reframing."

"You're unhinged."

"I'm playing next week, though."

"With CHELSEA?"

"She said my backhand needs work. She's not wrong."

Leo shook his head, grinning. "You know what? I think you're going to fit in here just fine."

Maya looked at her hands. Still sweaty. But maybe that wasn't the worst thing.

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe."