The Padel Protocol

The Palm Springs Country Club was basically a temple to exclusivity, and I was the heretic at the gates. Mom's new husband had decided summer bonding meant $200 padel lessons with a coach who looked like he judged everyone's backhand as a moral failing.

"Bend your knees, Maya," Coach Trent called out, as if I hadn't heard that exact phrase approximately 47 times this hour.

I adjusted my grip on the padel racquet, trying to look like I belonged in this ecosystem of private schools and trust funds. Across the net, Cameron—who everyone called Fox because of his copper hair and the way he somehow always landed on his feet—was absolutely crushing it. He moved like the sport was genetically encoded into his DNA, all fluid motions and easy confidence that made my stomach do gymnastics.

"You're overthinking," Fox said, bouncing a ball on his racquet. His friends erupted in laughter, and I felt my face match the temperature of the desert afternoon. "Just hit it."

"I'm trying," I muttered, but the word came out sharper than I'd intended.

Something in my expression must have shifted because Fox's smirk faltered. He tossed me the ball, and instead of the pathetic dink I'd been serving up all lesson, I channeled every frustration, every feeling of not-quite-fitting-in that had been building since Mom dropped the "we're moving to Palm Springs" bombshell three weeks ago. The ball connected with my racquet sweet spot, soaring over the net in a perfect arc that left everyone staring.

"Damn," someone said.

"Where have you been hiding that?" Fox asked, actually looking at me for the first time all summer.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "Just needed the right motivation, I guess."

After practice, I found myself sitting against a palm tree near the courts, phone buzzing with texts from my old friends asking if the new life was as awful as I'd predicted. Fox appeared with two waters, sitting beside me in the shade.

"You play way better when you're mad," he said, cracking open his water. "We should hit together sometime. Without Trent breathing down our necks."

I looked at him—really looked at him—and realized maybe, just maybe, this summer wouldn't be completely terrible after all. "I'd like that."

"Cool," he said, standing up and offering me a hand. "Same time tomorrow?"

I took his hand, letting him pull me up. "Same time tomorrow."

Fox walked away, and I leaned back against the palm tree, watching him go. Maybe Palm Springs wouldn't be so bad after all.