The Padel Protocol

Marcus gripped the padel racket like it was a lifeline. His palms sweat through the grip.

"Bro, you gotta hit it harder," Ty said, already the unofficial captain of their friend group. "Like you mean it."

Marcus nodded, throat tight. He'd only started playing padel because Ty and the others did, spending every Friday at the club while Marcus watched from the sidelines until last month. Now he was in, but still felt like he was standing outside a circle with his nose pressed against the glass.

The cable management guy they'd hired to run ethernet through the club's new gaming lounge walked past, carrying coils of black cable like industrial snakes. Marcus watched him disappear into the back room.

"What's with you today?" Ty asked, bouncing a ball off his racket strings. "You're playing like you're afraid to win."

"Just thinking about stuff," Marcus muttered.

"What stuff?"

The words had been sitting in Marcus's chest like swallowed glass for two weeks. Since Ty had started cutting down everyone who wasn't in their circle. Since the girl from Marcus's English class had cried in the hallway because of something Ty had said. Since Marcus had laughed along because he was terrified of losing the position he'd spent months trying to secure.

"You're being kind of a jerk lately," Marcus said, not looking at him. "To people. It's not... it's not cool."

Silence stretched between them like a pulled cable about to snap.

Ty's face flushed. "What? I'm just messing around. They know that."

"Do they?" Marcus finally looked at him. "Because Anna literally cried, Ty. You said her presentation was trash. In front of everyone."

"Whatever," Ty scoffed, turning back to the court. "She should learn to take a joke."

"That's bull." The word came out harder than Marcus expected. "You know that's bull, and I'm done pretending it's not."

The afternoon sun blazed off the court's glass walls. A ball rolled past Marcus's feet.

Ty stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in his expression—hurt, maybe, or just confusion. "So what, you're not gonna hang out anymore? Because I made some joke?"

"I'm not gonna laugh at stuff that's not funny," Marcus said, and his voice didn't shake. "That's it."

He walked to the gate, racket still in hand.

"Marcus!" Ty called behind him. "We have a match next week!"

Marcus kept walking. His hands didn't sweat anymore. The grip felt solid, finally.