The Palm Reader's Padel Match

Maya's palms were sweating. Literally sweating. She stood at the edge of the padel court, clutching her borrowed racquet like it might detonate.

"You good, Maya?" called Jax, the junior varsity captain who'd somehow roped her into subbing for their missing player.

"Totally good," she lied. Her palms weren't the only thing betraying her — her stomach was doing full-on backstrokes.

Maya had never played padel in her life. But she had been spying on Jax's Instagram stories for three months straight, learning everything from his favorite cereal (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, obviously) to his pre-game playlist (way too much Drake). She'd even accidentally liked a post from 2019 at 2 AM. The spy mission had backfired spectacularly.

Now here she was, about to humiliate herself in front of him.

The game started. Maya missed the first three balls. The fourth one hit her padel racquet and soared directly into the fence.

"That's not how physics works," someone snickered.

That's when Chloe, the varsity queen who'd been spreading rumors that Maya was copying her style, shouted from the sidelines: "She's choking harder than my ex at his driving test!"

Something in Maya snapped.

"That's such bull, Chloe," Maya said, her voice carrying across the court. "You literally bought those same shoes two days after me. Your receipt is still on your story. I saw it because I was — well, doesn't matter why I saw it."

The court went silent.

Jax walked over, grinning. "You were checking her story to see if she copied you?"

"Maybe," Maya said, feeling her face burn. "I pay attention to details."

"You read palms too?" Jax asked unexpectedly. "Rumor mill says you told Jake he'd meet someone tall dark and handsome, and then he matched with his own reflection in his sunglasses."

Maya laughed. "He asked. I told him what he wanted to hear."

"Read mine?" Jax held out his hand.

Maya looked at his palm, then up at him. "You're going to miss that exam Monday unless you actually study."

"Psychic?"

"Observant. You've been checking your phone every five minutes."

After the game — which they lost spectacularly — Jax invited her to the team's pool party.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Like a fish," she said, hoping her palms would finally dry off.

They ended up sitting by the pool's edge, feet in the water, talking about everything except padel. Maya learned that Jax's Cinnamon Toast Crunch obsession came from his grandma, who left him her collection of vintage cereal boxes. And she told him about her palm-reading phase — how it started when she was twelve and nervous about making friends, how it became her way of connecting with people without actually having to talk about herself.

"You're not a spy," Jax said quietly. "You're just observant. There's a difference."

Maya looked at her hand, then at Jax. For the first time all day, her palms were completely dry.