The Real Serve

Maya smooths her oversized hoodie and stares at the padel court like it's about to swallow her whole. The popular kids — the ones whose Instagram stories look like a vitamin commercial — are all playing.

"You coming?" Sophie calls, spinning her racket. Sophie's life is basically orange juice commercials and aesthetic salad bowls. Meanwhile, Maya's idea of health is occasionally remembering to drink water.

Maya's been crushing on Sophie's brother Liam all semester. He's sitting on the bench, peeling an orange, watching the game with that annoyingly perfect smile. This is Maya's chance. Her brain screams *imposter syndrome* but her legs move anyway.

She steps onto the court, heart pounding like she's about to give a presentation without preparing. Sophie passes her a racket. "Just hit it back. Don't overthink it."

The first serve whistles toward her. Maya swings too early, spins around completely, and nearly collides with the fence. Someone snickers. Her face burns hot enough to melt pavement.

*Abort mission.*

But then she catches Liam's eye. He's not laughing. He's actually... nodding? Like he gets it?

The second serve comes. Maya doesn't think. She just moves. Her racket connects with a satisfying *THWACK*. The ball arcs beautifully over the net, landing exactly where it needs to.

"YES!" Sophie shouts, and for once, it doesn't feel performative.

They play for an hour. Maya's hair frizzes out of her bun. Her knees are grass-stained. She's sweating through her hoodie. And she's never felt more real.

Afterward, Liam tosses her the extra orange he's been carrying. "Natural electrolytes," he says, like that explains everything.

"I definitely need these," Maya laughs, catching it with surprisingly steady hands.

"You're actually kinda good," he says. "You should come back tomorrow."

Maya peels the orange, the citrus scent cutting through everything. She's messy and tired and her hair is a disaster. Sophie's posting stories with perfectly positioned water bottles and captions about "wellness goals."

But Maya? She's just here. She's playing. And somehow, that's enough.

"I'll be here," she tells him.

That night, her mom asks why she's eating spinach willingly for the first time ever.

"Gotta fuel the game," Maya grins, and realizes she actually means it.