The Riddle of Eighth Period

Maya's cat, Pancake, was the only one who understood her. That's why she was currently spilling her guts to a ball of orange fur while sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor.

"So there's this guy," Maya started, and Pancake yawned, unimpressed. "In my padel elective. He's like, enigmatic."

Maya had signed up for padel because her best friend Chloe said it was "lowkey vibey" and "not try-hard like tennis." Instead, Maya spent every Tuesday and Thursday staring at the back of Ethan's head while whiffing easy shots and hearing someone whisper "no cap" when she claimed she almost hit that ball.

Ethan was a sphinx of a human—quiet, unreadable, with these dark eyes that made Maya forget how to form sentences. He wore the same black beanie every day, the hat pulled low like he was protecting state secrets.

"I think he smiled at me today," Maya told Pancake. "Or he had gas. Hard to tell."

The real problem wasn't the crushing. It was the bearing of it all—carrying around this heavy, awkward secret while Chloe kept asking why she was acting so "sus" lately. Maya felt like she was wearing an identity that didn't fit, like she'd put on someone else's skin and forgotten how to zip it back up.

Thursday's padel session changed everything. Chloe had skipped ("family dinner, can't bail"), leaving Maya partnerless. Coach Miller pointed to the empty spot beside Ethan.

"Maya, you're with Hat Boy today."

Someone snickered. Hat Boy. Ethan adjusted his hat but didn't look up.

They played in silence for ten minutes. Maya missed everything. Her arms felt like wet noodles.

"You're gripping it too tight," Ethan said suddenly.

Maya froze. His voice was deeper than she expected. "What?"

"The racket. You're scared of it." He stepped closer, and Maya's brain short-circuited. "Relax your hands. Like you're holding a bird, not a weapon."

"Since when are you a philosopher?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Ethan smiled. Actually smiled. "Since when are you this nervous?"

"I'm not nervous." Her voice squeaked. Spectacular.

"You're blushing, Maya."

"The sun. It's the sun."

"Right." He passed her the ball. "Your serve, sphinx."

"Sphinx?"

"You know everything but you don't say anything."

Maya stared at him. He'd noticed her?

"I don't—"

"You do." He adjusted his hat again. "I see you watching me in eighth period. I'm not that oblivious."

Her face burned. "I was not—"

"It's cool." Ethan shrugged, but he was smiling now. "I watch you too."

The ball dropped from Maya's hand and rolled away. Neither of them moved to get it.

"So," Ethan said. "Padel tomorrow? Same time?"

"Unless Pancake needs me," Maya managed, and then they were both laughing, and the sphinx had finally spoken, and the cat would definitely be hearing about this later.