The Sphinx at the Net

Jordan adjusted their grip on the padel racket, palms sweating against the handle. First week at Northwood High and they'd already signed up for the one sport they'd never played—because apparently, that's where the cool kids hung out.

"You gonna stare at the ball all day or actually hit it?" A voice came from the other side of the court. It was Riley, who everyone called the Fox because she was slick, smart, and somehow always landed on her feet. Her nickname wasn't just about being cunning—it was because half the school had a crush on her. Including, Jordan had to admit, them.

"Sorry," Jordan muttered, missing the ball entirely. It bounced pathetically off their shoe.

"You're overthinking it," said Sam, Jordan's cousin and the only reason they'd survived the first three days. Sam was a total dog—loyal to a fault, always hyping Jordan up even when they deserved zero hype. "Just hit the thing like you mean it."

Easier said than done. Jordan's whole identity crisis was currently playing out on this padel court, watching Riley move like she'd been born holding a racket. Meanwhile, Jordan felt like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs—every move tentative, waiting for something to go wrong.

But it wasn't just about sports. It was about the layers. Everyone at this school had layers. Like Maya, who sat behind Jordan in history and answered every question like she'd personally lived through the Industrial Revolution. Jordan had started calling her the Sphinx—inscrutable, mysterious, dropping knowledge like ancient riddles nobody else could decode. The nickname had stuck, mostly because Maya had just nodded when Jordan used it, like she appreciated the vibe.

"Your form's actually getting better," Riley called out, walking over to their side of the net. Up close, Jordan could see the freckles across her nose, the way her eyes crinkled when she wasn't being intimidatingly good at sports. "You nervous about something?"

Jordan's brain short-circuited. "Maybe everything?"

Riley laughed. "Relatable. You'll get the hang of it. We've all been there."

The bell rang, saving Jordan from having to respond with something that wouldn't sound extremely awkward. As they gathered their stuff, Jordan caught Sam's eye. Sam gave them that look—the one that said, "Did that just happen? Did the Fox just talk to us like we're actual people?"

Maybe this place wouldn't be so terrible after all. Even if Jordan still had zero clue how to properly serve a padel ball.