The Spy Who Couldn't Padel

Marcus adjusted his backward cap, lurking behind the oak tree like the world's worst **spy**. The popular crowd was playing **padel** on the fancy new courts—coach said baseball players should "expand their athletic portfolio," but Marcus knew the truth: this was just another way to remind him he didn't belong.

He'd been watching them for weeks. documenting their rituals. The way they high-fived. Their matching neon sneakers. How Chloe somehow made a messy bun look intentional. Marcus was basically an undercover agent at this point, gathering intel on a species that would never accept him.

Then Jackson noticed him.

"Hey! Baseball kid!"

Marcus froze. This was it—the moment the bull charged. Jackson, the school's actual **bull**, the one who'd supposedly put three freshmen in lockers last semester, was marching toward him. Marcus's heart hammered against his ribs like a foul ball hitting the backstop.

"You play?" Jackson asked, nodding at the padel court.

"Uh, baseball, actually."

"Yeah, I know. I see you watching." Jackson didn't sound mad. He sounded... curious? "My dad played baseball. Minor leagues, two seasons. Said he couldn't hit a curveball to save his life."

Marcus blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Total **bull**, honestly." Jackson grinned. "But I've been wanting to try. You think you could show me how to grip a fastball proper?"

"You're... asking me?"

"Dude, you've got like, perfect form from what I can see." Jackson gestured toward the court. "We need a fourth for doubles. You in?"

Marcus's spy mission had just gone completely sideways. But as he stepped onto the court, racket in hand, and Chloe actually smiled at him like he was a real person, he realized something: sometimes the scariest monsters in your head are just people waiting for you to say hi.

And maybe, just maybe, a baseball player could learn to love padel too.