The Summer Everything Changed

Maya's **dog** Buster chose that exact moment to barf on the new carpet. Of course. Because universe timing was always impeccable.

"Maya! Clean that up!" her mom yelled from the kitchen. "And don't forget your **vitamin**!"

Maya groaned and grabbed the paper towels. Her mom had gone full wellness warrior since the divorce, which meant Maya now had to swallow these horse pills that supposedly helped with "teen girl stress" or whatever the TikTok wellness influencers were pushing that week.

Her **iPhone** buzzed. Again. The group chat was blowing up about Jackson's pool party later, and Maya's stomach did that familiar knot-thing. Because here was the thing: Maya didn't do parties. Maya did **baseball** — specifically, sitting on the bench because she choked whenever the ball actually came her way. Baseball was safe. Baseball was familiar.

But then Lena had texted: "Everyone's playing **padel** at Jackson's. You coming?"

Padel. Of course. Because everyone was suddenly obsessed with padel, the sport that was like tennis but trendier and somehow required cute outfits and natural athletic ability.

Maya stood in her bathroom later, staring at herself. Her hair was doing that weird frizz thing that happened when it was humid. She had nothing to wear that said "I'm effortlessly good at racquet sports" and not "I panic in social situations."

Buster nudged her leg with his wet nose.

"You're the only one who doesn't expect me to be cool," she whispered, scratching behind his ears.

Her phone lit up again. Lena: "Pls come. Jackson asked if you were coming."

Wait. Jackson had asked?

Maya's heart did this stupid flutter thing. Jackson, with his perfect hair and his dimples and his "hey everyone" voice that made Maya forget how words worked.

She grabbed her racket — her dad's old tennis racket, because she definitely didn't own a padel racket — and grabbed her bike. She'd figure out the outfit situation later. Or maybe she'd just own the "new to padel" vibe. Authenticity was in, right?

"Have fun!" her mom called. "Take an extra vitamin before you go!"

"Already took it!" Maya lied, pedaling down the driveway.

She was terrified. She was probably going to embarrass herself. But Jackson had asked about her. And sometimes you had to show up and risk looking foolish, because the alternative was sitting on your bed while your dog looked at you with judging eyes, wondering why you weren't out there living.

Maya gripped the handlebars tighter. This summer, things were going to be different. She could feel it.