The Summer I Learned to Fly

The country club felt like a different planet, and I was definitely the alien. Mom's new husband had pulled strings to get us a summer membership, which meant I was stuck watching preppy kids with perfectly monogrammed everything while they played **padel** on courts I didn't even know existed six months ago.

"If you want to survive this summer, you need to learn," said Jenny, the first person who'd actually talked to me instead of AT me. She handed me a racquet. "Trust me, it's way more chill than tennis. Less... intense energy."

I was terrible. Like, genuinely embarrassing. My coordination was apparently on vacation.

Then I saw him.

**Bear** – everyone called him that, probably because he was massive – lounged by the snack bar like he owned the place. He had this effortless vibe, tank top, swim trunks, hair that looked good even when it was messy. The kind of guy who'd never understand what it felt like to be the new kid, the outsider, the one who didn't get the secret handshake.

"You're overthinking it," Bear appeared behind me, making me jump. "Your form's actually solid. You just need to stop playing like someone's watching."

He started practicing with me. Every afternoon. And weirdly, I stopped feeling like an imposter and started feeling like... someone worth knowing.

By the club's summer tournament, Jenny and I were actually kinda crushing it. We made it to the finals.

Afterward, Bear found me by the **pool**, where I was celebrating with a literal cannonball – which was definitely NOT classy club behavior, but whatever.

"You were amazing out there," he said, sitting on the edge while I treaded **water**. "You know, this place has all these old statues. There's literally a **sphinx** near the tennis courts. Always creeped me out how it stares at everyone like it's judging us for trying too hard."

"The riddle of the sphinx," I said, splashing him. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?"

"Answer's not a person," Bear said, looking at me with this soft expression that made my chest do something weird. "Answer's: someone who's brave enough to become who they're meant to be."

I looked at him – really looked at him – and realized the riddle wasn't about fitting in.

It was about finally showing up.

"I think I'm figuring it out," I said.

"Yeah?" Bear smiled, and I swear, the world got brighter. "Me too."

That summer taught me something better than how to play padel or navigate country club politics. Some sphinxes don't ask riddles. Some bears aren't scary. And sometimes you have to cannonball into the deep end to find out you can swim.