The Summer My Screen Went Dark

I was mid-scroll through Mia's stories—golden hour, aesthetic smoothie bowls, her looking effortless at the country club—when my iPhone decided this was the moment to die. 3% to 0% in one dramatic blink.

"You coming?" Marcus called from the pool deck.

I froze. My whole personality was on that phone. Without it, I was just... me. The version that didn't have witty comebacks queued up, that couldn't casually drop facts I'd Googled five seconds earlier.

"Yeah," I said, my voice weirdly small.

Marcus was the kind of guy who'd been running track since middle school and still managed to make everything look easy. We'd been flirting at camp all summer, mostly over texts. This was the first time we were hanging out without screens as armor.

"You ever play padel?" he asked, gesturing to the court near the clubhouse.

My brain scrambled. Padel. The sport everyone at my school was suddenly obsessed with? I'd watched exactly one TikTok about it.

"Oh yeah, totally," I lied. "All the time."

Big mistake.

The next twenty minutes were a comedy of errors. I served the ball backward. I tripped over my own feet. Marcus kept laughing—not mean, just... confused. My face burned. I'd invented this cool, athletic version of myself, and reality was collapsing in real time.

Then something brushed against my ankle.

A calico cat was watching us from the sidelines, tail twitching like she'd seen better performances from squirrels.

"That's Pickles," Marcus said, finally lowering his racket. "She's a critic."

I snorted before I could stop myself.

"Look," he said, suddenly serious. "You're terrible at this. Like, impressively bad."

I waited for the rejection.

"It's kinda refreshing," he finished. "Most people pretend to be good at everything. You're just... out here living your truth."

We ended up sitting by the pool eating vending machine snacks while Pickles judged us from a lounge chair. Marcus talked about his anxiety about college applications. I admitted I'd never played padel in my life. The sun dipped, and I realized something terrifying and wonderful: I didn't miss my phone at all.

Later, when I finally charged it, the notifications flooded in. But the real hit was different—a text from Marcus.

Same time next week? But maybe we just hang out. No sports.

I smiled, typing back: Deal. For once, I didn't add a filter.