The Summer of Second Chances

I was literally running away from my old self when I crashed into him.

"Watch where you're going, new kid," he said, then grinned. "I'm Mateo. You're the one who moved into the Miller house."

I smoothed my frizzy hair, suddenly self-conscious. Mom had convinced me to get bangs the week before eighth grade, and now I looked like a lost sheep. "Maya. And I'm not new, just...重新starting."

"Re-starting what?"

"Everything."

Mateo raised an eyebrow. "Cool. Come play padel with us."

"I don't even know what that is."

"Like tennis, but easier, and nobody judges you for being mid." He tossed me a racket. "Besides, my usual partner bailed. Said he had to take his vitamin supplements or whatever."

The court was tucked behind the community center, hidden by overgrown bushes. Three other kids were already there – Mateo's crew, apparently. They looked like the kind of friends I'd spent all of seventh grade envying from across the cafeteria.

"She's with me," Mateo announced. "Teach her the basics."

An hour later, I was sweaty, terrible at the game, and laughing so hard my stomach hurt. Mateo kept making these dramatic dives for the ball and missing completely on purpose.

"You're actually chaos," I told him.

"You love it," he shot back, grinning.

And the weird thing was, I did.

Afterward, we sat on the curb sharing Mateo's emergency snacks (fruit punch and definitely not actual vitamins). "So," he said, "what's the deal with the running away from yourself thing?"

I told him everything – about my old school, the rumors, the friend who turned everyone against me over a boy she didn't even like. About how I begged my parents to move, to let me transfer, to somehow hit reset on my entire life.

"That's rough," Mateo said. "But you know what's crazier?"

"What?"

"Nobody here knows that girl. So maybe stop running from her and just... be whoever you want now."

I looked at my reflection in the store window behind him. My bangs were still uneven, my hair still frizzy. But for the first time in forever, I didn't hate what I saw.

"Hey," Mateo said. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Only if you promise to actually try hitting the ball."

"No promises."

Walking home, I realized something: you can't really run away from yourself. But you can find people who make you want to stop running.