The Unforced Error

My dad discovered padel tennis at work and became instantally obsessed. Like, actually obsessed. He bought matching outfits for the whole family, signed us up for club membership, and started analyzing YouTube tutorials at the dinner table like they were game film.

"It's the fastest-growing sport in Europe, Maya!" he'd say, waving his racquet around the living room. "You'll love it. It's social, it's active, it's—" "Dad, please," I'd cut him off, retreating to my room to scroll through TikTok in peace.

Then came the Saturday he invited Ryan from my history class to play with us. Ryan. The same Ryan whose hair somehow looked perfect even after gym class. The Ryan I'd been low-key crushing on since September when we got paired for that presentation on the Industrial Revolution.

I spent forty-five minutes getting ready, trying to hit that perfect balance between I-woke-up-like-this casual and actually-attractive. My reflection stared back with a mix of hope and dread.

The padel court was worse than I imagined. Glass walls enclosing all my awkwardness for everyone to see. My dad kept shouting encouragement from the sidelines—"Bend your knees, Maya! Follow through!"—while Ryan moved with this natural grace I couldn't fake even if I tried.

"You've got this," Ryan said after I whiffed an easy return.

"Clearly I don't," I muttered, feeling my face burn.

Afterward, my mom had packed this supposedly healthy post-match lunch. "Spinach salad with quinoa," she announced proudly. "Builds muscle!" My little brother made gagging noises, but I was determined to show Ryan I could be mature and health-conscious. I took a huge bite, smiled, and felt something immediately wrong.

"You have—" Ryan started, then stopped himself.

"What?" I asked, already panicking.

"Nothing. Just... you have a little—" he gestured vaguely at his own teeth.

I ran to the bathroom mirror. Massive piece of spinach lodged front and center. Because of course.

That evening, my dad insisted on rewatching the day's matches on cable. "We can learn from this! Study the technique!" He'd recorded everything, and there it was on the big screen—me missing balls, me tripping over my own feet, me grinning like an idiot with spinach in my teeth while Ryan looked on with what I now recognized as pity.

"This is gold," my dad laughed. "Look at that form!"

I died inside. But then my phone buzzed. Ryan: "Today was actually pretty fun. Your family's hilarious. Want to hit the padel court again next weekend?"

Maybe some unforced errors aren't so bad after all.