The Vitamin Deficiency Summer

I stared at my reflection, fingers tracing the patchy spot near my temple where my hair had decided to peace out. Thanks, stress. Thanks, junior year. Thanks, universe. My mom had diagnosed me with a vitamin D deficiency after extensive Googling and now I was stuck taking these horse-pill supplements that made me feel like I was about eighty years old.

"Maya! You going to be ready?" Lena called from downstairs.

I stuffed the vitamin bottle into my backpack and grabbed a beanie, pulling it low over my ears. The worst part about hair loss wasn't even the hair part—it was how it made everything feel exposed. Like everyone could suddenly see all my other insecurities glowing like neon signs.

We were heading to the community center where some of the popular kids from school played padel. I'd never even heard of padel until last week, apparently it was like tennis but with walls and cooler somehow. Lena had been talking about it nonstop, about how Tyler and his crew went every Friday, how maybe we could join in.

"You're not still wearing that hat, are you?" Lena asked when I climbed into her car.

"Yes, I am still wearing this hat."

She sighed, doing that thing where she didn't say anything but was definitely saying something.

The padel courts were behind the community center, chain-link fence separating them from the parking lot. I could hear the rhythmic thwack of balls hitting walls, mixed with laughter and shouted calls. Through the fence, I could see them—Tyler with his perfect hair, Sofia with her effortless athletic ability, everyone moving with that comfortable confidence that came from never having anything go wrong in their lives.

And there I was, vitamin-deficient and partially bald, about to attempt a sport I didn't understand in front of people who already thought I was weird.

"Come on," Lena said, grabbing my hand. "Tyler said they need a fourth for doubles."

"You told them I'd play?"

"I told them we MIGHT play. Come on, Maya. Don't let your head mess this up."

She meant it figuratively. I took it literally.

Tyler waved us over, all easy smiles and dazzling teeth. "Maya! Perfect timing. You ever play padel before?"

"Define 'play,'" I said, which made him laugh, which made my stomach do that annoying flutter thing.

"You'll figure it out. Here." He tossed me a racquet. "Just don't hit the glass walls too hard. They're expensive."

Sofia rolled her eyes but tossed me a ball. "He's terrible at explaining. Just hit it back and forth. Try not to look like a complete dork."

The game was chaos. My hair was escaping from my beanie. I was missing shots I should've made and making accidental shots that somehow worked. Everyone was shouting directions and encouragement and I was laughing despite myself, despite the insecurity sitting like a rock in my stomach.

"Maya, watch out!" Tyler called, but too late.

The ball came sailing toward my head. I ducked. The beanie flew off.

Silence.

I could feel the cool air against the patchy spot. Could feel everyone looking. Could feel my face burning hot enough to power a small city.

"Maya," Tyler said, and I waited for it, for the joke or the awkward comment or the pity. "That was honestly sick reflexes. You should've seen that earlier—you almost took my head off with that serve."

Sofia nodded, like she was actually impressed. "For real. You play like you're trying to murder someone. It's kinda terrifying."

They weren't looking at my hair. They were looking at me.

"Yeah, well," I said, bending to pick up my beanie but not putting it back on. "I'm full of surprises. My vitamin deficiency makes me unpredictable."

Tyler laughed. "Dude, same. Those pills are the actual worst."

We played another game. My hair was messy. I was sweating. I made terrible shots and good ones and somewhere in the rhythm of the ball hitting the walls, in the way Tyler high-fived me when I actually managed to score, in how Sofia called me by name instead of "Lena's friend," I realized something.

I could be the girl with the missing hair and the vitamin pills and the weird serve. I could be all of those things. And maybe that was enough.

"Same time next week?" Tyler asked as we were packing up.

"Same time," I said. And I meant it.