The Vitamin Padel Protocol

My dad called them 'insurance policies'—the handful of vitamin supplements he made me take every morning. But everyone at school knew them as 'Marco's weird ritual.' I was fifteen, trying desperately to be normal, and failing spectacularly.

Then came Spanish club's announcement: weekend padel tournament. Padel was like tennis meets squash, and apparently huge in Spain. I signed up instantly, mostly because ISABELLA was going.

Isabella, who somehow made everything look effortless. Isabella, who I'd been crushing on since seventh grade.

'You play, Marco?' she asked at lunch, sliding onto the bench beside me.

'Uh, yeah,' I lied. 'My uncle's got a court.' Another lie. I'd watched exactly three YouTube tutorials.

'I love padel!' she said, and just like that, I was committed.

Friday night found me in my garage, stringing a rogue cable between my phone and a portable speaker, blasting reggaeton while I practiced serves against the wall. My little sister's teddy bear watched from a shelf—BARNABY, wearing a tiny sombrero she'd glued on.

'You're gonna embarrass yourself,' my sister announced from the doorway.

'Want to help me practice?' I asked, ignoring her.

She sighed. 'Fine. But you owe me.' She tossed me her racket.

We played until midnight. She destroyed me, obviously, but I finally got my serve down.

Saturday arrived. Isabella waved when she saw me, wearing this bright yellow outfit that made my stomach do backflips. 'Ready to get crushed, Marco?'

'This is about friendship, Isabella. Not competition.'

'Sure, loser,' she laughed.

The tournament began. somehow—MIRACULOUSLY—I won my first three matches. Isabella and I faced off in the finals. The whole Spanish club was watching.

'Game point,' she called out, sweat dripping down her face.

I served. The ball hit the wire fencing, ricocheted wildly, and dropped just inside her baseline.

'WHAT,' she screamed.

'Beginner's luck?' I offered, grinning.

We played for an hour. Back and forth, neither of us giving up. Finally, she hit this impossible angle shot. I dove for it—DIVING, like the dramatic dork I was—and my racket connected. The ball sailed over her head, landing perfectly in the corner.

'SCHEISSE,' she yelled, then started laughing. 'Okay, you don't completely suck.'

Afterward, we sat on the bench sharing her vitamin water while my sister took approximately five hundred embarrassing photos.

'My grandma's got a court,' Isabella said. 'Want to come practice next weekend?'

My heart nearly exploded. 'Only if you bring those vitamins. I'm gonna need the energy.'

She laughed, and something in my chest loosened. Maybe being normal wasn't the point. Maybe the point was finding people who liked your version of weird.

'You're on,' she said.

My sister posted the photos that night. Caption: 'BEAR witness to this champion.' The whole school liked them. But I didn't even care.