Three Points Down

The padel court at Willow Creek Academy wasn't just a court — it was social headquarters. And I was definitely not invited.

"You coming?" Riley asked, bouncing on her toes as she adjusted her visor. Her hair was somehow perfect, even after third period PE.

I clutched my backpack strap. "Can't. Got... stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Cat stuff. My sister's cat, Mittens, needs... attention." Lame excuse. Mittens had been dead since October.

Riley's expression did that tiny crinkle thing — half pity, half whatever. "Cool. We're doing mixed doubles tomorrow if you're free."

My brain did a full system crash. Mixed doubles meant being on the court. With people. Talking. Moving. All while my hand-eye coordination was still loading at 56k speeds.

"Maybe," I managed.

I spent that entire evening panic-preparing. My mom caught me staring at my reflection, checking for flaws that definitely existed but no one else could see.

"You okay?" She dropped a bottle of gummy vitamins on my desk. "You haven't been taking these."

"Do they help with not being awkward?"

"They help with not being scurvy-riddled. Same thing."

That night, I stress-ate a bag of spinach chips while staring at my phone, waiting for Riley to text. She didn't. Of course she didn't.

Next day at lunch, I spotted her at the padel courts through the cafeteria windows. Everyone laughed. Someone did that trick shot where the ball bounces off the back wall. They all high-fived. It looked effortless. It looked like everything I wasn't.

My phone buzzed. A text from my dad: Carnival goldfish update — Spike grew a millimeter. Proud papa moment.

I looked at Spike's tiny bowl back home, then at the courts, then at my spinach-stained fingers. Something clicked.

Spike had spent three years in a bowl, growing a millimeter at a time, and nobody was watching him get discouraged. He just kept swimming.

I walked outside.

"Yo!" someone called. "Need a fourth?"

Riley waved me over.

I stepped onto the court. My first serve hit the net. The second went wide. But the third?

The third cleared the net. They didn't have to dive for it, but they actually had to move.

"Not bad," Riley said.

"Not good either," I countered.

"Better than Mittens would've done."

I froze. But Riley was smiling. Not the pity-smile. The real one.

"How'd you know about Mittens?"

"Your Instagram. From October." She bounced the ball. "Also, I didn't buy the cat excuse. But I'm glad you're here anyway."

Maybe I wasn't a pro yet. Maybe I was still growing millimeter by millimeter. But for the first time, I wasn't just watching from the window.

And honestly? That felt pretty good.