Three Points Up

Marcus stood at the baseline of the padel court, his heart hammering like a bass drop at a school dance. The yellow ball blurred toward him, and he swung—the racket hit nothing but air.

"Bro, you good?" Jake called from the other side, grinning with that effortless confidence that made Marcus want to disappear. "That's three serves you've whiffed."

The pyramid of popularity at Crestwood High had a very specific structure: varsity athletes at the top, then the theater kids, then everyone else floating somewhere in the middle. Marcus had been comfortably orbiting the bottom since freshman year. But his dad had signed him up for lessons, insisting exercise would fix everything—probably along with those disgusting orange vitamin gummies that made his burps taste like synthetic fruit punch.

"I got it," Marcus mumbled, though he definitely didn't.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably another text from his mom about how his pet goldfish, Admiral Bubblebeard, looked "lonely" and maybe he needed a friend. She didn't get that fish don't experience existential crises. That was a human thing.

"Hey."

Marcus jumped. A girl from the next court over had wandered over. Chloe. She played varsity tennis, had that perfect messy bun that probably took forty-five minutes to arrange. "Your form's all wrong. You're holding the racket like a tennis racket. This isn't tennis."

Before Marcus could process that she was speaking to him, she stepped behind him, reached around to adjust his grip. Her arms brushing his shoulders made his brain short-circuit. "Loosen up. You're too stiff. Like, criminally stiff."

"I'm not—I just—" The ball came over the net. Marcus swung without thinking, and his racket connected with a satisfying THWACK. The ball sailed past Jake's outstretched arm, landing perfectly in the corner.

"Damn," Jake said. "Finally." But he was smiling, actually smiling, not那种 mean-kid-smiling-at-a-joke-you-don't-understand way. "You want to play doubles? Me and Chloe versus you and..."

He glanced at Marcus's phone, still lit up with a photo of Admiral Bubblebeard.

"You and whatever's going on there."

Marcus looked at Chloe, who shrugged like this was the most normal thing in the world. The pyramid suddenly felt a lot less steep. "Sure," he said, and for the first time in three years of high school, his voice didn't shake. "But I'm picking the teams after this."

"Deal," Chloe said, already walking back to her court. "Bring your A-game, vitamin boy. I saw those gummies in your bag."

Marcus stood there for a second, the padel racket suddenly feeling lighter in his hand. The pyramid hadn't crumbled, exactly. But maybe, just maybe, he'd found a way to climb it without losing himself in the process.