Thunder on the Padel Court

Marcus stood in front of his mirror, clutching the orange **vitamin** D3 bottle like it was some magical elixir that could transform him from scrawny sophomore to padel court legend. The captioned posts on his feed promised "peak performance" and "alpha energy," whatever that meant.

"You coming or what?" Javi called from downstairs. The neighborhood crew was heading to the courts, and Marcus had spent three weeks practicing his serve in empty parking lots just to not embarrass himself.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

The court buzzed with energy—the thwack of balls against walls, laughter, the sharp bark of sneakers on concrete. Marcus's stomach did that familiar flip-flop thing whenever he had to perform. Especially with Sofia watching from the sidelines, her phone probably recording everything.

"Alright, Marcus versus Javi!" someone shouted.

Javi, who'd been playing since he could walk. Javi, whose effortless backhand made everything look like a highlight reel. The same Javi who'd made that snide comment about Marcus's "little boy arms" last week.

The **lightning** cracked before anyone saw it—the sudden, brutal flash of sky turning white-purple, the boom following so close it made everyone jump. Rain splattered against the court's fence.

"We should probably—" Marcus started.

"Five more points!" Javi shouted, grinning like he'd already won. "Unless you're scared of a little water?"

Something in Marcus snapped. Maybe it was the **vitamin** commercial that had been stuck in his head all week—"unleash your inner beast"—or maybe he was just tired of being the kid who always backed down.

"Bring it."

They played through the drizzle, water making the ball unpredictable, steam rising off the court. Marcus stopped thinking about his arms or Sofia's phone or looking cool. He just moved. His serve connected with a crack that echoed through the rain. He chased down balls he should have let go, his sneakers squealing, his lungs burning.

When the final point landed—a perfect shot that clipped the edge and spun away—Javi actually stared at him for a second.

"Whoa," Sofia said from the fence. "Since when do you play like that?"

Marcus stood there, dripping wet, chest heaving, feeling something like electricity running through his veins that had nothing to do with any supplement. He'd spent so long trying to be someone else—taking **vitamin** shots to bulk up, practicing until his arms shook—that he'd forgotten the most important part wasn't looking like a **bull** charging the court. It was playing like himself.

"Since I stopped caring about looking cool," Marcus said, and the smile he gave Sofia was real.