Thunder Over the Tennis Court

The volleyball net was down. Again. In its place: a padel court, because apparently baseball wasn't fancy enough for Lakeview's elite anymore.

I sat on the bench, my cleats gathering dust, watching Bryce and his crew dominate the court. Padel was basically tennis but shorter, squash but louder, and exponentially more expensive. My dad's old baseball glove sat beside me like a relic from a forgotten era.

"You should just go over there," Maya said, scrolling through her phone without looking up.

"Easier to infiltrate the Pentagon," I muttered, which earned me an eye-roll. We'd been best friends since kindergarten, back when our biggest worry was who got the blue shovel in the sandbox. Now, at sixteen, everything felt like a test I hadn't studied for.

My little sister came running over, clutching a plastic bag. "Look! Goldfish!"

She'd won it at the carnival booth—three actually, swimming in tiny circles. Their mouths opened and closed, opening and closing, like they had something important to say but couldn't quite remember the words.

"That's great, Lila," I said, distracted. Bryce had just served an ace, and everyone on the court cheered. I felt like a spy behind enemy lines, watching from the shadows, taking mental notes on how to be someone I wasn't.

The sky, which had been taunting us all afternoon with its charcoal belly, finally broke.

Lightning cracked across the horizon, and for a split second, everything looked different. Bryce's perfect hair. Maya's knowing smile. The goldfish swimming obliviously in their plastic prison.

Rain came down in sheets. Everyone scattered—yelling, laughing, grabbing their gear. I reached for the goldfish bag instinctively, protecting it with my body while water plastered my hair to my skull.

When the storm passed as quickly as it arrived, I was dripping wet, my favorite hoodie ruined. But Lila's goldfish were safe, swimming in circles like nothing had happened.

Maya found me on the bench, still holding the bag. She sat down beside me, dripping wet.

"You know," she said, "Bryce plays padel like his dad's paying him to hate it."

I laughed, surprised. "Really?"

"Baseball's more your vibe anyway. More soul."

The goldfish swam on, content in their small world, and for the first time all summer, I stopped trying to be someone I wasn't. Some things are worth protecting. Some things aren't worth faking.

The court emptied out. Bryce and his crew left for wherever cool people went on Tuesday afternoons. Maya and I sat there, watching the steam rise off the pavement, and I realized I hadn't missed a thing.