Trading Cleats for Court

My phone buzzed on the bench — third Instagram notification in five minutes. I ignored it, focusing instead on the stupid **spinach** stuck in my braces. Smooth, Leo. Real smooth.

"You coming or what?" Maya called from the **padel** court. She waved her racquet like she'd been doing this forever, which she kind of had — her family had a membership at this fancy club since forever.

I grabbed my **water** bottle and dragged myself over. Three weeks ago, I'd been the starting shortstop for the travel **baseball** team. Then my phone died during a tournament, I missed the callback for fall ball, and suddenly everyone was obsessed with padel. Even Jason, who literally couldn't hit a baseball to save his life, was now "so obsessed" with the sport.

"Your grip's too tight," Maya said, adjusting my hand on the racquet. Her fingers brushed mine — accidental, maybe, but my face heated up anyway.

"I know," I muttered. "I've played sports before."

"Not this sport." She smirked.

My **iphone** lit up with a text from Jason: *u coming to erics later???*

I shoved it back in my pocket. Eric's house meant hanging out with people who suddenly acted like they'd never played baseball in their lives, like we hadn't spent every summer since sixth grade at the field together. Now everything was padel this, padel that. Even the terminology sounded pretentious.

"Show me the backhand again," I said, trying to sound interested instead of bitter.

Maya stepped closer, demonstrating the motion. Her ponytail swung, and I caught a whiff of coconut shampoo. "It's like tennis, but cooler."

"Is it though?" I heard myself say before I could stop it.

She laughed. "What, you miss sliding around in dirt and spitting sunflower seeds?"

"Sometimes." I took a swing at the ball she tossed me. It sailed past the court.

"Smooth."

"Yeah, well." I wiped sweat from my forehead. "Maybe I'm just a baseball guy forever."

"Nothing wrong with that." Maya picked up another ball. "But maybe you can be both."

The words hung there as I tried the swing again. This time, the ball connected perfectly, soaring over the net.

"Okay," I admitted. "That was actually kind of cool."

"Told you." She grinned, and for once, I didn't care about my phone buzzing in my pocket or the spinach or whatever else felt wrong. Sometimes new things didn't have to replace the old stuff. Sometimes they just added to it.