Undercover at the Padel Courts

I was definitely not supposed to be here.

The padel courts at the Riverside Club shimmered under amber floodlights, and somehow I'd talked myself into showing up for Friday night pickup games. Me—Leo, the guy whose idea of exercise was walking to the fridge. But Maya was here, and Maya played padel, and suddenly I was too.

'You gonna stand there all night or actually play?' someone called.

I grabbed a borrowed racquet. My palms were sweating. I'd watched like four YouTube tutorials. I was basically an expert.

Spoiler: I was not.

The first ball rocketed past me before I even registered it happened. The second one bounced off my hip. The third one I actually hit—straight into the ceiling fan. The whole court erupted. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

That's when I noticed the guy by the fence.

He was maybe twenty, wearing a hoodie that was definitely too warm for June, holding a phone at a weird angle. Not recording the game. Recording me.

My stomach did something uncomfortable. Was he live-tweeting my humiliation? Was this going to be some tiktok about the worst padel player in history?

'Hey, everything okay?' Maya materialized beside me, holding out a water bottle. She smelled like coconut shampoo and victory. 'You looked like you were fighting off bees.'

'I was implementing a unique strategy,' I said. 'It's avant-garde. Very European.'

She laughed, and I felt my face get hot. 'Anyway, my mom packed way too much food. You want some? She's on this huge health kick, so warning: there's spinach.'

'Spinach?' I perked up. 'I love spinach. It's basically my personality.'

We sat on the bench as she unpacked a tupperware of spinach salad that looked suspiciously edible. The hoodie guy was still watching. I'd had enough.

'Dude,' I called out, marching over. 'Do I have something on my face, or are you just documenting my athletic ineptitude?'

The guy lowered his phone, looking startled. 'What? No, I—'

'Because I'm failing publicly here, and I really don't need it immortalized.'

He stared at me for a second, then started laughing. 'Oh my god. No. I'm not—I'm your sister's boyfriend. She sent me to pick you up, and honestly, I've never seen someone hit a ceiling fan before. I was waiting for a good moment to approach.'

The silence stretched. I processed this. 'You're Tom?'

'The one and only.' He gestured to the parking lot. 'Car's that way. Your mom said something about spinach lasagna at home?'

Of course. Of course she did.

Behind me, Maya was cracking up. 'So,' she said, 'same time next week? Or are you going to spy on us from the parking lot?'

I looked at Tom, who was trying not to laugh. I looked at the padel court where I'd absolutely embarrassed myself. I looked at Maya, who was still holding out that spinach salad like a peace offering.

'Next week,' I said. 'But I'm bringing my own racquet. And possibly knee pads.'

'Deal.' She grinned. 'By the way, you're terrible.'

'I know.' I took the salad. 'But I'm here.'

And honestly? That felt like enough.