Vitamin C and Concrete Courts

I'd been spying on them for weeks. Not like, creepy stalking, but just... observing. The way they moved across the padel court at the country club—Grace and her perfect friends in their matching orange skirts, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was stuck taking vitamin D supplements because my mom said I "never saw sunlight." Which, fair. I was sixteen and practically nocturnal.

The Friday I finally talked to them, I was wearing my brother's old hoodie—the one with the mysterious orange stain on the pocket that never washed out. I'd been sitting on the bench outside the courts, watching them play, when Grace's ball flew over the fence and landed literally at my feet.

"You gonna grab that or just stare at it?" she'd called out, breathless and sweating and somehow still looking effortless.

I'd tossed it back. "Just admiring your form."

They'd laughed. Not mean-girl laughed. Real laughed. And that was it—I was in.

Three weeks later, I was part of the Friday afternoon padel squad. My mom was thrilled I was finally getting sunlight, even if she still insisted on the vitamins. The orange stain on my hoodie became our inside joke. Grace said it looked like a starburst. I said it looked like I'd spilled Gatorade. She said, "Same difference."

The spying stopped, obviously. Turns out when you're actually part of the group, you don't need to watch from the sidelines anymore. Though sometimes, sitting on that bench between matches, watching the way the late afternoon light hit the courts, I'd catch Grace looking at me like she used to look at the ball—focused, curious, like she was trying to figure something out.

"What?" I'd ask.

"Nothing," she'd say, grinning. "Just wondering what vitamins you're taking these days."

"Still the D," I'd say, tossing the ball back to her. "But I think I'm getting enough sunlight now."