Vitamins and Volleys

Maya's hands were definitely too small for padel. She stared at her palms during third period, comparing them to Sarah's across the aisle. Sarah's hands looked like they could crush a volleyball. Maya's looked like they belonged on a raccoon.

"You coming to open court?" Sarah asked, sliding into the desk beside her. "Tyler's bringing his new padel racket. It's literally so sick."

"Maybe," Maya said, even though she'd already promised her mom she'd come straight home to take her vitamin D gummy. The doctor said she was deficient, which felt like a personal attack.

But then Tyler walked by and flashed that smile that made half the sophomore class forget their own names, and suddenly Maya was calculating how many seconds it would take to sprint home, grab the gummy, and get back to school.

"Actually, yeah," she said. "Count me in."

The padel courts were behind the rec center, surrounded by these droopy palm trees that looked like they'd given up on life. Maya had never played, but Sarah made it look effortless — powerful swings, perfect angles, not even breaking a sweat.

"Your turn," Tyler said, tossing her a racket.

Maya's first swing missed the ball entirely. Her second hit it into the fence. Her third somehow launched it backward over her own head.

"Bro," Tyler laughed, but not in a mean way. "You're swinging like you're fighting off a bee."

"Here," Sarah said, coming over. "It's all in the wrists. And relax — you look like you're about to puke."

"I'm just —" Maya started, then realized she didn't know how to finish that sentence. She was just what? Nervous? Inadequate? Aware that her palm-to-racket ratio was tragically off?

"Nervous," Sarah supplied. "Same. Tyler's literally staring at you right now."

"I'm not staring," Tyler protested, even though he absolutely was.

Something shifted. Maybe it was the way Sarah adjusted Maya's grip without making her feel stupid, or the way Tyler kept finding excuses to keep playing even though it was getting dark. Or maybe Maya just stopped caring that her hands were small and started caring that she was actually hitting the ball back.

"One more?" Maya asked, surprised to find she meant it.

"Yo, since when are you good at this?" Sarah asked.

"Since you fixed my grip," Maya said, hitting a perfect volley down the line. "Also can we talk about how Tyler's been flirting with you for like an hour?"

"Shut UP," Sarah whispered, turning bright red.

"I literally have to go take my vitamins now," Maya said, grabbing her backpack. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time," Tyler and Sarah said in unison.

Maya walked home thinking about how sometimes the stuff you think makes you weird — the tiny hands, the vitamin obsession, the anxiety — ends up being exactly what connects you to people. She popped the gummy in her mouth. Tomorrow she'd bring extra. Just in case.