Washed Up at the Courts

Maya stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her hair refusing to cooperate despite twenty minutes and half a bottle of mousse. Her natural curls were doing that thing again—half frizz, half weirdly straight in random patches like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

"You look fine," she lied to herself. "Totally normal. Not at all like you're about to play padel with the cutest guy in tenth grade for the first time ever."

Her phone buzzed. Instagram notification. Jackson had posted a story—him at the padel courts, grinning with that annoyingly perfect smile, racket slung over his shoulder like he was born holding one. caption: "Who's ready to get crushed today? 😏"

Maya's stomach did this thing that felt like her organs were rearranging themselves.

"Buddy," she said to her golden retriever, Buster, who was staring at her with his head tilted, "I think I'm about to throw up."

Buster wagged his tail enthusiastically because he was a simple creature who thought everything was a game, especially emotions.

Outside, the Texas heat hit her like a physical force as she walked to the community courts. Her iphone felt slippery in her sweaty palm. Why was she so nervous? It was just padel. It was just Jackson. It wasn't like he was her crush or anything—except he totally was, and the whole middle school knew it, and somehow Instagram stories about it kept "accidentally" appearing.

Jackson was already there, stretching in those athletic shorts that made everyone uncomfortable. "Maya! You made it."

"Yeah," she managed. "Ready to lose."

"Bold words from someone who's never played me," he grinned.

The game was a disaster. Maya's competitive side had apparently been replaced by clumsy awkwardness. She missed easy shots. She tripped over her own feet. At one point, she hit the ball so wrong it bounced off the fence and nailed Jackson directly in the back.

"I'm so sorry," she cringed.

"Dude, that was legendary," he laughed, rubbing his back. "You've got an arm on you."

Then Buster, who'd escaped the backyard and followed her, chose that exact moment to sprint onto the court, grab their water bottle, and shake it like it was a squeaky toy. Water exploded everywhere—on Jackson, on the padel court, all over Maya's already sad-looking hair.

"BUSTER!" she yelled.

Jackson was dripping wet. His perfect hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked at Maya, then at the dog, then back at Maya, and started laughing. Like, genuinely laughing.

"Your dog is chaotic," he said. "I love it."

Maya wiped water from her face. "I am so mortified."

"Maya," he said, "you just nailed me in the back with a padel ball, your dog assaulted me with a water bottle, and I'm pretty sure I saw you trip three times. This is literally the most fun I've had all summer."

She looked at him—really wet, really messy, really genuine. Something in her chest loosened.

"Same," Maya said. And for the first time all day, she wasn't lying.