Water Lines and Orange Skies

Maya stood at the edge of the **padel** court, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The chlorine from the nearby pool stung her nose, triggering memories of last summer's incident—the **water** swallowing her screams as everyone watched from the deck.

"You coming, Maya?" Jordan called, already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his racket gleaming under the afternoon sun.

She adjusted her hair. After three hours of strategic gel application and a grandmother's blowout tutorial, it finally behaved—sleek, dark waves cascading down her back. Not that Jordan would notice. He was too busy flirting with Skylar, whose orange crop top screamed *look at me* in the way Maya's never could.

Her mom had pushed the bottle of **vitamin** D supplements into her hand that morning. "For strong bones, mija. And maybe some confidence too, eh?" The joke landed flat, like everything else between them lately.

Maya stepped onto the court. The rubber surface gripped her sneakers, solid beneath her shaking legs.

"Game point!" Jordan shouted.

The ball came flying. Maya's body moved before her brain could overthink it—backswing, contact, follow-through. The ball hit the back glass, a satisfying THWACK that echoed through the complex.

"Yesss, Maya!" Skylar cheered. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Jordan grinned at her. Actually grinned. "Since when did you get game?"

"Since I stopped caring about looking cool," Maya said, and realized it was true. The tightness in her chest loosened, water weight finally shed.

They played until the sky turned that perfect orange, the kind that makes you believe in infinite possibilities. Her hair was a mess again, sweat-drenched and wild. Her vitamin supplements were still at home on the counter.

And for the first time in forever, Maya didn't care.