When Life Hits You Like a Padel Ball

Marcus dragged himself through the front door feeling like a straight-up zombie. 6 AM baseball practice would do that to you—especially when you'd been up until 2 AM doomscrolling and overthinking that text from Maya. *Hey, wanna get boba later?* Simple. NBD. Except it was totally BD.

"You're home!" His little sister Lena bounced into the hallway, clutching her padel racket like it was a newborn puppy. "Remember? You promised you'd help me with my backhand before the tournament!"

Marcus groaned. "Lena, I literally can't. Coach is killing us this week. Plus I need to study for that chem test I'm definitely about to fail."

"Please! Just thirty minutes? Mom said you'd—"

"Fine. Whatever. But then I'm dead to the world."

They ended up at the community courts, Lena in her neon tournament shirt that said PADEL SQUAD in sparkly letters. She was actually getting kinda good, and Marcus found himself yelling pointers that actually made sense. Pivot your hips. Follow through. Same mechanics as baseball, kinda.

"Hey, Marcus!"

He spun around. Maya. Standing there with her friends, holding this bright pink smoothie cup. His stomach did that embarrassing flippy thing.

"What's up?" she called. "You coming to the zombie run tomorrow? School fundraiser thing?"

"Uh, maybe?"

"You should! It's gonna be lowkey fire. Also, try this." She held out her drink. "Papaya, mango, and this vitamin D supplement I'm obsessed with. My mom's all about immune support now."

Marcus took a sip. Sweet. Tropical. Not terrible. "Not bad."

"Right?" Maya grinned. And for a second, everything else—baseball, chem, the whole overthinking spiral—just fell away.

"She likes you," Lena whispered loudly after Maya left.

"Shut up."

"You should've asked her to the zombie run."

Marcus's phone buzzed. Another text from Maya: *You coming or what? Don't make me go alone lol*

He looked at Lena, who was waiting for him to critique her serve. Looked at the text. Looked at the pink cup in his hand.

Sometimes the most important plays aren't the ones you see coming.

"Hey Lena," Marcus said, already typing. "Think you can handle thirty more minutes?"