When Summer Stood Still

The sweat pooling in my palms wasn't just from the heat — it was HER, standing across the padel court like she owned everything, especially my nervous system.

"You gonna serve or what, Leo?" Maya called, grinning that grin that made my knees forget they were knees.

"Yeah. Just. Paddel." I said it wrong. AGAIN. It's PAH-del, not PAD-el. Not that pronouncing it correctly would help me not suck at it, but still.

This was the problem with having a crush on your nemesis. Maya, who'd been my lab partner since seventh grade, had suddenly transformed over the summer into someone who wore crop tops and played padel like she was training for the Olympics. Meanwhile, I was still Leo, the guy who once accidentally called our teacher "Mom" in front of everyone.

I served. The ball hit the net.

"Smooth," she said, but she was laughing. Not mean-laughing. The other kind.

The worst part? I'd been awake since 3 AM. Not from studying. From playing *Zombie Apocalypse* with my friends because nothing says "cool teenager" like losing sleep over pixelated undead. I was literally operating on zombie energy, surviving on stolen sips of my dad's coffee and sheer terror that Maya would notice the dark circles under my eyes.

Then I saw him.

Mr. Whiskerson. The neighborhood cat who belonged to no one but everyone. He was sprawled across the bench behind the court, orange fur glowing in the afternoon sun, watching me fail at life and padel simultaneously.

"At least someone's enjoying the show," I muttered.

Maya looked over. "That cat's been there for twenty minutes. He's judging you."

"Gee, thanks."

She walked to the net, and for a second, the space between us felt like the most important distance in the universe. "My parents are fighting again," she said, so quietly I almost missed it. "I come here because nobody's home."

The air shifted. Suddenly we weren't player vs. nemesis anymore. We were just two people standing on a cracked court at 2 PM on a Tuesday, both hiding something.

"I've been up since 3 AM," I admitted. "Zombie tournament with the guys. Because I'm an idiot."

She laughed — really laughed — and it sounded like sunlight through palm fronds. "We're both disasters, Leo."

"Yeah," I said, and something in my chest loosened. "Yeah, we are."

Mr. Whiskerson stretched, stood up, and trotted over to rub against Maya's legs like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole cat life.

"Traitor," I said.

"He knows quality when he sees it," she shot back, but she was smiling at me now, really smiling, and I thought maybe sucking at padel wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Not if it meant standing here with her while the world kept spinning, feeling tired and hopeful and exactly sixteen years old.