When the Skies Open Up

I stood outside the padel court, my heart doing jumping jacks. Tryouts. Again. Last year I'd frozen up like a deer in headlights, missing every shot and earning whispers that still echoed in my head.

"You got this, Mia," said Jordan, slicing into a papaya like it was no big deal. "Coach isn't that scary."

Easy for him to say. He was naturally athletic. Meanwhile, I'd been practicing my serve against the garage wall for months, my orange tabby cat Mango watching with what I swore was judgment in those yellow eyes.

The new coach, Coach Rivera, lived up to the rumors. She stood with arms crossed, her presence commanding. "Let's see what you've got," she called out. I felt like I was facing a bull in a ring — sweat already pooling at my hairline.

Then I saw HER. Skylar. The girl who'd made my life miserable last semester with her snide comments and icy looks. She stood on the opposite side of the court, swinging her racquet with practiced ease.

Great. Just great.

First shot came. I missed. Second shot. Another whiff. My face burned. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. Then, out of nowhere — lightning cracked across the sky, so close the hair on my arms stood up.

"Everyone inside!" Coach Rivera shouted. "Storm's rolling in fast."

We gathered in the covered area, adrenaline still pumping. Skylar ended up next to me, which was literally my nightmare.

"You were actually doing okay before the storm," she said quietly.

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Your form. It's better than last year." She shrugged. "I noticed."

We ended up talking the whole storm out — about music, about the pressure to be perfect, about how much we both hated papaya (Jordan's favorite snack, weirdo). By the time the rain stopped, something had shifted.

When practice resumed, I played better than I ever had. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was realizing the terrifying bull of a coach was actually pretty chill. Or maybe it was finally understanding that the scariest things — tryouts, mean girls, my own expectations — weren't so impossible after all.

That night, I told Mango everything. She just purred, because apparently even my cat knew I'd finally figured out how to show up for myself.