When the Sphinx Served

I stood outside the padel court, my racket feeling like a dead weight in my sweaty grip. Mom's latest scheme to "fix me" involved forcing me into lessons at the country club where she worked weekends. Meanwhile, my actual friends were probably seven episodes deep into whatever was trending on cable, making jokes I wouldn't understand until Monday.

"You're up, Leo," the instructor called out. His name was Coach Marcus, but everyone called him the Sphinx behind his back. The man never smiled, never gave compliments, just watched you with those amber eyes like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Rumor was he'd played pro in Spain before some injury benched him for good.

I stepped onto the court, my heart already running a marathon against my ribs. Across the net stood Skylar—junior varsity royalty, with hair that somehow defied humidity and a presence that made me want to dissolve into the artificial turf. They'd been playing padel since kindergarten, probably.

First serve came at me like it had a personal vendetta. I swung and missed entirely.

"Wrong grip," the Sphinx called from the sideline, not looking up from his clipboard. "Again."

Skylar smirked, and I felt that familiar burn in my chest—the one that showed up whenever someone cool acknowledged my existence, even to humiliate me. We were just two weeks into freshman year, and somehow everyone already knew exactly where they belonged. I was still trying to find my chapter.

Third time, I connected. The ball sailed past Skylar, landing perfectly in the corner. The Sphinx finally looked up.

"Better," he said, and I swear his mouth almost twitched. "Running to the net now—that's your strength. Don't let anyone tell you different."

After the lesson, Skylar caught me by the bike rack. "Not bad, cable guy."

"What?"

"Your dad's company. They fixed our WiFi last week." Skylar shrugged, suddenly human-sized. "You playing tomorrow?"

I nodded, unable to form words.

"Good. You're actually decent when you're not overthinking it." They walked off, then turned back. "Hey Leo? The Sphinx doesn't give compliments unless you earned them. Just so you know."

I walked home swinging my racket case, feeling something shift in my chest—like maybe high school wouldn't be completely terrible after all. Maybe I could figure out who I was supposed to be one serve at a time.

Mom was waiting with dinner, and for once, I didn't mind that she'd dragged me into this. The Sphinx had spoken, and somehow, that made all the difference.