Zombie Mode First Date

I'd been operating on zombie mode for three days straight. Thanks to Mr. Henderson's brutal history project, I'd survived on two hours of sleep and approximately zero functioning brain cells. So naturally, that's when Maya decided to finally notice me.

"Hey Marcus," she called across the quad, approaching with her effortlessly cool crew. "You play padel, right?"

I froze. Padel. That fancy tennis-ish sport all the rich kids played at the country club. I'd literally never touched a racquet in my life, but Maya was looking at me like I was actually interesting instead of just background noise.

"Uh, yeah," I heard myself say. "Totally."

"Perfect," she beamed. "We're short a player for Saturday's mixed doubles at the club. You in?"

I said yes because I'm an idiot, and also because her smile made my stomach do embarrassing gymnastics. The rest of the week became a frantic mission: binge-watching padel tutorials, borrowing equipment from my cousin, and running through my backyard in secret practice sessions.

Saturday arrived way too fast. I showed up at the club wearing my brother's questionable athletic shorts and carrying a racquet I'd secretly practiced with exactly three times. My palms were sweating so much I could barely grip the handle.

"You good?" Maya asked, tilting her head. "You look kinda... intense."

"Just focused," I managed. "Super focused."

Then the game started. And I immediately ate it. Like, face-planted trying to return a serve. But instead of laughing, Maya extended her hand—palm open, no judgment—to pull me up.

"First time?" she whispered.

My face burned. "Is it that obvious?"

She grinned. "You've got form, though. Someone's been practicing."

We played for two hours. I sucked, but it didn't matter. Somewhere between my epic fails and Maya actually laughing at my terrible jokes, the zombie fog lifted. I stopped running from who I actually was—some dork who would learn an entire sport just to talk to a girl—and started just... existing. Flawed, sweaty, but completely present.

"Same time next week?" Maya asked as I wiped my palms on my shorts.

"Definitely," I said, and meant it.