Zombie on the Court

I stood at the baseline of the padel court, my heart doing that nervous flutter thing it does when I'm about to embarrass myself in front of literally everyone.

"You good, Maya?" Jordan asked, spinning his racket like he'd been born holding one. Which, considering his parents had a padel court in their backyard, he basically had.

"Totally good," I lied. "Justchanneling my inner zombie. You know, from staying up till 3 AM finishing that history paper."

Jordan laughed. "More like channeling your inner spinach. You look green."

I rolled my eyes but smiled. Jordan had been my best friend since seventh grade, back when I still thought cargo shorts were a viable fashion choice. But lately, everything felt different. Freshman year had changed everything—Jordan had joined the tennis team, started hanging with the popular crowd, while I was still figuring out who I was even supposed to be.

"Okay, princess," Jordan tossed me a ball, "your serve. Don't overthink it."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who'd just made a complete fool of himself trying to look cool at lunch, accidentally knocking over a tray of—yes, really—spinach and feta salad all over his crush's new shoes.

I tossed the ball up, racket back, and—completely whiffed. The ball bounced pitifully behind me.

Behind me, someone snorted. Of course. Taylor and her friends, sitting on the bleachers like they owned everything. Including Jordan, apparently.

"Smooth," Taylor called out.

My face burned. I bent to grab another ball, but Jordan's hand stopped me.

"Hey." His voice was serious. "Remember what I told you? Nobody's watching as hard as you think they are."

"Taylor is literally watching me right now."

"Taylor wishes she could move like you did when we were running laps in PE last week. You smoked everyone." He lowered his voice. "Including me."

I blinked. That was... actually true?

"Now hit the ball like you mean it, Maya. Not like you're afraid of it."

I took a breath. In. Out. Thought about spinach salads and history papers and Taylor's judgment. Then I thought about running, about how good it felt to leave everything behind on the track.

I served. Perfect arc, right in the corner.

"YESSS!" Jordan shouted, high-fiving me so hard my hand stung. "See? You're literally a natural."

And in that moment, with Taylor's friends actually clapping and Jordan grinning like I'd just won Wimbledon, I realized something important: I wasn't a zombie anymore. I was just Maya. And that was enough.