Zombie on the Padel Court

My dad's neon orange bucket **hat** wasn't exactly what I envisioned for my first day of padel lessons. But there I was, sixteen years old, standing on the court at the community center while everyone else looked like they stepped out of a Nike commercial.

"You good, bro?" asked Tyler, leaning on his racket with practiced ease. Tyler Chen, who somehow managed to make sweat look good. Tyler, who I'd been crushing on since seventh grade science when he let me borrow his pen during that brutal pop quiz.

"Just, uh, breaking in the hat," I mumbled, tugging at the brim. My little sister had drawn a tiny Sharpie skull on the inside, claiming it would give me "killer energy." The only thing it gave me was the profound urge to dissolve into the court surface.

Coach blew the whistle. "Pairs! We're doing drills today."

Of course. Of course I got paired with Tyler. Because the universe loved nothing more than watching me suffer through physically coordinated activities near people I found attractive.

"Nice swing," Tyler said after I somehow didn't embarrass myself on the first volley. "You play before?"

"Nintendo Wii version," I admitted, and he laughed. Actually laughed, not the polite chuckle I'd braced myself for.

"Same. I played tennis in middle school though. You just need to—"

He moved behind me to adjust my grip, his fingers brushing mine. My brain short-circuited. I missed the next ball entirely. Then the next. Then I nearly tripped over my own feet.

"You good?"

"Just tired," I lied. The truth was I'd stayed up until 3 AM scrolling through his Instagram archive, cycling through the same twenty photos like a social media **zombie** seeking dopamine instead of brains. "Up late studying."

" finals season is rough," he said, like he understood. "My little sister keeps waking me up at 6 AM wanting breakfast. I'm basically operating on coffee and revenge."

Something shifted. The careful facade cracked.

"Wait, you're tired too?"

"Dude, I've had four hours of sleep since Thursday."

We both cracked up. And suddenly the stupid neon hat didn't matter. My mediocre athletic abilities didn't matter. We were just two exhausted teenagers, sweating through a Sunday morning, neither of us particularly cool despite what our classmates might think.

"Same time next week?" Tyler asked as we gathered our stuff.

"Yeah," I said, tugging the hat's brim. "Same time. And maybe I'll finally explain why my sister calls me the Padel Zombie."

"Looking forward to it," he said, and I pretended not to notice the way he smiled when he turned away.

Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become the ones that change everything.