Zombies of the Padel Court

By Friday, I was basically a **zombie**. Three days of finals, zero sleep, and now here I stood at the country club — the absolute bottom of the social **pyramid** that was Oak Creek High.

"You're up, Marcus," Chloe called from the **padel** court. She waved her racquet like she owned everything. And she kinda did. Her dad was the club president. She was at the pyramid's peak, and I was somewhere in the basement, holding a borrowed racquet I barely knew how to use.

I dragged myself to the court. My limbs felt heavy. My brain was mush. But Chloe had invited me, and when someone at her level notices you, you don't say no. You don't get opportunities like this when you're a nobody sophomore whose biggest achievement to date was getting an A in AP Euro.

"Show me what you got," she grinned. Her fox-like eyes had this mischievous glint that made my stomach do things I refused to acknowledge.

I swung at the ball and missed completely. It hit the glass wall behind me with a sad thud.

"Not bad for a beginner," she lied. "You're overthinking it. Just hit the thing."

We played. I improved, kinda. She crushed me, obviously. But for forty-five minutes, I wasn't the invisible kid in the back of the classroom. I was on a **padel** court with Chloe Reynolds, and she was laughing at my terrible jokes instead of pretending I didn't exist.

"Same time next week?" she asked afterward, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"Yeah," I said, trying to play it cool. "Same time."

I walked to my mom's car feeling like maybe, just maybe, I'd started my climb up that pyramid. Or maybe I was just a zombie who'd gotten lucky. Either way, I'd take it.