Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

LXXVI: Twenty Listed Ways

❝Life is a deep sleep of which love is the dream.❞
—Alfred De Musset

I surely look the part of a tennis legend, with a short white skirt that swishes in the gentle breeze, a sleeveless top for better mobility, and a visor to block out the sun's rays which are beating down relentlessly today. But looking the part of a tennis legend doesn't give me all the talent.

I don't know why I agreed to play some tennis with John, but I did. And well...

July 1, 2060.

"I'll let you serve," John offers, tossing me the neon yellow ball before crossing onto the other side of the net.

I twist the ball in my free hand. It's a lot fuzzier and lighter than I expected it to be, and the curvy white stripe patterns seem to serve no purpose at all.

Perhaps it is to stand out against the blue tennis court, which seems a lot bigger now that I am on it. There are white lines and boxes drawn upon the hard concrete and asphalt, but I have no idea what any of them mean.

I gaze across the court where John gets into position, that grin of his displaying his confidence, poised and graceful with a strong spin of unwavering competitiveness. It makes me nervous.

I force a laugh and bounce the ball once before calling out to John. "You're going to go easy on me, right?"

"Do you need me to?" John teases.

I clear my throat and croak out, "No."

Okay, how the fuck do I even do this? Unlike the tennis ball, the tennis racket is about twice as heavy as I thought it would be. Frankly, it's not heavy at all. But the fact that it's heavier than I suspected has thrown off my coordination by quite a bit; I find my racket-wielding hand weighing me down for no reason.

"Any day now," John chirps.

I stand up taller and back up a little, organizing a plan in my mind like building blocks... but the blocks are mismatched and they don't quite fit together.

Can I even swing this racket? What if it slips out of my hand and flies across the court? How far is this ball supposed to go? What is the goal of this game? Am I aiming for a big number like in bowling or a small number like in golf?

I set the questions aside and just do with it. With all my remaining courage and confidence, I toss the ball into the air in front of me, and with all my strength, I swing my racket towards it when it descends.

I miss.

John throws his head back laughing at my expense while I chase after the rolling ball.

"Stop laughing," I pout. "I was just testing my swing."

John lets me try again, but I should have stopped while I was ahead. While I managed to hit the ball this time (with the base of the racket, I should add), it only managed to go as far as the net.

I give John a deadly glare before he can start laughing again. 

"Just let me get the hang of this," I demand, snatching the ball from the ground again.

He let me try again and again and again. Finally, after about a dozen tries, I manage to get the ball over the net.

Unfortunately for me, John was ready, and he smacks the ball right back. Despite the ball heading towards the opposite side of the court I stand at, the zooming neon flash sends me ducking to the ground as though I were under fire in enemy territory.

"Shit, John!" I cried out, waving my racket in the air. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"It didn't even get near you, (Y/N)," John says, crossing onto my side of the court.