"You did not-" I gasp when I feel the paint slowly making its way from the top to the bottom of my shirt.
Yet, I struggle to hide the hint of a smile on my face as I feel his arm, still around my waist, shaking as he laughs. "I believe I just did."...
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I yawn.
Loudly.
For obvious reasons covering my mouth, like the fact that one person can apparently stand "seeing people's tonsils" all day.
Her words not mine.
I wish I could just teleport to my bedroom so many times a day, I think it may be unhealthy.
I hold the burning hot drink to my mouth, accepting gratefully the warm the liquid adds to my already cold body from the air outside.
I'm starting to regret putting on shorts today, but one can I say, what is a tennis player without shorts?
Someone bump in my shoulder and almost make me spill the whole thing on me.
Glaring, I turn back, only to be greeted by the sheepishly expression on my coach's face as I my glare turn slightly less agressive since the guy is two times my side and honestly scary as hell. "Hi, Jay."
"Hello," I roll my eyes, following him outside, to the court.
I may be scared of him, like half of the time, but the other half, he's the closest thing I have to a father figure. I have known him since I was four, and started playing tennis. He's the one who taught me how to play, and he's the one who is supposedly making me go pro. Or the closest thing to that.
I put my bag on the court, take out my racket, drink a little water, and start running, knowing my usual routine did not change every other day.
It's 8 am and the sun isn't even completely out yet, but I'm running like a fire is behind me and stretching like I plan on competing for gymnastics.
Coach Cyril start throwing ball at me and I shoot them all with equal strength.
One of the most difficult exercise is being able to put as much strength in the ball as possible, without making it behind the baseline, or in the alleys.
I always try to make the ball fly just above the net, the closer it is, the less time the ball will fly, the faster it will hit the court and giving almost no time to the opponent to hit it.
I mastered this by the end of 5th grade.
As far as I am from this day, every lesson I leaner growing up helped me to this day, like doing a quick rotation in a circle, going forward and upwards before hitting the ball gives you more strength.
I love tennis and practicing with a good coach makes it all the more enjoyable.
A ball had just flown to the right corner just in front of the baseline, having achieved a perfect backhand, when a ring from my phone makes Coach look up from the stack of tennis ball he was throwing at me at a frightening pace. But he always does that and after a few years I learnt how to replicate perfectly his famous hits. He glares at me, reprimanding me for not having turned off my phone as I was supposed to.
