"Home run!" Damn it, a home run.

New boy

Melissa's POV

       "You can do this, Lissa. He's just a new boy," I murmured to myself. Of course I knew he wasn't, but that's just the type of thing you tell yourself when a new boy arrives at the last game of the tournament. My coach, Chris Kim Lee, is hosting the finals. Just my luck; if I lose, I'll never hear the end of it.

     Lee blows his whistle and tosses me the ball. I catch it and position myself which my racket behind and the ball in front at eye level. I throw and an involuntary muscle swings my racket and swiftly connects it to the ball. A perfect shot, if it didn't soar straight into the net. Shit. 

     A first bad shot means a bad game. Come on Liss, do it for the family. I take a second serve. This time, it flies above the net and bounces in the service box. New-boy runs to hit it, a moment too late, when it takes a second bounce. That's when I took the point. "Fifteen, love!" I shouted, a smile creeping across my face. Maybe this won't be as hard as I thought.

     The second and third points, however, did not agree with my opinion. Before I knew it, the score was fifteen, thirty. I needed to get my head in the game. I smacked the ball and watched it soar above the court. That's the beauty of tennis. One minute, you're frozen in ecstasy, the next, you're fighting for your life. Funny, isn't it?

      The sound of a hit echoed in the room, interrupting my thoughts. A ball cracked me straight in the jaw. I felt tears prickling in my eyes. It took all of my strength not to let out a sob. Old man Lee was staring at me, mouth all the way open. "Close your mouth, do you want to catch flies?" I hissed sharply, my face burning. New-boy was just plain apologetic. "I'm so, so sorry. If, you want, you can have that point." He gave me my least favorite type of smile; a kind encouraging one.     

       I glared, infuriated with myself. But I was in no situation to pass up a point. I nodded slowly, too humiliated to speak. "Thirty all!", my coach yelled. Get your head in the game, girl. 

      I positioned myself carefully, preparing for my first serve. I threw the ball high in the air, and smacked it. Hard. It arced over the net, and New-boy rallied it back to me. This time, I put spin on the ball and watched it fall close to the net, on the other side, of course. He was too late. The score was now forty, thirty. Hang in there Lissa, just hang in there.

    The next point was just disappointing. After I had tossed my serve, it was shot right back to me. I stepped aside, thinking that there was absolutely no way that the ball would make it inside the base line. I was wrong. The goddamn ball bounced just in front of the base line.

      Don't scream, Liss, choke it back. I will not scream. I promised myself I wouldn't scream. Instead, I took the healthiest option; sticking up my favorite finger at the ceiling. Oh, the look on Lee's face. "Forty all!", I shouted, "That's a duce!" The coach spun his racket between me and New-boy. As expected, it landed on New-boy. Honestly, it would be stupid not to expect it. I mean, there's only two people. "Win by one, or two?", Lee asked him. "One," he answered confidently.

      I grabbed a ball, and made sure I was in the right position. No room for mistakes. Mistakes don't win fifteen grand. I tossed, served, and watched it fly. It was rallied back to me in an instant, then to New-boy as we battled for the match. Time to pull a Melissa Maim. I caught the ball on my racket, using its own momentum to twirl the racket and push the itself over the net. It soared like an eagle, preparing for the killing dive. It bounced, outside of the base line. 

      I lost. To a new boy.

~Rose

I actually slayed that.

695 word count.