In a world where the lines between love, rivalry, and friendship blur, Marissa stands as a pivotal figure among her peers. Tashi Duncan, her cousin, is both a rival and a source of inspiration on the tennis court. Their relationship is a complex dan...
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𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟿
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as Marissa moved around, preparing for the day ahead. The routine was a familiar one, a comforting rhythm of selecting an outfit, brushing her hair, and applying makeup with practiced ease.
In the background, the Tennis Channel played, commentators discussing the latest matches with enthusiasm. Marissa wasn't paying much attention until a particular name caught her ear, pulling her focus to the screen.
"Next up, we have Art Davidson who is going to be playing in the Challenger event in New Rochelle, New York," the commentator announced, as the camera panned his highlight reels.
Marissa's heart skipped a beat as she watched. She felt bad because she knew that he's been going through a losing streak lately. She couldn't help but smile as she remembered his easy smile and intense focus on the court. It had been a while since they last spoke, but she kept tabs on his career, a silent supporter from afar. As thoughts were on Art, she couldn't help but let them drift to Patrick Zweig. Despite not speaking to the brunette in years either, she couldn't help but quietly keep taps on his career either.
Marissa reached for her necklace, a habit when she was deep in thought or reminiscing. She touched the pendant, a small tennis racket, a memento from the time they had spent together. For a moment, she allowed herself to be lost in the past, in the what-ifs and the memories.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
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𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟼
The scorching summer of 2006 was in full swing, and the local tennis courts were alive with the sound of bouncing balls and rallying cheers. Marissa wiped the sweat from her brow as she watched her friends, Art and Patrick, practice for their upcoming junior doubles match. It had been a few months since their paths had crossed, and their friendship had quickly taken root, growing stronger with each shared victory and defeat.
Marissa had been a steadfast presence at Art and Patrick's matches, just as they had been at hers. There was a comforting routine in their support for one another, a silent pact that they would always be there, standing just beyond the baseline, ready to celebrate or console.
As the day's practice came to an end, Patrick approached Marissa with a playful grin, his racket swinging idly at his side. "Impressive forehand you had at your match yesterday," he teased, nudging her shoulder with his own.
Marissa laughed, the sound bright and easy. "Thanks, but I think your serve could give me a run for my money."
Their banter was light, yet beneath it simmered a flirtatious energy that neither of them had dared to voice. They stood a little too close, their laughter a little too loud, their glances lingering a fraction too long. It was an unspoken dance they had perfected over the months, one that had become as familiar as the grip of their rackets.
Art joined them, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders. "What are we laughing about?" he asked, his smile as wide as the lines on the court.
"Just talking about Marissa's killer forehand," Patrick replied, his hand brushing against Marissa's back in a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through her.
The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the court. The three friends gathered their gear and made their way to the local diner, a tradition that had quickly become their own. As they settled into a booth, the waitress brought over three milkshakes without needing to ask for their order.
They talked about everything and nothing—upcoming tournaments, college plans, the latest music hits—yet Marissa's attention was often drawn to Patrick. She caught him looking at her when he thought she wasn't noticing, his gaze warm and full of something she couldn't quite name.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The evening air was warm and filled with the distant sounds of the bustling city as Patrick, Art, and Marissa made their way back to the hotel. Patrick's arm was casually draped around Marissa's shoulders, a comfortable gesture that spoke of their friendship. They walked in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts after a long day.
As they reached Marissa's hotel room door, Patrick gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Good night, Marissa," he said with a smile. Art nodded in agreement, "See you in the morning."
"Night, guys," Marissa replied, offering them a weary but grateful smile. She watched as they continued down the hall to their own room before she turned and opened her door.
The room was dimly lit, and her father was just hanging up the phone. His stern face, which so often mirrored the intensity of his coaching on the tennis court, softened slightly as he noticed her enter.
"Marissa, that was your uncle," he began, his voice carrying the weight of news he was about to deliver. "Tashi is going to be starting at Stanford soon to play tennis."
Her heart plummeted. The familiar knot of anxiety and competitiveness in her stomach tightened. Tashi's presence meant the inevitable comparisons would start again, the ones that always left Marissa feeling like she was lagging behind, never quite measuring up.
Marissa nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Okay," she managed to say, even as a storm of emotions began to brew inside her. It was clear that things were about to change, and not necessarily for the better. With Tashi around, the shadow of their rivalry would loom large, and Marissa knew she would have to find a way to stand her ground.
