Matchpoint

Chapter 1:

The ball arched gracefully over the net, slicing through the afternoon breeze without effort. My body, like a shadow in the pinky-orange light, moved across the court, anticipating the trajectory with a swift backhand.

Holly Price, the darling of tennis and my opponent, sends a thunderclap of a forehand back at me. It's amusing to watch her play, her teeth snarl like a dog, and her face goes a deep tomato red. Never a smile of pleasure on her face, unlike me. I slide across the court as I unleash a cross-court forehand, sending Holly springting to get it.

I'll give it to Holly. She digs deep. She knows how to produce a series of punishing shots, each aimed on either side of the court to exhaust me, but her play is predictable. She'll try and exhaust me till I retire and hand her the easy point, but I don't play like that. I've had to practice against enough of these tennis prodigies that their plays are basically second nature to me. If I ever played competitively, I'd know exactly how to match their play, I could anticipate exactly where they'd hit that ball next. I know how their minds work. Everything in tennis is calculated. If you're not one step ahead of the player, you'll be 3 sets behind in no time.

With a swift pivot, I release a spinning backhand that curves sharply away from Holly's reach. Holly gasps with frustration and scrambles against the court, but she isn't fast enough, and I watch in delight as the ball kisses the baseline with a soft, sudden thud.

From across the court, Holly shrieks in anger, her racket dropping from her hand as she kicks at the tennis ball. I want to snicker. She thinks she's so good, but I settle with tucking my racket beneath my arm.

"Clove, I said a friendly match, not slam the ball until the girl bursts." Ladley, my best friend and the coach I assist, comes stalking over to me with a grin easing onto her face. She has this pearly smile. It's her most prominent feature, just above the long strawberry blond hair that is sharply pulled back into a tight ponytail, not a single hair out of place.

"I know, but if she never gets pushed, she'll never be the best." I counter, watching as Holly storms over towards us.

"What was that? That was bullshit!" Holly snaps, her hair falling out of her ponytail and settling on her shoulders. Holly is that picture-perfect tennis promo girl. Pearl teeth, glossy lips, and eccentric blue eyes. She's been the face of our academy for some time, practically the promising upcoming player we have, but she has a lot to learn.

"Calm down, Holly, I was just messing around." I snicker, tucking my tennis racket into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

Holly huffs and storms off, turning her sharp shoulder on me and stalking towards her bag. Ladley snickers beside me, her head leaning down against my shoulder as she pulls out her phone. We've been working for the past six hours, Holly being our third student of the day, and our most exhausting to deal with.

"Holy shit!" Ladley's sudden outburst sends me shooting out my skin. She detaches from me and begins jumping up and down like a hysterical puppy.

"What?" I laugh, and Ladley slams her phone in my face. I have to physically grab a hold of her wrist to stop her from moving her phone. It's like she has lost all control of her body. On her screen is a news article, one with a bold headline, one that stands out like a sore thumb.

Tennis Legend goes on Trial - Fraser left hanging in despair as the Wimbeldon tournament closes in

"Fuck." I mutter, looking at the photo of dishevelled Dominic Fraser walking out of the police station. Dominic Fraser, there are only so many ways to describe a man, but I'll put it simply, arsehole.

"Watch your parents swoop in. They would love to have him here." Ladley chuckles, snatching back her phone and walking out of the court. "He's one of those players who will never fear being without a coach for too long, he just knows everyone wants him."