Matchpoint

Chapter 2:

The academy is buzzing with whispers. My morning has been a struggle, I have been unable to grab the attention of the student players or receive a proper rally from our senior players.

I'm waiting to serve the next ball, but my opponent seems to be giggling with her friends whilst they stare over a phone. With a frustrated glare, I turn back to Ladley and throw my hands up in anger. It's not a proper one on one training session that Ladley I typically do, but one of our group sessions where Ladley coaches students on their technique. Most players in the group sessions are starting in junior comps and only beginning their professional tennis journey.

"What the fuck?" I groan and in retaliation I grab a tennis ball and bounce it three times. Once for a bounce test, twice for emphasis and a third time for good luck. Then I poise the racket behind me, lift the ball up, and toss it into the air. The ball soars above my head, and I spy it's every movement, zoning in on the exact spot I should hit it.

When my racket hits the ball, it makes a loud thwack, and it goes soaring across the court, slicing through the group, inches from one of the girls' faces.

One girl gasps but all their heads turn. I have never seen a group of girls in such shock. "Are we training ladies, or do you have somewhere better to be?"

The girls scramble back to the baseline, and I finally start the rally. Ladley is yelling from the sideline, instructing them on their footing, precision, and technique.

"Scarlett, lift that arm when you do your forehand. You're slacking!" Ladley yells, and the girls lifts he racket, but that isn't the problem. Her eyes aren't focused, her grip is slightly turned, the face of the racket does not turn the way it should, nor is her feet parted in a proper stance. It's the small things, the tiny details that are overlooked and are the main cause of bad habits in any sports person's career.

The ball floats lazily over the net and bounces once in my square, barely a metre from me. Without effort, I swing it back towards her, making her run to the opposite side of her square. As she prepares to hit the ball back towards me, I can already see what she is planning on doing. A slow lob that flies in the sky, drifting towards me like a plastic bag in the wind. I run up to the net, poise my racket, and slam the ball down into her court with one single swish of the wrist.

Scarlett stares at me from across the court, not even bothering to approach the net for another hit. "You should seriously go professional." Scarlett calls, her mouth slightly parted and eyes wide with amazement.

Sixteen year old Scarlett was gifted a scholarship to join us. Mother watched her at a school tournament when she was building her academy name with sponsorship. Watching Scarlett was exciting, she was a fresh face on the scene, showing signs of potential and grit. Except, since her arrival, it seems her drive has been lacking, as if she is yet to settle in after her several months of being here. But I like Scarlett, and I'm determined to better her feistiness on the court, just as mother and I had seen when we first watched her.

With a laugh, I walk back to the baseline and watch as Holly steps up next. "Holly, remember, no slacking with that backhand, it might not be your strength, but it's probably more useful than constantly using your forehand." Ladley calls from the side, and Holly rolls her eyes dramatically. Holly is three years younger than me and four years younger than Ladley, yet she acts like we're the same age.

I drop the ball down onto the court, watching as it rises before smashing it over the net. Holly returns it with a striking forehand, her power move in most games, and it soars over to me and I hit it back with little effort, and Holly stops, watching as the ball bounces past her.

"I know I screamed at you, but at least give me a spin Clove." She grumbles, I knew she'd prefer when I actually give her a run for her money. With a smile, I sent yet another ball flying over the net, this time with a proper serve. Holly smirks and lines herself up, smashing the ball with intensity across the court. It makes me run. It makes my heart sizzle with adrenaline, and I make my way across the court just to slam it back towards her with a nasty backhand.