BREAK POINT - chris sturniolo

CHAPTER 1

ACT I: GAME

The tennis court is my sanctuary. 

The pop of the ball on the court, the scuffling of shoes, the sound of rackets slicing through air. Where every move is vital, and every motion is vicious. There is no room for mistakes—the court demands all your attention. Here, I let the world melt away. The voices in my head are replaced by the hum in my muscles and the surge of adrenaline that courses through my limbs. 

I bounce the ball at my feet a few times, each hollow thud pulling me deeper into my focus. I draw my elbow back behind my head, and toss the ball.  

A piercing cackle breaks the silence just as my racket slashes through the balls trajectory. The distraction made me jump, and sent the ball flying to the back of the court, out of bounds. 

Sarah Grace Brown doesn't take this place as seriously as I do. Most people don't. I can forgive most people for not having the drive I do, but I can't forgive her for not staying quiet while I'm hitting. 

I also find it hard to forgive her for how shitty of a friend she is, but that's another story. 

"Focus up, annabelle," my coach, Yasmin gently hits a ball over the net to me. "Go again."

Sarah Grace has her eyes trained on my court now, following the ball that has now rolled into the shadows. She snickers and whispers something to one of our teammates next to her. 

I pull elbow back again and then send a slice right down the line. Yasmin can't even think fast enough to reach the ball. 

"Alright, I think that's enough for today," she nods, unfazed by my incredible serve. At first I'm bothered by it, but then I realized I should be proud that that's what she excepts of me. 

I look up to see Sarah Grace is gone. Convenient that her post-practice stretching was the exact same length and my extra serve practice. 

I grab my sweats from the bench and slip them on. A breeze has picked up as the setting California sun leaves along with its warmth. I do some light stretching as I check my phone, seeing my group chat has sprung to life once again. 

Over the summer, all my friends had gone home to their respective corners of the US. Our large group chat, reserved for plans and school related discussions had remained stagnant since May. But now, it was August, and the friend group was flourishing back to life. 

I skimmed through the conversation, reading when everyone was planning on arriving back to UCLA. Sammy and Jace arrived today, Matt, Chris and Nick are leaving tonight, and Sadie and Violet are coming tomorrow. My best friend Charlotte reminds everyone that her and I are already here for tennis conditioning and have been for a month now. 

A white Mercedes SUV pulls up alongside the court, music blaring from within. I yell a quick thank you to my coach and toss my bag in the backseat. 

"Hungry?" Charlotte shouts over the music. She had changed from her tennis dress into a t-shirt and shorts but the grueling practice was still evident all over her red, splotchy cheeks. 

"I could eat," I shrug, not loud enough to be heard but I don't think my answer mattered anyway. 

15 minutes later, we arrive to one of our staple sushi restaurants downtown and settle into a cozy little booth by the window. 

"Did you read the group chat?" Charlotte has her eyes trained on her phone, pulling her sweaty hair into a bun.

"Before we left I did," I said, mindlessly swirling my straw around in my water.