Beneath His Touch

Chapter Eighteen

SARAH

The practice sessions have been progressing smoothly, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of clarity in my mind, as though everything is falling into place. It's not just about individual effort here; there's an underlying rule, almost a tradition. In the second month after the term begins, friendly sports competitions are held, usually against Luther University, Regal University, and a few local town clubs. It's a time-honored custom at Haven. We spend our afternoons in intense training, which often extends until six in the evening. The sessions are tough—one-on-one drills. Cynthia stands on the sidelines, meticulously noting down each of our performances, and analyzing.

For the most part, I find myself going up against Ziporra. She's a force to be reckoned with. Every time we face off, her shots come at me like a storm—powerful, precise, and lightning-fast. But I can hold my ground. It's not easy, but I manage to keep up, though I know she's pushing me to my limit. Facing her always brings back memories from high school, a time when I went head-to-head with an opponent who left a permanent mark on my competitive spirit.

Back then, it was during a crucial match that would determine whether or not I made it to nationals. My opponent was from St. Mary's—an all-rounder with an intimidating combination of speed and strength. She moved across the court with an almost supernatural agility, her shots unpredictable and her defense impenetrable. I remember the way she carried herself: calm, collected, and entirely focused. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I threw at her, she always had a response. She was a step ahead, reading my every move like she could see through me.

I fell for her trickery more than once, thinking I had her, only to realize too late that I'd walked into her trap. To this day, I still haven't managed to defeat her. She was the one who ended my run, the only person who ever stopped me from reaching nationals. The sting of that loss still lingers, a bittersweet reminder of how close I had come and how easily it had slipped away.

"Keep up!" Cynthia whistles as she claps.

The entire court was full of our rubbers sliding on the ground. We weren't officially using the field ground. Only the seniors could use it and I heard they had a practice match with a neighborhood team.

I kept up with her, the set almost coming to an end, I was in the lead. She was relentless, giving is all as she sent more powerful shots.

The sharp blast of the whistle signals the switch, and we move to opposite sides. I clinch the next set, pulling ahead with five games and five wins. Ziporra flashes me a smile, and we exchange a light high-five before collapsing onto the bench, breathless. Four other players soon join us, their faces flushed from exertion.

"Well, you've all got potential," Cynthia remarks, clipboard in hand, her voice sharp yet encouraging. "We'll repeat the same drill next week, and I'll select ten of you. After that, you'll have a session with the first team." Her words hang in the air as she strides out of the gym, leaving us in thoughtful silence.

"Phew!" Njery exhales dramatically. "This is tough! Trying to make the official team feels more important than any of the classes."

"You're not wrong there!" Harriet chimes in, dropping down beside me with an exhausted sigh.

"Maybe for some of us, but not you four," Njery says, casting an envious glance at me, Ziporra, Juliet, and Grace. "You guys make it look easy. What's your secret?" she groans, eyes wide with playful frustration.

"Secret?" Grace echoes, turning towards us with a bemused smile. "There's no secret," she shrugs, causing us all to chuckle and shake our heads.

"That might be true for the others, but not for you, Sarah," Harriet says, sipping from her water bottle. "You were famous back in your school. Word is, you were an all-rounder, one with serious talent."