Prove You Wrong [ON HOLD]

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Later, I discovered there was a lot of work to being good in tennis." -Arthur Ashe

A bright yellow whirl, a tennis ball, comes at me at full speed before it smacks against my swinging racquet and hits the other side of the court. My opponent, Hannah, cringes as the ball hits her square in the chest. "My boobs...." She squeaks out, clutching herself dramatically and collapsing to the ground.

"Weak," I mutter, just loud enough for everyone but Coach Richardson to hear. I twirl the racquet around in my hand absentmindedly as everyone goes to aide Hannah. For the rest of Gym class, I'm sitting on the bench listening to Hannah's whines of distress and pain. Drama queen, I think bitterly.

There's a certain reason why I hate Hannah Murphy so much. Even hearing her name makes my ears want to bleed, something even worse than the feeling of nails on a chalkboard. Two years ago, when Hannah and I were both freshmen, we tried out for the swim team together. I trained and trained, just for this chance, but even coaches have biased views.

My time was way faster than Hannah's; I overall was a better swimmer than her. However, my stomach was quite big back then due to an obsession with junk food. I think the coaches wanted the team to look physically better than athletically better, so in the end the swim team was composed of Hannah and some other girls who looked like cheerleaders. Needless to say, our team lost every competition.

Today, I'm ready to change this. I'm going to try out for the tennis team. My best friend Rachel Howard, who's been by my side through all my training, was actually the one who encouraged me to do it. Plus, I'm excited to try something new like tennis; it seems challenging yet fun.

"Grace, you are so gonna get in with those skills of yours," Rachel claps me on the back, making the lunch in my stomach heave. Rachel is athletic as well, but she's more of a softball person. Her softball team's red logo is on her sweatshirt, standing out against the white.

"Besides, the tennis team isn't solid this year. There's no way you're not going to make it."

"Thanks, Howard," I return Rachel's brofist, even though my heart's pounding is hard from nervousness I'm sure my grandparents can hear. My grandparents who live in China.

"Good luck, An." Rachel returns, waving bye as she jogs to her car. For awhile, my nickname was "Anne" because my last name sounded like it in an American accent. It was actually pretty funny because everyone was confused who "Anne" was.

I head to the gym where the tryouts are held, and I observe that most of the athletic people are here, including Hannah who shoots me a venomous glare. I send back an innocent look and give a "what-else?" shrug, just to make her mad. She angrily turns to her friend, another cheerleader, Melanie Johnson, and starts jabbering with her big mouth.

I'm about to go into the gym, but instead crash into someone, my nose squished against their hard chest. I immediately catch a whiff of sweat and cologne, mixed together. I feel like I had just stuck my head down a garbage can. I back away quickly, tightly holding my nostrils.

"When's the last time you showered?" I blurt out. When I make eye contact with the person, I realise he's the captain the tennis team, Luke Bryan. His brown hair is slick with sweat, literally dripping down. He's about six feet tall, with lean muscle everywhere. I've never noticed before, but Luke is actually quite decent looking.

I take back my thoughts from before when he quips, "What did you eat for breakfast? Bitch flakes?" Before I can say anything else, Luke adds, "What are you doing here anyway? Asian girls aren't supposed to be sporty." I can literally feel my anger flare up after he says this.