How To Win A Guy In 30 Days

How To Lose

15-40

Vanessa vented her frustration on the tennis ball advancing towards her; her feet an inch away from the baseline.

Not even her forceful groundstroke from her backhand swing, one of her best game changer techniques, could change the fate of the game. The ball made hard contact with the net and fell on her side of the court.

The sound of the screeching whistle cut through the tension dense in the air, indicating the end of the game.

A series of hoots and cheers erupted from their rival school's small mass of spectators. Green and gold flags, banners, and posters sailed in the air.

"Who's the best?" a voice shouted.

The crowd responded, vigour evident in their tone, "Greenwich!"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and muttered, "Immature kids." She knew, in the back of her mind, that it would have been the same from her side if she had won the match.

Albeit their soaring defeat, their side of the bleachers hollered in equal intensity. Pom poms in different hues of navy blue and dark red, the color of St. Agnes Academy, danced like fireworks among the crews. They chanted the name of their school in one single, high-pitched, battle-cry. The sound pierced Vanessa's eardrums and delivered a shutter down her spine.

She gritted her teeth, glaring daggers right into the male opponent's brain, but he seemed nonchalant. Of course, they were ten feet apart and he had won. He smirked, and even had the nerve to throw a mocking wink at her, which she blithely ignored.

She walked to her equally vexed partner, Reen Wilson, and whispered, "Gotta teach that walking pintle a good lesson, girl."

The somber expression on Reen's face morphed to a sardonic smile. She wiped the perspiration on her face and nodded. "We got that cool, babe."

Vanessa made a satisfied noise at the back of her throat and took her position for the second match.

Vanessa Graham was St. Agnes Academy's tennis champion. In national basis, she held the 46-2 record in the United States Tennis Association junior tour and was ranked number one among the under-10 players in Maryland. But that was seven years ago, now, she was no more a national champion but a mere highschool tennis player.

This was the first of the three exhibition matches played among the best schools in the town, before the Maryland Open began. These matches were played with few or no ground rules, and had no prizes, no school papparazzi, and definitely no officials that they had to worry about.

Mixed sex matches were child's play to Vanessa. But just today, luck didn't seem to favor her, for the opposing Greenwich High had stronger players than expected. Her acquaintance with the tennis players from other schools was decent, minimal conversations but flourished with knowledge about the third party, most of them were completely superfluous ones.

The female opponent, Luna Winter, was good with short blows, had little success when she was closer to the baseline, and the superfluous part says that she is a girl who wouldn't give two farts about another human. But the male opponent was new, a being she had never come across in tennis nor in any other occasion.

Between ragged breaths and lightening blows, the second game ended and Greenwich High won the game. The mocking smile on the boy's face widened a mile. She decided that he belonged to her mental list of undesirable men, and he also was at the top.

She started twisting the small pendant dangling at the base of her throat, a habitual behavior of showing her nervousness.

I really need to win this game.