How To Win A Guy In 30 Days

How To Ignore The World

"Shit."

Reflexively, Vanessa put her burnt thumb inside her mouth, moistening it with her saliva. She looked down at the charred mass of what was once a sausage, with disdain, as the fingers of her other hand lightly scratched the side of her sweaty forehead."Holding tennis racket was way easier than holding a fucking pan," she grumbled as she held the pan above the dust bin and fed the main course of her brunch to it.

In the end, she had resolved the matters concerning the growling tiger caged inside her belly with cheese and bread. She would treat it with meat on another day.

She applied a thick coat of cheese between two slices of bread, and let it toast. The next second that the red bulb turned a satisfying green in the toaster, she swooped the steaming toast into her mouth in one piece. And then took a long swig from the carton of orange juice, not bothering if her mouth was on the lid or the fact that there were other people who would want to drink from it.

She just couldn't give a fuck about a house that had no one to cared.

Today, Vanessa had not posted her 'Sunday morning selfie' in Instagram, hadn't bothered to charge her dead phone, had skipped breakfast, and most importantly, had avoided her brother like he had the plague.

By late afternoon, she had realized that time could slow down sometimes too. For as long as she could remember, life had been a rat race, she was a hare who knew not the shrewd ways of the tortoise.

And without her phone, it seemed like her common sense had risen a notch. On a conventional day, she would have been awed, posted it in the social platform and would have prided over the tons of praises in the comments and the likes from her admirers. But today, all she wanted was to dig a grave in the backyard and bury herself.

The house was empty, resilient as her mood. Ever since the death of her mother, their home had transformed to a house, the curtains were seldom drawn open, no more 'Sunday is family day' as her mother would say before dragging her father from work to go on short one-day trips, no more night shows. But she has someone to fill in for goodnight kisses, to fold her clothes, comb her hair, make her breakfast, and listen to the drama which was life at school. Well, atleast used to have.

Knowing procrastination would get her nowhere and since her brother wouldn't be at home in midday, she decided to go outside. She hiked to the backyard, and no she was not planning of digging a grave.

Squinting, her eyes scoured the patch of land for untimely visitors who trespassed the area, preying over mices and other little creatures. Even the snakes couldn't resist the Baltimore heat. The rustle of leaves alerted her, she froze in place. Finding no response from her visitors, she turned a complete 180 degrees in one swing and was surprised to find beady eyes looking down at her. The squirrel was perched on her higher branch of the tree, tiny fingers tightly clasped around a nut.

"Hey." She raised her hand to wave, but getting the wrong signal, the squirrel scurried into its safe haven, vanishing into the dark green mass.

She shook her head. "I'm not goliath, little rodent," she shouted. There was no movement, the squirrel didn't return with an apology, she didn't expect one either.

She turned her gaze to the land that stretched a few miles before reaching their neighbour's fence. Her safe haven. White chalk marks creased lines on the trimmed grass, a net partitioned the court. Her brother had transformed their backyard into a mini tennis court for her liking, a court where only two people had ever played. Reen and herself.

As she stepped into the court, the mild annoyance, the agitation of yesterday, the trepidation of tomorrow, that had run through her veins melted like the soft cheese she had eaten for brunch. It was replaced with the warmth, the tranquility of the tennis court.

She grabbed a tennis ball, her racket and walked to the side of the court that faced opposite to the Sun's glare. She took her aim, eyes that of an Eagle's, sharp, calculating. Her enemy stood before her, smart, daring, in his casual apparel.

I'm not gonna hurt you.

Strike one.

I'm not gonna hurt you.

Strike two.

I'm not gonna hurt you.

Strike three. The ball kissed the net and fell on her side.

She exhaled a breath of mental exhaustion.

Her common sense that had woken up from the century long hiberntion handed her a pamphlet explaining the heights of her stupor. The first bullet point explained the dead cells of her brain that had accepted the invitation to enter illegal territories with complete strangers, cue Marly who happened to be naiver than a new born.

Point two spoke of her decision to have left the circuit with Eric, instead of her brother. She would have been a victim to verbal castigations of her brother as she had avoided telling him her choice of night visit, but she would have been safe in his hold.

Eric hadn't done anything last night, infact all he wanted was to protect her, had thought about her even in the throes of being busted by a troop of police who would do nothing to her, but would have loved to skin him alive. So she wasn't surprised to feel no anger against him, for the first time, but he had triggered the wrong feelings in her.

Unintentionally, he had been the precursor in making the memories of her nightmares to take actual forms in her head. Finding out about Linda's sudden departure yesterday morning and with her brother's instigation, those feelings threatened to simmer to the surface and after the midnight scene, they were as true as the oxygen she breathed. Imperceptible, yet it was present.

She practiced for another thirty minutes before deciding that another minute under the blazing star would melt her brain, and her hardly contained sanity along with it.

Vanessa went upstairs to her room and took a quick cold water bath. She changed to a white t-shirt and black shorts since she wouldn't be going out anyway. With her towel wrapped around her wet hair in a turban style, she sat down infront of her desk, a new sense of excitement taking form inside her.

The stacks of black notebooks sat square on the desk, having invaded the majority of the place, her small cups, the colorful tennis balls, the broken rackets that she treasured with her life, were pushed to the farthest corner of the table.

An involuntary smile snaked its way to her mouth as she stared at the blank paper for a long time, rolling the pen between her index finger and thumb.

Eric,

On the side lines, waiting till you fly me a kiss. Win for me, will you?

Love,
Your kiss-awaiting aficianada.

Tomorrow was a big day for her. For Eric. For all the tennis players.