Grand Slams

2

Sofia

"$500? Do they think all non-professional players have that on hand?" I drew my eyebrows together in both confusion and frustration. $500 was a lot for the USTA to ask for, even for a swanky tournament such as this one. Mostly because depending on how you play, one might not be on the receiving end of the cash cow once the tournament finished and that money could ultimately be wasted.

Sandy watched me and sighed, putting her racket down to lean on the chain link fence. The sun was blazing down on me, and my hair was damp from sweat. I gripped my racket with force as if it was a lifeline.

"I told you Sof. These types of tournaments want the best and the best need to prove they want it just as much." She sighed and looked down at the clay court, the frown lines around her mouth more prominent. To me, it seemed that forty-seven was a little young to have frowned that much in a lifetime. Knowing Sandy though, and the effort she's put into hundreds of players only to see them quit cold turkey has me understanding how she could.

Her blonde ponytail streaked with light gray swung as she glanced up, her eyes on mine.

"I received an email from them. They want the best to make an appearance, even if they can't get ahold of that type of cash. They offered players an easy in, no payment needed, but only if they can find a pro to sponsor them. You're a good player, Sofia. You and I both know that, and after San Antonio, others know it too."

The last tournament I played in was the one that I'd like to say put me on the market. In San Antonio, I'd come out in first place after basically butchering my opponents, some already having semi-big rankings and talks of them entering the big league tournaments.

She crossed her arms. Her ability to be so downright chill at this moment riveted me. However, she's always had this type of demeanor.

I shook my head in disbelief, her calm energy clearly not making its way to me.

"What pro? You're considered a pro, no? Are you telling me you're going to sponsor me?"
I wouldn't put it past her. Sandy's always been by my side, especially during the hardest times, but having any pro count as a sponsor seems like a reach. Thinking about it though makes it easier than considering what else she could mean.

I watched as a smile grew on her face

"I received another email as well. This one from Marshall Spade."

I furrowed my brows.

Who?

"Who's Marshall Spade?" I asked dumbly.

Her immediate reply had me shaking in my metaphorical boots.

"Noah Davis's manager."

Mic-Drop.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I never usually swear like that in front of Sandy, unless I absolutely needed to. Like when I make a stupid mistake on the court or swing a little too hard and upset my lower back, but excuse me? I think I know what she's getting at and my mind is blown. To tiny little pieces.

"Noah Davis is willing to sponsor you. I emailed Marshall back confirming that you're willing to work with him too." Sandy finishes with both arms swung out beside her, presenting the new information to me.

"Problem solved." She continued, and a smirk danced across her lips.

"I-I don't even know what to say. Is this real?" I stuttered out. Everyone and I mean everyone knows who Noah Davis is. Twenty-two-time grand slam winner and one of the best in history to ever step foot on a court.

I suddenly feel like I need to sit down. If this is true, I have a chance at winning a huge amount of money to support my siblings and me but also a chance to kickstart my professional career.