Running the Sidelines

Pop.

The ball hits the net. I remember standing there for the first time, petrified. I knew what I needed to do, but that didn't stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

My body knew what to do, and while my mind dwelled on the "what-ifs," I swooped across the court, snagged the ball, and ran to the other side. Arms behind my back, I waited for the next relay.

Pop.

The ball hits the net once more. I sprint across and snag the ball; now I have two balls in my hand, and I know I need to get rid of them. I do just that, rolling them to the back as he holds his hands out, signaling he has no ball. He was a veteran; he knew exactly what to do.

Meanwhile, I was being tugged along by a rope. I felt like a volatile mess; one moment, I would show off my athleticism and would earn praise from my evaluator, and then in the next moment, my shoe would fall off, and I would freeze in sheer embarrassment and fear.

Despite everything, I got the callback.

And after the callback, I got the email.

I had the job.

How? I had absolutely no clue.

But if one thing was certain, I was not about to let this opportunity fall through my fingers like putty.

I was certain to be one of the best ballgirls I could possibly be, even if I knew absolutely nothing about tennis.