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My feelings vacillated constantly over the next two days. One moment I was up just from the high of how I'd felt playing tennis again, and the next I was low, because playing tennis meant opening myself up to all that old pain.
My parents’ divorce. My mother’s extreme actions. My father’s rejection of me in his new life.
And tennis was a game of discipline. I had plenty of it, but did I want to go back to that? Right now, I did what I wanted, ate what I wanted, lay about when I wanted. There was no pressure, no competitions, no TV interviews, no mum hovering over my every move.
But now I felt hunted again, constantly looking over my shoulder as I crept about laundering my clothes and sneaking my racket out of the house. It made me miserable. Was it really worth it?
And there was Luke. Charming, handsome, talented, but a little bit too good at breaking down my walls.
I liked my walls.
And so, when Wednesday came, and another P.E. lesson on the tennis court, I was determined to keep them up. I gave Luke only the barest amount of polite talk and then we played tennis. Not at competition level, just comfortable high-school level.
I could see it was frustrating Luke, but tough! That was all he was getting.
At the end of the first set, we both stopped for water, and when I perched on the wall to catch my breath, Luke came and sat beside me. He wasn’t even remotely puffed.
I was out of shape, and distinctly annoyed he was fitter than I was. I'd have to take up running or something to compensate.
“You’re not a bad defensive player,” Luke commented, “but your attack needs a lot of work.”
“It doesn’t,” I said, outraged at such a total untruth.
“Clearly it does. Playing against you is easy.”
“I choose to play that way!” I knew he was goading me, but I couldn’t help responding. No one gets to tell me my tennis needs improvement unless they’re better than me or I’m paying them to!
“That makes no sense. Don’t you want to win?”
“No. That’s the point. I refuse to play to win anymore.” This was tricky for me to admit, because I did want to win. It was just how I was made. I’d always driven myself to be the best and take no prisoners but I was attempting to put that behind me. Being mediocre was a good way to go unnoticed.
“So, you actually think you could beat me if you were trying?” He looked sceptical.
“Yes.” I was confident of that, at least. I'd watched his strengths and his weaknesses with a critical eye. He was excellent, one of the best I'd seen in my own age group, but I knew I was better. I wasn’t being bigheaded, it was just a fact.
“Then prove it, wipe the floor with me.” He tried to goad me again.
“No.”
“I guess I’ll just have to assume you can’t then.”
“I don’t care.” It was incredibly satisfying to see the frustration on his face.
You’re not getting under my skin again, not this time.
But as we stood up to play again, Luke found a new way to cajole me into properly playing him. He began to play in earnest, forcing me to up my game just to keep up with him. That was when I knew he’d been holding back too. I still wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making me show my true colours, but I was determined to continue to match him and return every tricky ball he sent my way.
“Out,” I called, as his ball bounced just outside the line.
“It was in!” he argued.
“It was not.”
“Why do you care? I’m going to win anyway, remember? I’m serving match point next.” He gave me a smug smile, clearly trying to score points off the court as well as on.
He was right though, curse him, I had no intention of winning, just playing. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hard that was for me. But it was for the best. And, as he threw the ball into the air for his final serve, I forced my feet to stay still.
I knew I twitched, just a tiny bit, in the direction of the ball as it went past me, but I didn’t move position. The game was his.
“We’re done for today.” I was frustrated, and it was just as well it was over.
“You know what I think? I think you’re aggressive because you want to play tennis and you don’t do it, so it’s left you with all this pent-up energy and anger. I think you secretly love it as much as I do, so what’s stopping you?”
“None of your damn business.”
“I’m going to guess it’s your dad. You strike me as someone with Daddy issues.”
I considered that, very very briefly. I did have some issues with my dad, but none related to tennis. He was brilliant, but he’d moved on, started a new life.
“Hardly,” I told Luke, not wanting him to think that. “My dad lives in Guadeloupe on the other side of the world. I see him in the holidays, and we get on great, thanks.”
“He’s Caribbean?” he asked, looking genuinely interested.
“French Caribbean, yes.”
“Nice place to spend the holidays.”
“It’s paradise in some ways,” I agreed, sitting down next to him and taking a drink. “But not great in others.”
“So, you don’t want to live there?”
“I don’t have a choice,” I told him honestly. “But no, my dad’s lifestyle doesn’t suit having a daughter around anyway.” I didn’t mention we’d tried, really tried, but it just didn’t fit.
“And your mum?”
“She’s as English as they come. Very uptight. Her only moment of madness came when she married my dad in a whirlwind romance. It didn’t last long-term.” I tried to picture them falling in love and it seemed so very unlikely. They’d been living in the same house but leading separate lives for as long as I could remember. I'd thought it was normal.
“I think you said she plays tennis?” Luke interrupted my thoughts, and I tried to get my head back in the present. Ah yes, the lie I'd told, they always came back to bite you in the arse!
“What is this? Twenty questions? No, actually she doesn’t play, she just wants a daughter who’s a winner, she wouldn’t care if it was tennis or golf or monopoly, so long as she can show off to her country club friends about it!”
There, he had the truth now, and I'd had more than I could take for one day. Yet again, Luke had managed to break down more of my defences. The only way to stop him was to get far away from him. I didn’t care how it made me look. I basically fled.