Up in the stands, Richard Kingsley is on his feet, clapping.
I check to make sure he’s still there as I walk back onto the court to play my singles match. He takes his seat and gets ready to watch as I step up to shake my opponent’s hand.
I play well. Not the best I’ve ever played, but good enough—I hope—to give Kingsley a taste of what I can do. If he researched me beforehand, he should know that I have even more in the tank. That I haven’t even come close to reaching my potential yet, but it’s there.
I beat Texas’ player 7-5, 6-4 after a messy scrap. As soon as my match is over, Kingsley gets up to leave. I hold my breath, sweat trickling down my face. That’s a good sign, right?
We winthe match against Texas 6-1. Poor Travis is the only player on the team who lost. I overhear Archer sharing his suspicion that Travis got in his head about having to play the team he grew up admiring in his home state.
My phone starts ringing when we’re on our way to dinner before the next round of the tournament. I excuse myself to go and answer. It’s Papa.
I hesitate, staring at his name on my phone, but I know I have to pick up at some point.
“Finally!” he says. “It’s so hard to reach you these days. How are you? How’s Indian Wells?”
I take a deep breath and smile, so he can hear it in my voice. “It’s amazing. You should see it here.”
“Take plenty of pictures for your sister, she can’t stop talking about you being in Palm Springs. She’s acting like you’re some sort of celebrity.”
He says that like it’ll never happen.No. I’m being paranoid. He’s just making a joke.
“Speaking of celebrities …” My mouth gets dry as I try to say the words. Why am I telling him this? There’s no guarantee Kingsley was impressed by me. I just want to show my father that this is a real thing. That people really do care about college tennis. That I made the right decision in coming here after all. That maybe he was wrong.
“Richard Kingsley was at the match today.”
“Yourmatch?”
“Yes, Papa. The team beat the University of Texas 6-1.”
“Congratulations! Did you win your singles match?”
Why does he automatically assume I’m the player who lost?
“Yes. I won the doubles and the singles matches I played.”
“Doubles? Doubles isn’t usually your strong suit.”
I grit my teeth, the smile feeling more strained now. “I know, but I’ve worked on it, and I have a great doubles partner.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says. There’s no sarcasm, no hint of something else behind it. He genuinely does sound proud of me.
“Thank you.”
“Is Kingsley still hanging around?”
“I have no idea.”
“Go and find out. You have more rounds to play, right?”
“Yes, we play San Diego next.”
“Do whatever you can to catch his attention. You have to stand out. Don’t let anyone steal your limelight. You’ve worked so hard for this, and unlike your teammates, you’re not at Princeton to get an education. Let them have their books. Tennis is yours.”
“Yes, Papa.”
I put the phone down, feeling pumped, but … a little gross. My father is right, though. I’m the only person on this team who needs a pro coach to notice me.
I head back to the restaurant where the team are all gathered around some tables. Ben has saved me a chair.
