“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
He chuckles, his eyes shining. He’s super tall and handsome in real life. Not as handsome as Elias, but then, no one is as handsome as Elias.
“I was impressed with your playing over these past few days,” he says.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me Richard.”
I nod. I don’t think I can refer totheRichard Kingsley by his first name.
“I’d be interested in working with you, Ben. You graduate Princeton this year, am I right?”
“Yes, sir, I mean … yes, I graduate in the spring.”
“And you won’t be staying on as a grad student?”
I shake my head. Before I can elaborate on my plans, he goes on.
“Excellent. How would you like to come and train with me? I’m based right here in California. You’re from Connecticut, right?”
I nod.
“Closer to home than those Madrid training programs. And a lot cheaper than Monte Carlo.”
I nod, my face aches from forcing a smile.
“So, what do you think? You want to go pro, Ben? We’ll have you in the US Open main draw before you know it.”
I can see he’s expecting me to snap the opportunity up, no questions asked. For a second, I’m tempted. I’d never understood how easy it could be to get swept up in the imagined glory of fame and fortune—your own fortune, not your parents’. The idea of people chanting your name. Lifting a prestigious trophy. I imagine telling my dad I’m going pro. Would that match the success of my siblings? Would he want to show me off to his associates then? Bragabout me while smoking cigars? But I only have to think about how hard Nate and I have worked on our business these past few years for it to be an easy decision.
“I really appreciate the offer, sir, but …”
Kingsley’s smile drops instantly. It’s a disarming sight—to see someone so confident suddenly waver. That speech he just gave me is the tennis equivalent of someone telling you that you just won the lottery and offering you a check for ten million dollars and I’m about to say ‘thanks, but no thanks.’
“I’m actually planning to start a tennis-based business after graduation, well, actually, I’ve already started working on it, it will go live after graduation. It’s a database that will connect athletes with trainers and coaches all in one place.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the fact I’m pitching my business idea totheRichard Kinglsey.
His expression of confusion slowly transforms into one of intrigue. His raised eyebrow urges me to go on.
“A classmate and I have created a database for players to connect with coaches, nutritionists, trainers and other players, all in one place. We’re in talks with some local government officials to rejuvenate abandoned tennis courts and build new ones in sports centers and various outdoor lots across the country.” Once I start talking, I can’t stop. I’m just so excited about getting this business off the ground and so proud of us for putting the work in. “We have a few contacts who can help us find grants and sponsors since one of our main goals is to scope out talent in unexpected areas and bring tennis to kids from all backgrounds, not just the wealthy ones.”
Kingsley’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline by the time I finish talking. I don’t know whether that’s agood thing or a bad thing until he says, “Well, I am impressed.”
Phew.
Kingsley looks at Coach. Coach Sanchez is beaming like a proud parent.Gosh, that feels good.
“Tell you what, Ben.” He slips his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card.
“Give me a call once the business is off the ground, I’d like to see where you take it. Maybe I could come and give your kids a talk about where to get started with a coach or something.”
I pick my jaw up off the floor and take the card the way my father taught me to—shaking Mr. Kingsley’s hand and thanking him.
“We’ll be in touch,” I tell him as professionally and maturely as I can manage.
He chuckles. “I’m sure you will.”
Before he leaves, I call him back.
