I hold my hand up to give Elias some time, but he’s already getting into position, ignoring me.
“Ready.”
Archer serves, and it’s clear he and Nate have figured out who the weak link is here. Serving straight to me will work out better for them, because I know how to keep to my part of the court, while Elias doesn’t. He also finds it difficult to communicate with me, or delegate. He clearly has issues trusting someone else to get to the ball.
When he accidentally hits me with his racket, I call a time out.
“I’m sorry, are you hurt?” he asks. He looks wired. Desperately seeking redemption for his bad playing.
“I’m fine. But listen, Elias, if you don’t like playing doubles, maybe you should just speak to Coach and tell him?—”
“I’m fine,” Elias says abruptly, cutting me off. “I can do it. I’ll be better, I just have to practice more.”
I nod. “Okay.”
We jump back into the practice game and I spend the next hour trying to get out of the way while Elias tries to play tennis against two opponents at the same time. Needless to say, he loses.
I try to talk to him before we go into our cool down, but he turns his back on me, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear it.
Nate grabs me as we’re heading into the locker room.
“Why don’t you talk to Coach? Let him know Elias isn’t a good fit. He can find you another partner.”
As much as I’d like to do that, something about it feels off. I want to give Elias a chance. It’s not like he isn’t willing to put the work in. In fact, being too intense and hard working might be going against him here. He needs to learn how to relax. Dial it down a bit.
Elias storms into the locker room ahead of everyone and is already taking a shower by the time we get inside and start unlacing our shoes.
I catch him coming out, grabbing a towel, and almost gasp at the sight of his naked body, still wet from the shower.
Ohgodohgodohgod do not look down!
I keep my eyes on the ceiling and stub my toe on the tiles while trying to get to a free cubicle. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against the wall, trying to get the thought of Elias’ muscles dripping with water out of my head.
ELIAS
Scheiße!
I’m here to make a good impression on pro coaches and I can’t even play a simple doubles match. Doubles was not something we really focused on when Papa was coaching me as a child. And then later, my junior coaches always focused on my singles playing, as that’s what brings the glory and the big prize money. But I’m quickly seeing that in college tennis, being able to play doubles is important.
Ben’s captain of the team, he could go to Coach and tell him we’re not a good fit, but I don’t want that. Winning at doubles and singles could be a good way to show my versatility to pro coaches. That is, if I have versatility.
It doesn’t help that I have to take classes while I’m here. But the second I walk into a lecture hall for my first introduction to psychologylesson and spot Joelle sitting alone in a corner, I relax a little.
Okay, so I’m not here to make friends, but I can have allies, right? Plus, she might know more about psychology than I do. Maybe she studied it at whatever the American equivalent ofAbitur—A-levels—is.
She raises her head when I get near and I spot the relieved smile on her face too, before she replaces it with a scowl.
“Oh look who it is,” she says, discreetly moving her bag out of the way for me to sit down. “If it isn’t the not-frat-boy jock.”
“That’s a good one, you should write it down.”
She’s grinning when I look at her again. “Who says Germans don’t have a sense of humor?”
I shrug. “Never heard that before.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be taking freshman classes?”
“I’m a freshman in intelligence, not age.” Sometimes, the best way to win an argument is to be self-deprecating before they can zing you.
