I let Inés take the back of the court, allowing her to fall into a steady rhythm of hits. The ball flew towards me as I stood in position close to the net. Keeping my wrist firm, I angled my racket. The ball barely cleared the net, the softest of taps sending it spinning towards the other side. A drop shot.
I heard Inés scrambling behind me, but there was no need, I had this. The ball landed close to the net, bouncing, and I was sure we’d won the point, before our competitor charged. I ran back, chasing the ball down, racket raised and ready to return the ball, when I crashed into Inés, both of us falling to the ground as the ball bounced away.
We lost the game.
The look on our opponents’ faces told me everything I needed to know. We were a complete mess, an embarrassment.
“Idiota,”Inés said angrily. “What the fuck were you thinking? I could’ve got that.” She shoved me away as we both attempted to get up.
“No way,” I replied angrily, managing to get to my feet. “It was in my section.”
We headed towards the sidelines, bickering as we sat on the bench for our short break. An attendant handed out towels, and I took mine appreciatively, needing desperately to wipe the sweat from my face, the midsummer sun burning hot.
Sitting on opposite sides of the bench, I tried to take a moment to reflect on how the hell we had lost the first set. Inés and I were both top players, and maybe that was the problem. Our rivalry was far too ingrained to allow for cooperation. I wasn’t used to having a teammate, didn’t want one, and now I had to play alongside a player I was used to being ruthless against.
Inés looked at me. “If we want to win, you’ve got to let me play.”
I leaned forward in my seat, gaze scanning the large crowd that had gathered to watch the match, all the photographers. They’d claimed it was to highlight the event and the charity, but a quick glance online at the articles about our doubles partnership said otherwise.
“Maybe it’s easier if we lose.” I shrugged. “We’d get out of here faster.”
Inés looked at me, an eyebrow raised. “You really could face losing? Just so you don’t have to share a court with me a second longer? I know you hate losing more than you hate me, and even you have to admit that I’m the one with the experience playing doubles.”
I exhaled, hating the fact that she might be right. I hadn’t attempted doubles in years; Calvin quickly decided that I was too much of a ball hog to share, and now maybe I was the disadvantage to our team.
“Fine,” I gritted out, hating the idea of facing another two sets. “What do you suggest we do exactly?”
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze leaving me and scanning across the court. “If you keep trying to cover the whole court by yourself, we’re going to keep tripping over each other.” I wanted to argue back, but the memory of us literally running into each other was still too real, and I could admit now, upon reflection, that maybe that waspartiallymy fault. However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t expecting her to change her behavior too.
“Play smart, notonlyhard. Think of us being attached by a piece of rope. We should work in tandem to cover the court. If I’m pulled out wide for a return, you should move closer to cover the opening, but remember to make room for me.”
“That doesn’t sound too difficult,” I admitted.
Inés quickly glanced at the clock, and I realized our break was almost over. “You’re good at volleying, so don’t hesitate, put the ball away whenever you have an opportunity.”
I blinked twice. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.” She rolled her eyes, pushing up from her seat. “Listen to what I’ve said, communicate, and we can pull this back.”
I nodded, exchanging a brief, tense glance with Inés before we headed back to the court, the atmosphere still charged but slightly less hostile.
The next set began with a mix of hesitant cooperation and lingering frustration. At first, our movements were disjointed—shots missed, balls not covered—and more verbal jabs exchanged. But gradually, something shifted.
I began to understand what she meant, moving with her instead of against her. A push and pull. She’d fill the gaps I’d leave behind, but also return to the baseline when I returned, staying out of my way. And I’d do the same, occasionally letting her take a shot that I could haveeasilycovered. But like she’d said, instead of getting mad, I channeled all my rage back into my gameplay.
Slowly, we started to build up the points, winning our share of games.
I started to feel in sync with Inés, learning how her body moved, how she reacted. From playing against her, I was aware of her weaknesses, how to exploit them, but instead of using that to my advantage, I had to cover for them, play to her strengths.
I’d been well aware that she was a strong player, but... it caught me by surprise to find her in her element, to see her in action, her strong backhand, the control she could have on the ball even when it was loaded with spring.
A couple of times I had to remind myself to react whenever a ball came my way, distracted by the movement of her body, the swish of her skirt, the muscles highlighted in her arms as she delivered blow after blow of her racket.
None of this meant we didn’t fight our way through the second set, irritation bringing us close to blows every time one of us did something to irk the other. Whether it was me taking the ball she was setting up to strike, or her not covering for lobs, we always foundsomething wrong with each other. It was like playing with my fucking coach: always picking up on my shit, my footwork, my shot selection.
By the end of the third set, already exhausted from a full day of playing tennis, I was so sick of it. Both of us were so annoyed that even when we won, neither of us cracked so much as a smile. Not as we shook our competitors’ hands and ignored each other’s presence, and not as we disappeared into the locker room, only growing more eager to escape each other’s company.
It was if we had forgotten we were sharing a house, and with a group of her friends who seemed to love nothing more than meddling.
