‘Wonderful start!’ Raju laughs.
‘Come on, dude, show her what you’ve got!’ Amit yells, standing on his chair like he’s at an actual game, not a leisure centre.
Salman lets the ball bounce again, setting himself up to serve. I focus on the ball like my life depends on it. I’m ready to swing my racquet when he serves right into the net.
What the hell is going on? Salman has a killer serve, and I know it. Hell, I watched him play against Raju only ten minutes ago and saw just how sharp his serves were – but the way he’s playing right now is unrecognisable.
It’s almost like he’s being terrible on purpose.
Is he trying to show everyone what a good guy he is? Is this him saying ‘Hey, look at me, I’m playing nice with my ex’? If so, what purpose would that serve? Our friends have been staying out of our break-up as much as possible, refusing to take sides.
Salman eventually manages a serve, but it’s so lacklustre that I shoot it back sharper than he can defend. He’s going easy on me and there’s no doubt about it. The only question is, why?
‘OMG, can you just play properly already?’ I snap when he serves me yet another soft ball that I don’t even have to run towards to hit.
‘What do you mean? I am,’ he responds, a nervous smile on his lips.
‘No, you’re not, and if you’re going to keep going like this, then I’m not playing with you any more. It’s a waste of my time.’ I scowl.
‘I’ll try harder,’ he says, his cheeks flushing with colour, like he’s embarrassed.
Good, he should be.
‘Pretend you’re in Wimbledon. Channel that winning spirit!’ Raju adds, his camera still pointed at us, though if I were him I would have stopped filming ages ago. This game is too shameful to have video evidence of.
Fortunately, the game picks up after I scold Salman. He seems to finally get his act together and actually play. He picks up point after point and I’m not even mad about it because at least now we’re actually playing and not just pretending we are. He swings harder at me, his shots unforgiving and back with a vengeance.
‘Ten all,’ Lipi calls from where she’s sitting. ‘Match point!’
‘And make it quick, will you? I’m starving,’ Shirin groans.
Salman and I stand at opposing ends, breathing heavily from having run around for who knows how long. We’re both sweaty and gross, but even so we share a small smile because, even though he’s been a pain for most of this game, I’m having fun.
‘Ready?’ he asks, holding the ball just above his chest.
‘Ready.’
He serves lightly but I hit the ball hard. Hard enough that he has no choice but to volley the ball right at me. I have to rush closer to the net to volley it back. We keep the ball from hitting the ground until I find a gap and can finally swing my racquet atthe ball. I slice it so it hits the ground just behind him, winning me the match.
‘What a point!’ Raju shouts, the phone unsteady in his hand as he jumps up with excitement.
I exhale heavily, a grin stretched across my face as Salman gives me a little clap from the other side of the net. I walk towards him and tap his racquet with mine.
‘Good game,’ he says as our racquet touch, his neck slick with sweat. ‘Guess I should stick to tennis. Or maybe you’re just too good at pickleball.’
‘I don’t think being good at a sport that’s essentially tennis for senior citizens is something to be proud of.’
‘I mean it, though. You’re good, Poppy.’
I feel my heart fluttering, even though I know it shouldn’t. ‘You can stop, you know. You don’t have to be nice to me any more. We’re not, you know .?.?. a thing.’
‘I know. Doesn’t mean I have to be a dick.’
I snort. ‘Bit late for that, don’t you think? Breaking my heart is the ultimate dick move.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself, but why should I? Hewasa dick for what he did to me.
The silence stretches uncomfortably between us until he finally says, ‘Yeah, I messed it up, didn’t I?’
‘Yup.’
