Chapter 67
Sixty-Seven
Cassie was unusually quiet as she motioned for Delilah to sit beside her on the creaky wooden bench near the courts. Her stomach had tied itself into a knot as tight as the strings on her racket.
‘There’s something you need to see,’ Cassie said, voice calm but serious. She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times, then handed it over like it was a ticking bomb.
Delilah took the phone reluctantly. The screen lit up with a grainy, slightly fuzzy security camera video, captioned, ‘This is Delilah Day, playing at Larchfield. This is who they picked to play Tamsin Rowe,’ followed by five crying-laughing emojis.
The footage was from high up, a security camera, the angle wide and merciless.
And there, front and centre, was Delilah.
The video began with Delilah awkwardly swinging and completely missing a serve.
The ball dribbled across the court like it was on a leisurely stroll.
Then came a baffling series of missteps: a stumble here, a wild backhand there, and an accidental double bounce that looked like it belonged in a slapstick comedy.
‘Cassie,’ she muttered, voice cracking under the weight of her embarrassment, ‘this looks terrible.’
Cassie reached out and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘That was literally your first day here,’ she said gently. ‘You were thrown off by the location change.’
Delilah gave a dry laugh, half a sob. ‘Thrown off? This is comedically bad.’
‘No, really. I remember it. This was the first hour after we got here,’ Cassie smiled. ‘You weren’t this bad, really. You’d improved by then. And you’re even better now. This doesn’t show the reality of your playing whatsoever. But I have to show you, because…’
‘Because it’s out there.’
‘Yes.’
Delilah stared down at the phone. ‘Welp. I’m fucked. If this is everywhere…’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s exactly viral.’ She pointed out the view counter. It was under three thousand.
‘A journalist found it.’
‘Journalists—if that’s even what you can call that person—are looking for stuff they can turn into a story. I think you just got unlucky.’
As calming a presence as Cassie was, Delilah wasn’t pacified. The urge to cry felt dangerously close.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, and the name on the screen made her stomach drop: Ashley.
Well, this couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?