Chapter 13
thirteen
Shots Fired
Austin
Since nobody else has sent this…
Sahar
OH MY GOSH! DELILAH! YOUR FIRST FAN EDIT WITH MATTEO
Austin
Did you read the comments?
Harper
Aww, people want you guys to get together so badly.
There are three other accounts with different edits too! I can’t stop watching.
This is…odd
Though I don’t know what I expected when I posted a video of us
Austin
Delilah and Matteo sitting in a tree…
Really? Nobody is going to finish that?
Noah
Some of these people are not being very nice about him
What the hell do they know
Sahar
WOAH! She cursed??
Noah
S you owe me thirty bucks. I called it
Austin
Is this real?
I would like to be told about these sorts of things seeing as I INTRODUCED the two of you
Nic removed themself from the chat.
Austin added Nic to the chat.
The next day, I make it to the indoor courts four minutes before eight, dodging kids varying in age from five to twelve. Breakfast with the Wards put me behind, which is my fault more than theirs since I insisted on hearing every single detail of Austin’s recovery so far.
Tall ceilings and large windows allow plenty of natural light to pour into the building.
Beyond the office, where I’m sure to find the coaches, two rows of six indoor courts stretch out.
A woman with short gray hair and a big smile is escorting a group of children to different courts, likely based on their skill level.
I step into the simple office and find that I was right: a group of coaches stand in a lazy circle just inside the door. I see Matteo and sidle up to him.
The woman I assume is in charge of these clinics steps out from an area with desks and flier-filled corkboards, closing the door behind her.
“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. As a few of you know, we’re short-staffed for the next few weekends, so we’re having players fill in.
Today we have Delilah, Matteo, and Lina.
Adam, you’re moving up to intermediate,” she says, pointing to a guy who can’t be much older than me with long shaggy brown hair.
“Delilah and Matteo can take the beginners group, and Lina, since you’ve worked with us before, you’ll be with Adam and the intermediate group. ”
Everyone in the circle nods and begins to file out of the small building. “Delilah, Matteo, one second.”
We fall back. “I’m Louise. Thank you again for helping out with camp today.
There’s not much to it, but in case you haven’t done this before, you’ll spend an hour or so working on form.
Then you’ll have them try hitting the ball over the net when you toss it from beside them, then when you tap it over the net to them. ”
“Is there a set time to break for lunch?” I ask.
“Nope, just whenever they get hungry. After, you can combine your groups and play games. They’re big fans of bounce it, caterpillar, and target practice where they win prizes.
” She hitches a thumb over her shoulder.
“We keep a few small swag items in the office if you want to do that, as well as dollar bills because they love the idea of money, no matter how small.”
“What is a caterpillar in this context?” Matteo asks, bewildered.
I laugh. “Roll a ball down the court and have a line of kids make sure it passes between their feet. Get progressively quicker. It’s good for footwork with younger groups. You never played?”
Matteo shakes his head.
Louise smiles, tapping her chin. “I think that’s everything, but I’ll be down the way with the advanced groups if you need anything. Unless you have any other questions, you’ll be on courts one and two.”
We follow Louise out and onto our courts.
The learning is slow-going. I fix the grip of a six-year-old with pigtails and she immediately changes it back to what she had before.
I demonstrate how they should set their rackets to prepare to hit a ball, and they swing wildly—so much so, I have to make sure they spread out so none of them get seriously injured.
When, finally, they sort of have a grasp of strokes, I stand beside them and toss them balls.
Another hour while we get their swings to work so they land their racket on the ball.
When they’ve (kind of) mastered that, I move to the other side of the court, tapping balls over the net.
Some of them are better than others. Some are able to get their rackets on the balls, some are even able to get the ball to the other side of the court.
When I notice I’m losing a couple of the younger ones who are struggling to get their racket anywhere near the ball, I teach them how to play bounce it.
They walk around the outskirts of the court, trying their best to hit a ball straight down onto the court multiple times.
It’s great for teaching contact points, and when they’re more engaged, I bring them back to try again.
I’ve always loved this side of coaching. I did a lot of it growing up, and then recently, Maya started a charity to coach underprivileged kids, and the few times I’ve been around and able, I’ve helped her there too. Every time I do, I’m reminded of how rewarding just one session can be.
Beginners, while easily distracted, can make large amounts of progress in a short amount of time.
By no means are they ready to move up, but by the end of the drills, I have eight mostly smiling faces excited that they’ve hit a ball over the net.
Even if it did sail so high, I lost sight of it in the rafters (twice).
Each time I peek over at Matteo’s court, I see him floundering. Responding in one- or two-word answers to their many questions. I bite back a laugh when he glances over at me like he’s in dire need of my help.
“Beginners, listen up!” I yell. “If I hit Coach Matteo with a ball, you get a long water break.”
Grabbing my racket and a ball from the large rolling basket, I make sure none of the kids are near me or him and tap the ball lightly toward him.
I hit it to the side of him, but instead of letting it go past, he moves right into its path. The kids cheer.
While they get water, I walk to Matteo. “You cheated.”
“Needed a break. They’re terrorizing me.”
I snort. “How could such tiny children be ‘terrorizing’ you?”
“Why do they ask so many questions? And how am I supposed to answer ‘Does God believe in tennis?’ or ‘Do the tennis balls have feelings?’ They’re going to go home to their parents with an explanation that could rock their belief systems, and then I’m in trouble.”
“Ah see, that’s where your love of answering questions with questions will come in handy.” I keep an eye on all fifteen kids, and when Aditi asks to use the bathroom, I nod, watching her run to the ones beside the office.
“You’re so good with them,” Matteo muses.
“Product of growing up fast and taking care of the twins, I think. Plus I love them. They’re so easily pleased. I might not be able to wow adults, but I can certainly wow children.”
“What makes you think you can’t wow adults?”
My breath stutters for a moment, and I nearly preen under the subtle compliment. “I don’t know. Anyway, they’re going to get to go home and tell their parents they met Matteo Corsi. That you coached them. This is a big moment for them.”
“I guarantee you not one of these five- to seven-year-olds knows who any of us are.”
“Maddox knows. He asked me very softly if you were the Matteo Corsi. Again, wow moment.”
Matteo’s lips move infinitesimally, and he stares down at me fondly. “You really do have a way with people, don’t you?” The way he says it seems to have another meaning.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’m coming to find it’s something I need more of in my life.”
Before I can think, I ask, “Me? Or the ability to understand others?”
His eyes scan my face, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Anticipation builds like a helium balloon as I wait for him to admit something to me I’m not even willing to admit to myself. “The kids are getting antsy. We should get back to it.”
I deflate, taking a few steps back and calling for my group to get back on the court. We do a few more rounds of them across the net from me, trying to get their rackets on the ball. Before long, they’re hungry.
“Alright. If I hit Matteo again, it’s lunchtime,” I declare, loudly enough that he and his group can hear it.
He puts his racket into the large rolling basket beside him. “Let’s see what you got, tesoro.”
This time, I hit him without him adjusting his position. All at once, the fifteen kids cheer. Clearly, lunch is their favorite part of camp days.
After I make sure all of them wash their hands, they settle onto the court and begin eating, most from sack lunches, others from fancy lunch boxes. I sit on the bench in front of them.
Matteo hooks his thumb behind him. “Going to grab sandwiches from the office. Anything you don’t eat?” I shake my head. When he returns, holding one out for me, I take it gratefully.
“Thank you.”
He sits beside me on the bench as we field more questions from the little munchkins.
“How old are you?” one of them asks.
“Twenty-five,” I say as Matteo answers, “Twenty-eight.”
“Wow, that’s old,” another answers.
Then, “What time is your bedtime? Mine’s eight,” one of Matteo’s kids pipes up proudly.
“Phew, that’s later than mine. I’m in bed by seven.” Matteo lets out a short laugh, and the kids talk over each other to tell us their bedtimes.
Just as I’m polishing off the last of my sandwich, one of them asks, “What is tezuro?”
Matteo looks at me, a flicker of alarm on his face before he glances away. “Tesoro means treasure in Italian.”
I’ve been meaning to search it up, to see if it really does mean the same thing as it does in Spanish. Hearing it confirmed now from his lips reinflates that balloon in my chest. Is that hope? It’s oddly warm as it travels through my body.
The same kid asks, “So are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”
My last bite gets lodged in my throat for a second, and I cough into my elbow, trying desperately to swallow. My eyes water as Matteo lightly taps my back.
“I don’t know if the idea is that offensive,” he jokes quietly, handing me my bottle of water.
I sip from it, wiping tears from my eyes when I can breathe again. “No, we play mixed doubles together. Do you know what mixed doubles is?” I ask, hoping to get the derailed conversation on a different track.
A few of them jump to answer, and after a couple more innocuous questions, we get back to training.
“We’re going to play games for the rest of the day, okay?” Fifteen heads nod. “Let’s do one practice round of bounce it, and then the second one, we’ll play for real. Whoever wins gets a prize.”
They each grab a ball from the cart and spread out. When I yell “Go!” they start bouncing the ball on their racket. Matteo chuckles beside me.
“What?”
“Nothing. This is just fun to watch. They shouldn’t pay me because I’m only following your lead here.”
“I have to make up for all the winning you’re going to be doing for us at the open.”
“With your lethal cross-court angles and down the lines, I’m not sure you should be giving me any of that credit.”
One of the children loses a ball, and it rolls over to us, hitting my shoe. I pick it up and note that most of the kids are done.
“Who’s ready to win a prize?” I ask. A chorus of voices overlap as the children scatter, leaving plenty of room around themselves so they don’t crash into each other. “On your mark, get set, go!”
A frenzy of balls thwacking against racket strings fills the air. Two are out immediately, and one of them, Aditi, crosses her arms and pouts. When she comes up beside us, I pat her shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll have other chances.”
When all but one has lost their ball in one way or another, Matteo and I applaud the girl.
“What do I win?” she asks excitedly.
“You win…a dollar!”
She jumps up and down like she won the lottery, and I turn to Matteo. “See? Easily pleased.”
He gives me a full smile this time, teeth and everything. It’s still small by most standards, but to me, it’s like I won the lottery. “Any time I have to interact with someone under the age of ten, I’m bringing you with me.”
I curtsy, forever high on making him smile. “It would be my honor.”
After a few rounds of caterpillar and one failed attempt at jail break, I say, “Last thing before you go home for the day. Everyone is going to get three chances to hit a target. If you hit a target, you win a prize.”
“Should I grab cones?” Matteo asks. “I can set them up along the other side of the court.”
I grin up at him. “I have a better idea.” Turning to the kids, I say, “If you hit Coach Matteo, you win a prize. Everyone gets three chances! Go line up, and I’ll bring the basket.”
Matteo grabs his racket from the rolling basket and comes to stand right in front of me.
“You’re evil,” he whispers. “You just want to see me get hit since you promised you wouldn’t hit me during matches.
” He reaches out to tap my visor, and I swat him away.
Matteo stops me with a hand around my wrist, tugging me forward an inch.
My forearm presses into his chest, our faces inches apart.
I lick my lips, and his eyes fall to them, watching raptly before they come back to meet mine, pupils dilated.
His other hand rests on my waist, his racket pushed gently against my side.
Neither of us move. I take in the details in his face I don’t often have time to appreciate.
The little scar on his upper lip. A handful of freckles on the bridge of his nose. A hazel quality to his brown eyes.
“Maybe I do,” I answer softly.
“What else do you want?”
My breath hitches, and he notices, eyes dropping to my lips again.
“Boys have cooties! Don’t kiss him!”
The moment shatters like a glass on the kitchen floor, and we jump apart.
Matteo walks to the other side of the net, regaining his composure far quicker than I can. “Let’s do this.” And then, like I’m rubbing off on him and he’s learning how to talk to them, he calls out, “You’ll never get me alive!”
He lets all fifteen of them hit him and pays them their one dollar right then and there. And when three of them ask him to sign a tennis ball for them, then three more who don’t want to be left out, and then the rest of them, he grabs a marker from the office and signs fifteen.
I can’t believe anyone could ever think he’s a malignant narcissist.