Chapter 38
The following week, as I put on a pair of shorts and my least-ratty T-shirt, I try to figure out why I’m so nervous.
First, I worry that Max expects something from me.
Then, I worry that I expect something from him.
“It’s just tennis,” I say to my reflection, as I pull my two-tone hair into a long ponytail. “It’s just tennis.”
I repeat my mantra during my drive into town, and when I arrive at the community courts, Max is already hitting a ball against the backboard. His strokes are easeful, and I’m relieved that at least one of us is relaxed.
As I shut my car door, he stops and turns. “Hey there!” he calls, walking to meet me by the bench at the side of the court.
“Hi,” I call, my pulse quickening. Finally, it dawns on me that this is the exact spot where I first met Seth, so maybe that explains the nerves. This is the place where things begin; and we all know how they could end.
“Penn? Wilson?” Max holds up two new cans of tennis balls.
“Hmmm…” I say, as if making a weighty decision.
“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a Dunlop girl…”
I laugh. “Let’s go with Penn.”
Max’s playfulness helps to put me at ease, and I remind myself that I am no longer an angsty sixteen-year-old. I’m twenty-seven now, and this is just tennis. Nothing more.
“Just FYI, it’s been a while, so go easy on me,” I say, heading to my side of the court. “Oh, and I grunt when I serve.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” replies Max.
With that, he feeds the ball to me, and we begin to rally. I immediately launch a forehand over the far fence, but before long, I am hitting competent groundstrokes and volleying with what could be considered sass. Max is good, but I am good enough to keep up—or at least he lets me think I am.
“Damn!” yells Max, impressed, after I rip a backhand past him down the line. “You’re an animal.”
He seems to delight in me in a way that feels oddly familiar, and I feel myself loosen up. By the time we decide to quit, I’ve forgotten what I was so nervous about. After all, it’s just tennis.