CHAPTER 10
OLIVIA
After the last group of kids finished their cool-down stretches and high-fived their way off the court, I let out a breath and rolled my shoulders.
I grabbed my towel and water bottle, muttered a quick thank you to one of the assistant coaches, and made my way to the players' quarters. By the time I changed into fresh clothes, I finally felt like myself again.
I stood in the glass foyer, the warmth of the day beginning to soften into something gentler, my gaze drifting down toward the courts below.
A sudden memory tugged at me. Years ago, during my first summer visit to the academy, I’d found a massive tree just off the corner of that court.
I used to sneak off during breaks and sit under it, sometimes just to lie back in the shade and breathe, and it had become my little refuge. My quiet place.
Compelled by the pull of it, I made my way down the familiar path. The tree was still there, tall and steadfast, branches stretched wide like open arms. But I wasn’t the only one seeking a moment of peace.
There, swaying gently in a canvas hammock strung between two of its thicker branches, was Alex.
She didn’t see me at first. Her legs were curled beneath her, one arm tucked under her head, the other holding a well-worn copy of Percy Jackson.
I paused, just watching her for a beat, the way her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, the sunlight catching in the strands of her hair. She looked... relaxed.
“Didn’t peg you for a demigod girlie,” I called out, unable to resist.
Her head jerked up, startled, then she narrowed her eyes when she saw me. “I didn’t peg you for someone who stalks hammocks.”
I walked closer, grinning. “This used to be my tree. You’re technically trespassing.”
She flipped a page with a lazy flick. “Didn’t see your name on it.”
“Must’ve faded with time. I was here first, though. Years ago.”
Alex looked up at the branches with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Hmm. And yet here I am, still the one in the hammock.”
I laughed softly. “So the mighty mysterious queen conquers backyards now?”
“Maybe I just needed a spot with a better view.”
“Better view, huh? Guess I can’t argue with that.”
She let out a soft laugh and nudged the hammock to sway a little more.
“Well, you can stay. But only if you don’t make me give up my spot.” She offered.
“Deal,” I said, settling down on the grass beneath the tree. “But if I fall asleep, don’t blame me.”
She tilted her head. “I’ll hold you accountable if you snore.”
I leaned back on my elbows, letting the breeze drift over my face. “You know, back in the day, this was my spot,” I said, glancing up at the wide branches above us
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hm. Back when I was one of the juniors. I used to hide out here between sessions, pretend I was reading when really I was just knackered.”
“Let me guess. Dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice and a granola bar?”
I rolled my eyes. “Close. It was Little Women, actually. And I was usually trying not to cry from soreness.”
She chuckled, flipping her book closed and resting it on her chest. “This might sound insane, but... You helped me once. Right here.”
“Helped you?”
“Yeah. Ages ago. I’d climbed too high up into this tree, trying to just find something to do, and then I couldn’t get down. I was stuck. And you came by, didn’t make fun of me, just helped me figure out how to climb down, step by step. Told me to breathe.”
I frowned, tilting my head. “Wait... that was you?”
Alex nodded slowly, lips curving up.
“Oh my God.” I burst out laughing. “You were the girl in the Barcelona hoodie! I remember now. You were clinging to the branch like it was about to run away!”
“I was a child! And that branch was very high, thank you.” She grinned, feigning offence. “You were absurdly calm about it. Bossy, too.”
“I told you to stop crying and plant your foot. That’s not bossy, that’s leadership.”
“You really haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you, apparently,” I shot back. “Still dramatic.”
“Still climbing things I probably shouldn’t,” she said, stretching her legs slightly in the hammock.
We let the moment settle again. The rustle of leaves above us filled the quiet, not awkward, just easy. Then she looked over at me, her expression softer now.
“I used to think about that day, actually. Weird as it sounds. How kind you were. You didn’t even know me.”
“You were just some scared kid in a tree.”
“And you were someone I looked up to before I even knew your name.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Well... thanks. I didn’t think I made much of a difference back then.”
“You did,” she said simply. “You still do.”
I looked at her then, the way her eyes held mine without flinching, at the gentle honesty in her voice, the steadiness beneath the sarcasm.
“You’re kind of ruining your mysterious ice-queen image, you know,” I said, aiming for lightness but meaning every word beneath it.
She smirked. “Good. It’s exhausting.”
We sat in the quiet again, both staring up at the canopy of green above us. For a long moment, neither of us said anything.
Then, softly, Alex said, “I’m glad you agreed to be the guest speaker.”
Something in her voice caught me off guard, quiet and sincere. A warmth unfurled in my chest, steady and impossible to ignore.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “Me too.”
We let the quiet linger, the sunset spilling gold across the leaves, the tension of unspoken words wrapping around us like the last breath of the day. Every heartbeat felt like it belonged to this moment, suspended and delicate, and I didn’t want to move.
·····
Back at the guest house after dinner with the Cadiz family, I let myself fall face-first onto the couch in my room, arms splayed out like I’d just completed a marathon.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Another message from Bianca. I didn’t open it. Not tonight. Instead, I sent a quick text to Dad.
I sent Nan the same, with a soft lie about how training was “intense but exciting.” She didn’t need to worry. None of them did. I’d call them soon. Just... not right now.
I tossed the phone onto my stomach, staring at the ceiling.
Then I picked it up again. Scrolling helped shut the brain off. For a bit.
I opened Instagram and started idly swiping through stories, mostly tennis content. Highlights from recent matches. Speculations about draws. A couple of reshared charity appearances I’d half forgotten I’d even attended.
I clicked out of the tag and refreshed my notifications. That’s when I saw it.
alexwilsoncadiz started following you.
I blinked, then tapped the notification. Her official account. Clean and simple. I clicked the follow back button.
I stared at her latest post, Alex smiling at the camera, her racquet slung over her shoulder.
It was clearly an endorsement shot, her sponsor’s logo in the corner, but the smile didn’t feel forced.
It was reserved, sure, but something about it was effortlessly gorgeous.
Like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Like she didn’t have to.
My heart did something stupid in my chest. I told it to behave.
Then came a gentle knock on my door.
I sat up, blinking. “Come in!”
The door creaked open just slightly, and one of the housekeepers peeked in with a kind smile. She stepped forward, balancing a small tray with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies.
“Miss Alex said to bring this to you,” she said, placing it down on the side table. “She said you’d know what it meant,” the woman added with a soft chuckle, then nodded politely before slipping back out into the hallway.
I stared at the tray. It was the same snack she gave me that first night. Quiet kindness with no strings attached.
I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite, shaking my head to myself.
“Of course you did this,” I murmured into the empty room, smiling despite myself.
But even with everything, I needed to rest, because after the graduation tomorrow, I’d be flying to Montreal to train. There was still work to do.
·····
The ceremony was over, but I still felt like I was floating somewhere in it.
The juniors had filed across the stage one by one, shaking hands with their coaches, clutching diplomas like tiny trophies for years of sweat and early mornings.
There had been laughter, a few teary eyes, and the inevitable awkward hugs as friends tried to hold onto these last moments together.
My speech notes were folded into the back pocket of my journal, the words already starting to blur in my mind.
I remembered the proud faces in the audience, the applause that had seemed endless, and the way the youngest kids had beamed at me when I told them to chase their dreams with everything they had.
The guest room looked emptier than it actually was, quiet in contrast to the buzz of excitement that still lingered in the halls of the academy.
My suitcase was zipped up, standing upright like it was waiting for me to say goodbye first.
The dress from the graduation still hung on the back of the chair. I didn’t have the heart to put it away yet. I wasn’t really sure why. Maybe because it felt like proof that it all happened, that I stood up there, said the words, got through it without my voice shaking too much.
It was a good day. I hadn’t had many of those in a while.
And part of me didn’t want to leave.
Not just the place. Not just the academy.
But this version of my life, the slower mornings, the quiet kindness from Amelia and Miguel, the juniors waving at me like I mattered, and that strange, tentative friendship with Alex that had somehow found its rhythm.
This little pocket of time felt like something I’d been given without asking. A chance to come up for air.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the suitcase. Montreal next. Back to the tour.
A soft knock, then the door cracked open.
“You ready?” Amelia asked, voice low, already in her jacket.
I nodded, standing. “Yeah. All packed.”
We walked out together. Miguel had the car running, the boot open. He gave me a quick smile and took my bag without a word.
At the airport, Amelia reached for a hug before I could even put my backpack down. It caught me off guard, and I let myself lean into it more than I expected.
“Thank you for everything, Olivia,” she said quietly.
I pulled back and nodded. “No, I should be the one thanking, honestly. Thanks. For everything. Really.”
I didn’t want to walk away just yet. But I did. My phone buzzed, Coach Dani, confirming the schedule.
I stared at the message a little longer than I needed to. A part of me was already there, in Montreal. The other part was still in that guest house, wondering how something could feel so temporary and still leave a mark.
I closed the message, tucked my phone away, and kept moving.
Back to work.