Chapter 9
Eddie
While Maya steps away to begin greeting the parents and preschoolers, I grab my phone and search tennis lesson activities for preschoolers. Reading over the list, I’m finally able to calm myself. My takeaways: be friendly, ask questions and do very basic activities.
Easy enough.
I walk over to the basket of tennis balls and offer one to a little girl in a pink dress standing nearby. She happily snatches it from my hand and runs back to her mom. A boy runs over and asks, “Can I play with a ball too?”
“Sure,” I say and grab one out.
He takes it, but just stands there looking at me.
He’s got what I presume is chocolate outlining his mouth and short blond hair.
Now we’re in an awkward stare down. Finally I say, “Can you do this?” I proceed to dribble the ball using my tennis racket.
He lights up and tries to do the same. The ball bounces off his foot and rolls across the gym.
I brace myself for crying, but he just runs after it.
When he returns he says, “Did you see how fast I can run?”
“You were fast.”
“My name’s Hudson. What’s your name?”
“I’m Eddie.”
“This is hard.” He attempts to dribble the ball again with his racket.
“It takes practice,” I try to reassure him.
“What takes practice?” A girl’s voice reaches my ears, and I look down to see three more kids.
“Doing this.” I begin bouncing the ball in front of me.
“Whoa. You’re good at tennis,” another boy pipes in.
I smirk, thinking if only this is all it takes. Instead, I say, “Thank you. Do you guys want to try?”
Before I know it, twenty preschoolers are surrounding me. Everyone is attempting to dribble the tennis ball. I start to feel my shoulders relax. The kids are laughing and having fun trying to copy the different skills I show them.
We do a team relay, and then I show them how to do a forehand volley. After that, they’re asking me for their fourth drink break. I oblige, because honestly, it takes up time, and I’m starting to wear out from all their questions.
Maya is a huge help though. I could not get the kids organized on my own, that’s for sure. It’s like herding golden retriever puppies—cute, but easily distracted. As the kids rush off to grab their water bottles from their grown-ups, Maya walks over.
“You’re doing a great job, Eddie. I’m very impressed with your preschool social skills.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“You know what I mean,” she says and nudges my elbow. She smiles, which I’m noticing comes incredibly natural and easy for her. It’s like she has a lit up Christmas tree always sparkling behind her eyes.
I don’t realize I’m staring at her until she nervously looks down at the racket in her hands. To move past the awkwardness, I ask, “So, what do you think we should do next? I’m running out of ideas.”
Maya tilts her head to the side. “How about a game? Kids usually love Sharks and Minnows.”
“What’s that?”
“Most of the kids are the minnows and have to run from one side of the gym to the other, without being tagged by sharks.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Maya gathers everyone and explains the rules of the game, and the kids bounce excitedly. Then, she says, “Eddie and I will be sharks to start.”
Cheers erupt.
“Don’t let us get you,” Maya teases before yelling, “Go!”
You’ve never seen chaos until you’ve seen twenty preschoolers running wildly to escape a pretend shark. And do not let their age fool you, 3 and 4 year olds are quick.
When we’ve successfully tagged all the minnows, Maya and I are huffing and puffing. “Who wants to be sharks next?” she asks. At least fifteen hands shoot up. Maya chooses two, says go, and then she and I walk over to the sideline.
Leaning down, I grab my water bottle. “I need to add playing Sharks and Minnows with kids to my training regiment.”
“It is a good workout,” she says, gulping down water as well.
At that moment, Kyle walks over to us. For a few minutes, I forgot he was here. I noticed throughout the lesson that he kept looking over at Maya. He seemed to be trying to find ways to talk to her, which appears to be his goal again.
“Hey, Maya,” he says, failing to acknowledge me. “I have to get going, but it was so great to see you.”
She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Thank you for volunteering today. It was so helpful to have more people wrangling these kids.”
“No problem,” Kyle replies. “Hopefully I’ll see you around more often. Nice to meet you, Eddie.”
Maya nods. Kyle lingers for a moment before turning and walking away. I swear there are little heart emojis in Maya’s eyes, which irks me for some reason. Why on earth do I care?
But, curiosity gets the best of me. “So, you and Kyle…know each other?” Okay that’s a stupid question, because clearly they do. But, I couldn’t think of any other way to pry without seeming too obvious.
“Yeah, we um, went to high school together. He’s a year older than me.” She sets her water bottle down, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Are you blushing?” I ask, noticing the hint of pink in her cheeks.
“No,” she says and then adds, “Okay, maybe. Kyle Barrett was a star athlete, who all the girls had a crush on.”
“Including you?”
“No comment,” she says with a smile. “We should really get back to the game.”
I can’t help but feel accomplished. I have some leverage on the smiley Maya Torres, who met me during my most embarrassing moment. Last night, I woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming that I took the court at Wimbledon in my red Cheez-It boxers. The underwear nightmare will not end.
But maybe I also feel accomplished because I didn’t really have to work that hard to get her to open up about her crush. She willfully told me, and if I'm honest, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her more. I watch Maya as she wraps up the lesson with ease, thanking everyone for coming.
Then, she instructs them all to grab a ball and get in line if they would like an autograph or photo with me. I usually feel uncomfortable in fan meet and greets, but since I actually enjoyed lessons today, I’m excited to spend a little more time with these crazy, but undeniably cute kids.
I kneel next to the net so that I’m at eye level with the preschoolers. One by one, the parents encourage their kids to hand me their tennis ball to sign, then smile for a photo.
When the boy, who I remember is named Hudson, appears at the front of the line, he runs and nearly tackles me with a hug.
When I recover my balance he says, “My mom told me I had to tell you thank you for lessons today. I had a lot of fun. That girl Maya is pretty. I saw you looking at her. That’s how my dad looks at my mom sometimes… and my nanny.”
Oh, whoa. I nervously chuckle. “You’re welcome for the lessons. I’m glad you had fun.”
“What about Maya? You think she’s nice and pretty, right?” This kid does not let up.
I glance at Maya, who is singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It” to occupy the kids in line. “Maya is awesome,” I say with ease.
He looks at me with a grin of satisfaction. “I knew you liked her. You keep looking at her. Hey, will you play tennis with me again sometime?”
I feel myself freeze momentarily at his remark about Maya.
He’s not wrong. Although I’m not usually a fan of people, I like her.
But, I do not need to discuss this with a pre-schooler, so I let out a quick breath.
My plan is to ignore his Maya statement and focus on his question.
“If I make it back to Winterbrook, it would be fun to play tennis with you again.” I smile at him and he gives me another hug.
I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep, so my answer is intentionally vague. However, I genuinely would enjoy hanging out with Hudson again. His joy and confidence are infectious. Maybe it’ll rub off on me.
“Hudson, honey, stand next to Mr. Evans for a picture. There’s other kids waiting.”
He wraps one arm around my shoulders and flashes a thumbs-up with the other. I feel myself grin. So far, pre-school tennis lessons are the highlight of my trip. I forgot what it was like to be around kids. Their energy and optimism are so refreshing. Was I ever that carefree?
A memory suddenly pops into my mind. I’m ten years old, swimming at the beach, jumping over waves with my four-year-old brother, Joey. My parents are standing nearby, laughing at our antics. The sun warms our skin. I feel happiness swell in my chest.
“Hi.” The sound jolts me back to the present. When I look down, a little girl sways with her hands clasped in front of her.
She shyly holds up a ball. “Will you color on this for me?”
I smile at her question despite the ache in my chest from the lost memory. “Sure. I usually just write my name. Is that okay?”
“Can you draw a picture too?”
“What should I draw?” I ask.
“A butterfly.”
I blow out a whistle. “It’s been a long time since I’ve drawn a butterfly.” Add on top of that the fact that the furry surface of the tennis ball is not an easy canvas. “I’ll do my best.” I draw an oval body and two roundish wings. Then I add antennas. “How’s that?”
“I love it! Don’t forget to sign your name by your art.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” I add my signature and hand it back to her. She runs happily back to her parents.
After about fifteen more minutes, everyone is pretty much cleared out. I stand and stretch my legs.
I notice Maya starting to gather up the rackets and balls, so I join her. That’s when my wrist begins to ache. I move it in a circle, trying to alleviate the pain.
It hits me that this is the first time my wrist has bothered me in the last couple days.
Usually, I wake up with a dull pain, and as I begin training, it gradually gets worse throughout the day.
Maybe rest really is what I need. Just minimal tennis at lessons today aggravated the tendonitis.
If I truly take the rest of the week off from repetitive tennis movements, maybe it could heal.
I sigh, reminding myself not to get my hopes up.
“We should get some ice on that wrist,” Roger says from beside me.