Page 21 of Clean Point

‘It’s nice you think that, Jon,’ she said with a smile so weak it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Silence fell over the room as she shifted in her seat. ‘What are the details? What do they need?’

‘They’d send somebody from marketing over here, who would need time to take photos during training to create content or whatever for social media. You’d switch to their rackets and equipment for the rest of the contract. They’d like a few outings around the island for more “content,” and then they’d be gone.’

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. This was ridiculous. ‘So, essentially, we’d be taking up modelling?’

Jon looked grimly at me before continuing. ‘They’d want features of you together on both of your social media accounts.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘No matter how defunct the account may seem. And any time you go out, you have to wear their clothing.’

‘And I can’t do it alone?’ Scottie asked.

Jon shook his head. ‘They want you both. Together or not at all.’

‘But we don’t have to do anything …’ Scottie trailed off as I shifted in my seat at the thought. ‘Like, other than being seen together, the implication we might be dating is enough to fulfil the contract. Right?’

‘Correct, that’s all they need. They don’t expect you to confirm anything, only play into it a little.’

Indecision buzzed in my brain. I could see the advantages of why Jon felt like this entire charade was necessary. But … with her? Scottie looked over at me, her blue eyes meeting mine, giving nothing away.

‘It’s up to you,’ she said with a simple rise of her shoulders. I’d known better than to think this was an easy transaction. This company, offering to fund everything we needed, wasn’t giving a handout. It wouldn’t just be some photos of us together used to sell cheap leggings. It never was. We had opened ourselves up to something we didn’t understand, and at a time when the focus should be on our training. I was still slow, and she’d been out of the game even longer. Dedication was normal for an athlete, but we needed to go beyond that. Blood, sweat, and tears wouldn’t be enough. I realized Jon knew that and could see what lay ahead of us.

I looked over at Jon, almost apprehensive to ask, ‘Is this necessary? Is there even a choice?’

Scottie’s head had turned, her blonde hair up in a messy bun as the room fell deadly quiet.

‘Honestly,’ his throat cleared as he moved in his chair, the hinges creaking again, ‘you don’t have any other funding options. This gives us more choice, access to better training and physios.’

‘I could pay it out of pocket,’ I offered.

‘Do you want to put it all on the line like that?’ he replied. ‘The added pressure. I’ve seen it crack more prepared athletes.’

Scottie was silent, her head down as if she was already defeated. Maybe I should never have asked the question. Maybe it was better to feel like we had a choice in the matter, pretending like we had any control.

With a deep breath, I let go of the pretence. No wash of relief followed the decision. If anything, the walls of the small office crept in tighter. ‘Tell them we’ll do it.’

10

Scottie

Crystal Clear – Hayley Williams

The International Tennis Integrity Agency must’ve heard I was back on the scene because it wasn’t long before the vampires were knocking on the door of the villa, bloodsucking syringes in hand.

I was sitting outside the medical room where they’d set up their nest, awaiting my appointment time, when Inés appeared from around the corner, her long black hair pulled out of her round face and into a ponytail. She paused as she saw me sat in the plastic chair outside, before cautiously taking a seat next to me.

There was an awkward, empty silence. A void created by the two years of no communication. We’d been friendly before; dare I push it to friends. Always ending up in the same hotel, and on the nights I could sneak away, meeting up for a drink paired with some friendly competitive chat, hanging out in the warm-up area, supporting each other when we lost with a quick comforting hug.

But after Wimbledon? Radio silence.

‘They called you in too?’ I asked, her hazel eyes wide as they met mine. I dug my hand under my thigh, sitting on it as I jigged my leg.

She swallowed. ‘I think they are taking samples from everyone while they’re here.’

I nodded, not sure what else to say, and went back to staring at the opposite wall, waiting to be called in. I’d kept up my AITA passport, a sampling regime that was designed to catch changes in a player’s profile, while on ban. But every test since Wimbledon left me feeling more anxious. I’d always been confident in the knowledge I was playing fair. That there wasn’t anything I was taking I should be worried about. But I’d been wrong.

‘Are you okay?’ Inés’s accent cut through my anxiety.

I forced a smile, admitting, ‘Just nervous.’

She pressed her lips together, those eyes analysing as she raised an eyebrow, but her tone was much softer. ‘Do you have something to be nervous about?’

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