Page 115 of Carrie Soto Is Back

“Yeah, every day. He brings me breakfast and stays until after lunch. Or he brings me lunch and stays until after dinner. Honestly, it makes sense to me why he’s here all the time. Did you know his own father was embarrassed he was a tennis player instead of a professor or something?”

“I know a little.”

“Imagine! Imagine having your head that far up your own ass that you’re embarrassed your son is a champion.”

“All right, all right,” I say.

“I like him, Carrie. Even with all those tantrums.”

“I can tell.”

“No, I like him for you. I think this thing isverrrryinteresting, you two.”

“Dad, cut it out.”

“And he thinks so too.”

“STOP IT OR I WILL GET OFF THE PHONE,” I say.

“Bueno, pero tengo razón,” he says. “When does Chan play?”

“Tonight. Soon.” I look at my watch. “Any second now, actually.”

“Ay,” he says. I hear him start to wrestle around for the remote. I can hear the TV turning on. So I sit down and turn on mine. I flip through the channels until I see that the match is just beginning.

Nicki stands tall and sturdy on the court. Her tennis whites arecrisp and bright, a tennis skirt and tank top. Her shoes are her own 130s, bright white.

I watch her, bouncing on the balls of her feet, stretching out her shoulder, standing at the baseline. She has a huge smile on her face, like she’s living for this moment.

Ingrid Cortez’s face is all business.

“This is it,” my dad says. “Chan wins this, and then you beat her. And suddenly, it’s a whole different story.”

“I know,” I say, watching her first serve. “I had a drink with her the other night. I…liked her.”

Nicki hits her first serve. My shoulder starts to sting just watching Cortez return it.

“You didn’t talk strategy, did you?” my father says.

“Dad, give me a little credit.”

“You know what I say about making friends out of your opponents.”

“Honestly,” I say, sighing, “no, I don’t. Because you just told me to never do it.”

“Well, yeah,” he says. “Exacto, hija.But if you do—don’t talk strategy, don’t tell them how you felt about your last game, don’t tell them your fears, don’t tell them your strengths either. And you sure as hell never tell them how much it hurts you to lose.”

“Oh, is that all?” I say. Nicki and Ingrid are still rallying for the point.

“Don’t tell them what you had for breakfast either,” he says. “They could use it against you.”

“You sound insane.”

“Every genius sounds insane.”

Nicki hits a groundstroke to Cortez’s backhand, and Cortez misses it. First point Nicki.

“Oh wow,” my dad says. “These two.”

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