Page 4 of The Pickleball Girl Finds Her Match

“I’mfine,Steven. I’ll be at home resting and drinking this.” Paul held up a large bottle of fruit punch Gatorade.

Steven looked reluctant. “Well, we don’t even have a foursome.”

Returning to the group, Endy raised her hand. “I’ll play in.”

Paul nodded. “See, Endy will join you. Seriously, you all keep playing.”

“As long as you’re sure …” Endy pulled out her phone from her pocket to check the time, then turned to the other men. “But I can only play for a little while—I have a meeting I’ll need to get to.”

“Okay then, let’s play as long as we can,” replied Steven. He turned to Paul. “I’ll check in with you this afternoon, okay?”

“That’s very nice of you, Steven. I’ll see you later.” He lifted his Gatorade in a toast. “Have a good match.”

Steven tossed Endy the plastic ball as she moved to the baseline. She took a deep breath, refocusing her thoughts. After a beat, she called out the beginning score, “Zero, zero,” and, per pickleball rules, added that she was the second server who started the match, “two.”

Endy looked across the court, then dropped the ball, swung her paddle, and served the ball over the net.

The foursome played for an hour, with the scores fairly even throughout. Endy didn’t even need to pull back on her own play to allow the older men an advantage, although, at age twenty-eight, she often found herself the youngest player on the Whisper Hills courts.

That was the thing about pickleball: anyone could get proficient pretty quickly. And regardless of age, experience, or ability, everyone agreed that playing pickleball was more than just plain fun—it was a way of life.

After their match concluded, Endy stood beneath the shade awning with a dozen other players, drinking from their colorful stainless steel water bottles, chatting and laughing. Every few minutes, golf carts or e-bikes cruised past the area, with people leaning out and waving their hellos. A resounding cheer came from a nearby court, and two of the players high-fived and touched their paddles together.

“Endy, I want to apologize for Paul’s behavior with those EMTs,” said Steven. “Your love life is none of our business, even if we all think of you like a daughter.”

“Thank you, Steven,” said Endy. “But everyone here, including Paul, has been wonderful to me. Besides, I don’t actually have a love life.”

“Well, when you eventually meet some young man who adores you as much as we all do, don’t let him Bennett you.”

“I’ll try my best not to get Bennetted again,” said Endy, giving a dry laugh. “Don’t worry, if I fall in love with a guy who has a beautiful, sophisticated ex-girlfriend, I’ll call it quits with him before he can call it quits with me.”

“Cut him off with surgical precision.”

“Will do, Dr. Markowitz,” Endy assured him with a smile. “I need to get going. Would you text me later and let me know how Paul is doing?”

Steven sat down in the shade of the awning. “Of course, Endy. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be fine. We’ve seen worse, right?”

As if on cue, a woman on the next court over shuffled back, trying to reach a ball soaring over her head, then tumbled backward to the hard ground. She caught herself partially on an outstretched hand, but her face grazed the court’s surface. Blood bloomed on her cheek as the other three players rushed to her aid. “I’m okay,” the woman called out. “I’m okay.”

“Go get to your meeting … I’ve got this,” Steven said as he slid a glance to Endy and headed for the injured woman. “It’s just another regular day of pickleball.”

Endy shrugged, palms turned up. “I’ll have some ice sent over from the pro shop,” she called out over her shoulder, then said under her breath, “Please, let’s get through the day without having to call another ambulance.”

Country music blared from the wireless speaker and two small white dogs yapped as they wrestled on the freshly mowed grass, turning their fur a brilliant lime green. The thwack of paddles hitting hard plastic balls echoed throughout the surroundings as Endy stepped out of the awning’s shade and into the golden California sun shining across the rows and rows of crowded pickleball courts.

2

Endy jogged toward the country club’s racquet pro shop. She checked the time on her phone and saw that she would have about forty-five minutes to get her thoughts in order before the community meeting started. The bright desert sun beat down on her dark brown hair, glinting off the natural highlights, and she reached up and pulled it into a high ponytail. A bead of sweat trailed down her long neck, and her upper lip glistened.

Yanking open the glass door to the pro shop, she was hit with a wall of air-conditioning and the ringing of a telephone. “It’s going to be super hot today,” Endy said, walking inside and fanning her face.

“It’s always super hot here,” replied Maria Gutierrez as she hung socks on wall pegs. “It’s so hot even my ex’s heart is melting.” Ignoring the ringing telephone, she looked over her shoulder to Endy. “Did you hear the latest?”

“No. What happened?” asked Endy, her eyebrows drawn together.

“The court maintenance crew found more dog crap on the new pickleball courts this morning,” replied Joel from behind the front desk as he reached for the telephone. “Second time this week … We don’t really know what’s going on.” He stared at the telephone, which had ceased ringing.

Maria pretended to retch. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” she said. “Joel, I would suppose as the director of racquet sports that you’d know everything that’s going on.”

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