Page 30 of Game Point
But in the last year, I’d been playing solidly. I’d stayedwith my parents in the off-season and toured relentlessly ever since. Maybe that was the missing spark? But I almost dreaded being away from the court. This was my life, and as hard as it was, I wanted to be here.Then prove it.
I served, the ball landing inside the box. Roy swung his racket back and pelted the shot over the net. I returned, and we rallied across the court. Every movement felt desperate, like I was clawing at this for a single victory. But I needed to win this point. Needed to turn the tide.
Finally, the opportunity appeared, and I didn’t hesitate. Stepping close to the net, I delivered a drop shot into open court and secured the game. I was determined to take this win and keep it going.
15–0
Roy served, and we both chased the ball around the court, Roy trying every trick in the book to trip me up. He was calculating and quick on his feet, but now that my head was back in the match, so was I. I won the point.
30–0
I was terrified to take a single misstep and lose another point to him.
30–15
I had to stay fast, stay agile, keep my feet on this court and this grip on my racket and win. I had to win.
30–30
My heart was hammering in my chest.
30–40
The game was his. Next, the set. And the match.
10
Oliver
She Calls Me Back – Noah Kahan
I was bone tired and depressed. A loss like that always left me wiped out.
I’d packed my bags already, wanting to get out of Manchester as soon as possible. Maybe I’d go stay in London, spend some more time with my parents. I picked at my room service order, then climbed into bed, committed to wasting away between the sheets.
When sleep was chased away by returning memories, the match playing over and over in my head, every missed shot, every bad step, I turned to the TV, flicking to find something,anything, to watch.
My phone buzzed, and I ignored it, assuming it was a text, but when it continued vibrating, I gave in, finding Dylan’s caller ID. A text from her was expected. But not a call. Never a call. It was me who called her. Apprehensively, I put the phone on speaker.
‘How is it going, kiddo?’ Her tone was light, playful, but in a way that let me know instantly that she’d seen the result. Seen how awful I’d played.
‘Kiddo?’ I questioned.
‘Would you like a different nickname?’
‘Kiddo might be the best pick.’
‘I personally wouldn’t risk it.’ Her voice warm andcomforting, the hug I didn’t know I needed. ‘What are you up to?’
I looked over at the paused screen, an image of the gloomy mountainous Washington wilderness. ‘I was watching a movie.’
‘Which one?’ she asked, ‘I’ll watch it with you.’
I paused, my brain scrabbling for any other film. And coming up blank. I reached for the remote, to find another respectable movie to tell her, but I missed, the remote spinning from reach. I scrambled across the bed. ‘It’s on Netflix.’
‘Yeah, tell me the time mark and I’ll fast forward and watch it with you,’ I heard her say as I stretched, trying to grab the remote.
‘No. It’s fine.’
