Page 1 of Match Point

1

Miranda

March 2009

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ellie asked as we tip-toed down the hallway.

“It’s fine,” Hailey replied.

“We’re going to get caught!” Ellie insisted.

“Oh, stop it. Miranda isn’t scared.” Hailey glanced at me over her shoulder. “Are you, Miranda?”

I hesitated.

“Oh, come on,” Hailey hissed at me. “You’re going pro any day now. You need to have some fun before you leave us.”

“I’m… I’m not going pro,” I protested. “At least, I haven’t heard anything from my coach.”

Hailey gave me a skeptical look. “Do you want to go back to your room and go to bed before curfew, like a good little girl?”

“Nope,” I lied.

Hailey nodded and continued on. Ellie gave me a betrayed look.

There was a curfew at the Lafayette Tennis Academy in Trenton, New Jersey. That curfew passed two hours ago. But there was a party in the boy’s wing of the dormitory, or so the rumors said, and we didn’t want to miss out on the action.

At least, that was the idea when we left our rooms. A chance at some excitement to break up the monotony of daily practices and workouts. But now that we were nearly to the party, and at risk of getting caught by the Academy supervisors, I was having second thoughts.

Ellie looked at me as if to say,we never should have left.

We crossed beyond the invisible barrier that separated the girls’ wing of the dormitory with the boys’ wing. Now we were in an area where we weren’t allowed to be. Now we were doing something forbidden. The thought thrilled my sixteen year old mind as much as it terrified me. I had never gotten in trouble in my life.

All the rooms in the dorm looked identical, but Hailey seemed to know the way. We rounded a corner, walked for a bit, and then came to a door just like all the others. Up close, I could hear the soft thumping of music inside. Hailey collected herself, then knocked.

The music dimmed, and then the door opened a crack. “Yo, it’s Hailey and her friends,” a male voice said inside. The door opened the rest of the way and we were hurriedly ushered inside. As soon as the door was closed, the music was turned back up.

I gazed around the open communal space. There were nine or ten other students here; our arrival brought the male-to-female ratio close to even. And they were some of the best tennis prospects in the world, many of whom were close to going pro. There was Dominic deGrom, one of the few American boys who looked like a man fully grown despite just turning sixteen. Tristan Carfrae, Australia’s best tennis prospect since Lleyton Hewitt, was playing beer pong against a pair of girls. Several others were crowded around the fridge in the kitchen, arguing over what drink to get. Two girls were making out on the couch while all the nearby guys pretended not to watch.

So this is what a party is like?

The host, a guy named Marty who Hailey knew, welcomed us and offered us drinks. I had never had beer before, so I accepted a Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead. It was tart, and had a strange aftertaste unlike anything I’d drank before, but it wasn’t bad.

A TV in the corner was playing the Australian Open. Even though it was late at night here in New Jersey, it was daytime in Melbourne, and the Grand Slam event was well underway. Federer was about to defeat an unranked opponent in straight sets.

“Stop watching TV,” Hailey scolded me. “We’re at a party. Let’s have fun!”

We watched beer pong for a little while. I had never seen it played in person; only on cheesy TV shows. With his messy blond hair and square jaw, Tristan reminded me of Heath Ledger—who had just passed away last year. The swoony Australian accent certainly added to the illusion. Hailey openly ogled the tall boy.

When one team lost, we jumped in and played a game. It was simple: throw a ping pong ball at the beer cups across the table. For the next hour, I stopped thinking about the enormous pressure I was under and allowed myself to relax. I drank, and teased, and flirted. Things I had never been allowed to do considering how my life had gone.

I had been playing tennis since I was six. As soon as I showed any aptitude, my parents devoted their lives to helping me become the best player possible. The last ten years had been nothing but tennis camps, and private lessons, and weekend tournaments. All that hard work paid off and I was one of the top-ranked Junior Tennis athletes in the country, and was poised to go professional soon. Every minute of every day I felt the pressure to perform, to continue winning and advancing and improving.

So it was nice to stop thinking about all of that, even if it was just for one night.

After beer pong, everyone at the party—fourteen of us by now—got together and playedNever Have I Ever. After that, someone announced that it was time to playSpin The Bottle. We gathered in a circle and placed an empty bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade in the center. One or two people stepped away and said they weren’t going to play.

At this point, I was delightfully buzzed. Everything sounded like a good idea to me, including this game, so I sat down and eagerly waited my turn.

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