Page 39 of Match Point

I froze, remembering that same morning clearly. “Why is that?”

“You were embarrassed to be coached by a woman.”

The answer was so unexpected, and sowrong, that I couldn’t help but laugh. Miranda’s expression darkened, but I only laughed harder.

“I don’t see how this is funny,” she said curtly.

“I wasn’t embarrassed about being coached by a woman. You were the best in the world. There’s no shame in that.”

“Then what?” she demanded.

“I was embarrassed because you stood me up.”

She flinched. “Stood you up? I was… running late that morning, sure, but…”

“I don’t mean that morning,” I snapped. I took a deep breath to calm myself, then continued. “It’s stupid. But fourteen years ago I gave you my phone number. And you never called me.”

Miranda blinked at me with those big eyes of hers. “That’swhat you’re upset about? Thepartyat the Academy?”

“Yes,” I said defensively.

“The day after that party,” she explained slowly, “I jumped on a plane and flew to Abu Dhabi. There was no point in calling you because I spent the next three months beginning my professional career.”

“You could have texted,” I insisted, the pain fresh and bright like a wound that had been reopened. “You could have confided in me how the tournament was going. You had my number, and I didn’t have yours. You left me hanging. So I assumed you didn’t like me.”

“I…” Miranda shook her head and chuckled. “I never expected you to feel that way.”

I downed the rest of my beer and waved for another round. “Yeah, well, I did.”

She leaned on the bar, examining me. Thinking about what I had said. She was a tight little thing, strong but significantly smaller than me, yet her gaze bore into me like an interrogation. I couldn’t even look up and meet her eyes.

“I don’t buy it,” she said. “You seemed totally fine while we practiced your two-handed backhand. Then you abruptly became uncooperative and told me to leave. What happened?”

I didn’t want to have this conversation tonight. I was supposed to be sharing some light-hearted pints with my best mate before hunkering down for the tournament. He came out of the bathroom on the other side of the bar, flashed me a thumbs-up, then left.

If not now,I thought,then when? I don’t want this looming over me during the tournament.

“Dominic happened,” I said in an exhale. “He showed up to practice on one of the other courts, and I overheard you two. You left something at his hotel room.”

“Oh,” Miranda said, eyes widening. “Ohh.”

“That night at the party,” I revealed, “after we kissed, I gave you my number. And then Dominic strode into the kitchen and asked you out. You barely looked at me again after he showed up. That stung. And then when he showed up during my practice, all those insecurities bubbled to the surface again.” I shrugged. “It’s childish, I know.”

She sat in silence for a bit, finishing her beer and then accepting the new round as the bartender brought it. The silence stretched on, with the bar noise surrounding us. I was beginning to wonder if she would say anything at all.

“You were the first boy I ever kissed,” she finally admitted.

“Really?”

“I was a sheltered tennis student back then,” she explained. “I’d kissed two boys on the cheek, but that’s it. Yours was arealkiss. It stirred up a lot of emotions inside of me. I still think about it.” She looked down into her beer, then glanced over at me. “When you gave me your phone number, I was flabbergasted. You were so popular. Everyone at the tennis Academy liked you. Why would you askmeout? I was shy and ugly.”

“You were shy,” I said, “but you werenotugly.”

“Sixteen year old girls aren’t known for having the healthiest body image issues,” she muttered. “And there were prettier girls at that party. I’m sorry for not calling or texting you.”

“You were busy,” I replied. “I get it.”

Miranda gently shook her head. “It’s more than that. I think I was afraid that it was some sort of prank, that I would text you and you would show it to all the other students.”

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