She sits down and hides. She’s shaking. She’s not ready.
She’s faced by walls of eyes, anywhere she looks.
So many people who came to see her succeed.
This is the moment she’s been waiting for. All these years of training. All the fun others her age had, and she didn’t. For this. But she’s not ready. She needs better preparation, more training, another year.
I’m alone, on a tennis court that fills with water the moment it rains, then doesn’t dry off for hours. The waves batter the beach. The sky’s forgotten it’s supposed to be blue. I practice my serve until I’ve smashed all the balls over the net, walk over and start again.
Before I hit each ball, I imagine it has Tony’s face. He’ll be drinking on our balcony with his friends. They’re revolting, his friends.
I’ve embarked on this trip with great expectations. Now I can’t remember what I liked about Tony.