Page 74 of Love, Amy

Chris doesn’t beat around the bush. “Is it safe to say you’re also partners off the court?”

The crowd titters, eager to hear what we’re going to say. Aurelio looks at me with a question in his expression. I smile in answer. “We are,” Aurelio answers, grin growing at the happy applause from the crowd.

Chris is delighted by our answer. “That’s wonderful!” she gushes. “It must be a relief to be with someone who understands the sacrifice and dedication required to be a high-level athlete. We’re so happy for you both.” She leans closer, conspiratorial. There’s a gleam in her eye. “But I think we all want to know: Who’s the better tennis player?”

Aurelio shakes his head. “Are you trying to get me in trouble, Chris?”

I turn towards him, a smile twitching on my lips. “No, no, I think we should test it out.” Chris raises a curious brow at me, wondering what I’m thinking. I turn to Anika and Joaquin, who stand a few feet away, admiring their trophy. “Hey, Anika!” I call to her. Her head snaps up in surprise. “Do you want to play with me? Show these boys how it’s done?”

Her face lights up. “Let me get my racket!”

I turn back to Aurelio. “What do you think, Aurelio? Are you up for one more round?”

He taps his chin, thinking. “For love of the game?” he asks, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

“For love of the game,” I confirm, shaking his hand.

We run back onto the court to screams of excitement at the extra show. “My serve first!” I call to Aurelio and a bewildered-looking Joaquin.

“Of course it is!” he calls back, grinning.

Anika and I high five as I pass her to stand on the baseline. Aurelio gets into his return stance, ready for me to give him the heat.

I don’t hold back my love for tennis, just like Aurelio taught me. The ball slams across the net at a blistering 122 miles per hour. Aurelio hustles to return it, sending it back to our side.

We don’t keep points that match, but we do play.

For love of the game.

*

The next morning, I meet my new coach for the first time. Aurelio begged to come with me, even if it makes him a few minutes late to his own practice. I’m almost as starstruck as he is when I meet her, though I probably hide it better. Aurelio’s mouth falls open as we walk over to her and Vince.

“Hi, Barbara.” I smile. “Thank you so much for giving me a chance. I’m Amy Bowman.” Aurelio’s practically vibrating with excitement at my side. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, instead saying politely, “And this is my boyfriend, Aurelio Santoro.”

Barbara’s eyes dart between the two of us with amusement. “Nice to meet you both,” she says sincerely, shaking our hands. I have a vague memory of meeting Barbara as a child. She was the number one player on the women’s side at the same time Beck was on the men’s. But since she retired almost 20 years ago, she’s stayed out of the spotlight. Vince told me that she coached the women’s tennis team at Texas to three championships in the 2010s but hasn’t coached since. There’s literally a statue of her outside Billie Jean King stadium in honor of her 22 Grand Slam wins. Maybe that’s why Beck never let me watch her film, because he was jealous that she was the real tennis god(dess).

“How would you like to start?” I ask. “I can show you what I normally do for practice, if you’d like?” I try to hide my nerves from her. I doubt Barbara Dade ever got nervous playing in front of a potential coach. She knew the power she had.

“That works,” she agrees, adjusting her visor. She’s dressed in casual clothes, a white tennis skirt and coral tank top. Her braids have been pulled into a high topknot so her sensible visor can shield her eyes. She looks like the Barbara Dade who won Slams, not the Barbara Dade who’s over 60 and hasn’t worked in 10 years.

“Sounds good!” I say too brightly. Barbara heads to the sideline to get a better view. I shoot Vince a pleading look, but he just smiles and follows his sister. I go to grab my racket but run into an Aurelio-sized wall. I put my hands on my hips. “Don’t you have practice, Aurelio?”

He snaps out of it, gaze transferring from Barbara to me. “That’s Barbara Dade,” he whispers in awe. “I can’t believe she’s going to be your coach.”

I grin. “I’m going to tell Antonio that you’re jealous.”

He shoots me a look. “You play dirty.”

I nudge him with my hip. “Go to practice! You’re already late.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Good luck, mia dolce.”

I watch him go with regret. Aurelio always makes me feel more comfortable. I shake off the nerves, fetching my racket and introducing myself to the new practice player that Barbara brought. His name is Tyrese, and he’s a fresh graduate from the University of Texas.

Tyrese and I run through a typical two-hour practice. We warm up and do basic conditioning. We run sprint drills. We practice serving, returning, net play. We scrimmage and simulate various scenarios that could happen in a competitive match. Tyrese reminds me of Rafe, eager to please and energetic, though he focuses on me more than Rafe ever did. Now Rafe must practice with Charles Allard and be distracted by both of his heroes.

Barbara doesn’t say a word through it all. She just stands on the sideline next to her brother, watching us with her arms crossed. The longer she stays silent, the more mistakes I make, wondering what she’s thinking. Does she agree with Beck? Does she see a champion in me or someone who can’t take the pressure?