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“Love you too,” he called, and more sternly, “Don’t be late!”
I lugged my tennis bag from the trunk of my car just as Max jumped out. Like a gentleman, he took it from me. “That was quick,” he said, putting it into the back of the truck.
Max drove over the Covington bridge, but he didn’t turn in the direction of the Country Club, instead taking a right turn, saying that we were going to Phoenix’s house.
“Phoenix has his own tennis court?” I asked, amazed at such a thing.
Max nodded, seemingly amused by my wonderment. “Uh huh, he does. We have one too, but it’s not in as good condition as his.” (I later learnt he considered a small hole in the net as poor condition.)
My mind boggled at the casual mention of tennis courts in backyards. No wonder kids were shocked at where I lived; I was just as shocked at howtheylived.
Phoenix was waiting for us. He was getting around his house on crutches, which was encouraging to see. He said he wasn’t confident enough to use them at school, but hopefully in the next week.
The blue surface of the tennis court dazzled under its own lights. Adjacent to it was a pool.
“Any chance I could rent a room here?” I joked, staring at the expansive outdoor area.
“It’s not heated,” Phoenix said, scrunching up his nose, kindly downplaying its existence.
“Could use it as an ice bath then?”
He smiled and flicked one crutch toward the open patio doors and said, “Let’s go.” Max had darted into Phoenix’s room to get changed.
Mrs. Carter was busy talking on her phone, but she gave a wave. She wasn’t quite how I remembered her from earlier. The pretty dress was gone, and she was wearing skinny jeans and a tank and quite honestly looked like a stick. Like, uncomfortable-to-look-at thin.
I sat down on the side of the court to put on my tennis shoes and my headband, nervous at the prospect of hitting with Max. Phoenix had a bunch of racquets laid out, and we discussed the merits of the different brands and types of strings.
“This court is a year old now, so it’s lost some of its speed. I think it’ll suit your topspin. Max likes to hit it flat.”
“Hey! You’re not giving out coaching advice, Phoe?” Max appeared wearing a pair of blue shorts and an old Phoenix Suns jersey—sleeveless, showing off his rather stunning arms.
“Where did you find that?” Phoenix sneered. “It’s hardly tennis gear.”
“Just in your closet,” Max snapped back.
“You must have dug deep,” Phoenix said, casting me a knowing sideways glance. “Tryna impress,” he murmured but loud enough for Max to hear.
I suppressed a smile, noticing Max lower his head. “It’s just a shirt!” he defended. “I can take it off if you want!”
“I’m sure you’re dying to,” Phoenix mumbled with a laugh.
Max shook his head and picked up a racquet. I liked the banter between them, playfully teasing each other. Their friendship and loyalty to one another was enviable. I was glad that tennis was helping to keep their bond strong.
“Okay, are you ready?” I called across the net to Max. He gave a chin lift as he twirled the racquet in his hand. I dropped and hit an easy ball his way, which Max immediately dumped into the net.
Phoenix laughed. I fired another one over; this time Max caught it on the frame of his racquet, sending it all the way to the back fence.
“I reckon I could do better while holding onto a crutch,” Phoenix taunted him. Running to get the ball, I didn’t hear Max’s reply, but I got a glimpse of a glare directed at Phoenix.
“It’ll take a while to get your eye in,” I said, “seeing you haven’t played in months.”
“Thanks, Taylor,” Max said, adding sarcastically for Phoenix’s benefit. “I’m glad someone understands.”
The first five or so minutes involved a lot of ball retrieval, but soon we were in a rhythm, hitting straight down the middle of the court. I didn’t try to hit hard or with too much spin, much the way I would hit with Dad, trying to maintain a rally.
It wasn’t too long before Max got his groove back, his returns more accurate, more powerful. I was in my happy place, and Phoenix was praising—or criticizing—from a chair on the sideline. He seemed to find excessive joy whenever I hit a shot that Max couldn’t return.
After I made a passing shot that was out of Max’s reach, Phoenix cheered. Max approached the net with a smile.
