Young Writers Society

Mercifully, Camillo took me to a court that wasn’t in view of the public. Lord knows what the headlines would have been. Léo Herbert Fancies More of a Kicking. I shuddered at the thought as we walked through the tunnels, chatting about our schedules for the year so far.

“You’re coming to Montpellier?” I raised my eyebrows. “I figured you’d go to Ecuador.”

Camillo slitted his eyes at me, then chuckled. “I’m capable of playing on more than just clay, you know.”

Now it was my turn to glare at him, and with slightly less of a joke in it. The match we’d just played had been on hard, not clay, and he’d proven himself far more than capable. I still felt like I was wearing my humiliation from the match like a cloak. I muttered, “Uh-huh.”

Camillo frowned, then his eyes widened in realisation. “Oh, yeah. Hey, you’re not beating yourself up about that, are you? It was a good match.”

“I know, I know,” I muttered. “Just sucks to be out, you know?”

Camillo nodded. “Yeah, I know. Actually though… I do tend to shrug it off easier than a lot of players, I think.”

I tilted my head to the side and was about to ask him about this. But at that moment the corridor opened out into a high-ceilinged - extremely high - hall. There were four courts here, then four through the other side. All were occupied though, so we were able to continue talking in a pathway between the two sides.

We sat down on a wooden bench with sloping backs that for some reason faced away from the courts. This led to each of us tailing off and twisting round to see what was happening every time the grunting got really intense. One time Viktor Reiger practically did a Pelé kick except as a backhand smash. I mean, he lost the point eventually, but it was awesome.

“I’ve never been brave enough to do something like that,” I said. I sighed. “I wish I could be as cool as that… or you. Or like, Gael Monfils. He was one of my heroes growing up - I found all those ridiculous trick shots hilarious - but I’ve never been anything like him.”

Camillo shrugged. “It happens. Kids grow up wanting to play like Federer then end up six foot six and hitting twenty aces a match.”

“How about you?” I asked. “Who’s your idol?”

He answered immediately, “David Ferrer. The number of times I watched his five-setters long into the night… He never gave up. Even his career went on for ages. I don’t ever want to give up.”

I smiled, but didn’t really know what to say. His eyes had gone from my face to staring at the ground. I’d barely ever spoken to him other than a nod in the corridor before the deodorant incident. He seemed to have gone really serious. I couldn’t imagine he would be comfortable talking to me, someone he barely knew, about whatever was on his mind.

Luckily, a court became available. Reiger’s coach called over to him, and he immediately smiled and looked round.

“Thanks, Maria!”

He sprang suddenly off the bench and ushered me through the doorway-flap onto the court. We played one set which, excruciatingly, got all the way to a tiebreak before I lost it.

***

“So how was your date?” my mum asked as she stabbed with her fork at the last of her salad.

I chuckled, then looked up and realised she was serious. She was staring at me with the concerned interest of a genuinely interested parent.

“Seriously, Mum, it wasn’t a date. Players practice with each other all the time,” I said. We were sitting in a corner in the restaurant of our hotel. It was pretty busy, but I’m going to have to climb twenty places in the rankings before the average passerby recognises me.

Ron, who was sitting beside my mum, scoffed. “Ella’s right. You have been talking about him a lot.”

“So’s everyone in the world!”

“He seems like a lovely boy,” Mum went on. She always did this. Any time I talked about any guy for more than a sentence I was immediately, in her mind, head over heels in love with him.

I put my head in my hands. “Mum, please stop mentally planning our wedding. I’m almost certain he’s got a girlfriend… Or maybe a sister… It wasn’t a date, alright!”

It had a been a girl roughly of our age, and they’d seemed fairly close – arms around shoulders, that kind of thing. But that wasn’t the point!

Mum pursed her lips and started shaking with laughter, her curly hair like mine almost falling in her food. Ron leaned back in his chair and grinned.

“Regardless, if you can get yourself a regular practice session with him, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

I shook my head. “You two are ridiculous.” But I did have to raise some bread to my mouth to hide the fact that I was grinning. I told myself to stop it. It was not a date. I hadn’t even thought of that until Mum had brought it up.

But another practice session might not be a ridiculous idea. Like I said, players practiced with each other all the time. If I asked him this far in advance, maybe he could fit me in at Montpellier, before whoever else from the top ten was playing booked up with each other.

“See if you can then,” I said to Ron, “Set up a practice session, that is.”

“Sure thing,” he said.

My mum managed to stop laughing and we started talking about who else was going to Montpellier and what we could take from this tournament to work on. It sounds boring, but it’s my favourite conversation in the world. I’m getting better, slow and steady. As long as I keep tennis at the top of my mind and don’t think about not-dates, I will make my way up the rankings towards success.

I sighed and smiled as our flight landed back home on French soil. Being on tour was fun, and a country boy from an innocuous little village was lucky to get to do it, but finding your feet in a new place every week was not easy. Of course, I wasn't actually home, but at least I could speak French in the petrol station rather than try to understand English in an Australian accent.

Ron’s phone started buzzing as soon as we got inside the airport, catching up on everything it had missed while in flight mode. I really wanted to shake the rain out of my hair but the crowd waiting round the luggage carousel was packed pretty tight – it’d go all over everyone. I'd be pissed off if someone sprayed water all over me, and everyone was already drenched just after the walk from the plane.

“Tamer’s team haven't got back to me,” Ron said.

I looked over at him and briefly caught his eye before looking down at the ground. He looked sort of… scared? No, definitely sad. Maybe worried? Worried about me.

“Oh,” I said, “Well, that's okay.”

“They might just be too busy back in Melbourne.”

I looked back up at Ron. He was definitely worried about me. I knew if I told him I was fine it would come out all high and whiny so I just nodded and started keeping an eye out for my luggage. Well, at least I was right. It wasn't a date.