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Dark, ominous clouds shroud the full moon from sight. Moisture clings to everything as a low fog blankets this valley town. The cold, crisp air bites my lungs as I dart across the street. Light floods my field of vision as a car drives by. I make eye contact with the driver, who is staring at me with their mouth wide open.
Not that I blame them. My costume of white silk, flowing tassels, and fiery makeup have transformed me into quite the sight tonight. Then there?s the fire extinguisher...and the polearm slung over my shoulder. I keep my awareness sharp at the thought of a cop discovering me before I reach Tonsler Park.
The park is dimly lit with light poles strategically interspaced between the trees, such that in spite of all the darkness, I could still play basketball on the green court if I wanted. I walk down the hill towards the stone amphitheater on the other side of the round-about parking lot. The earth squishes beneath my feet as I plod forward, billowing wisps of petrichor into my nose. Foam bubbles up at the bottom of the trees, filling me with a sense of magic and wonder.
These feelings wane a bit as I spot a figure next to a bike on the playground. With subtle swiftness I look away to avoid any eye contact that might lead to questions. Keeping things simple and fun are my goals for tonight. Out of the corner of my eye I see him spot me. He tilts his head in confusion. His body language makes me wonder if he?s going to ask questions anyway. I hold my breath in anticipation. He spies my polearm and apparently thinks better of it.
I quietly exhale in relief as I walk passed him and reach the stone amphitheater where my friends Ali, Meadow, and Hannah are waiting. Ali is writing something on the stone stage in white chalk while the girls have a private discussion several yards away.
?Hey buddy! What?re these?? I ask, inspecting the series of symbols along the edge of the stage.
?Sigils,? he says with a smug smile, finishing the last one. His hazel eyes flash in the low light as he stands and meets my gaze. ?Bro, you should wear guy-liner more often,? he compliments.
?Oh ya?? I say with a smile.
?Ya man, it?s really hot,? he says.
?Thanks,? I say, feeling more confident.
?Is this everything you need for the ritual?? he asks, looking at the items I?m holding.
?Yeah,? I answer, dropping the fire extinguisher. The earth gives more than I expected under its weight.
?You carried that all the way here? How much does it weigh?? Ali asks.
?Not as much as this Shaolin Crescent Spade,? I answer. The weapon clangs as I set it on the stage. ?What do these sigils represent?? I ask, inspecting them more closely.
?Oh, you know, Taurus, Scorpio, the full moon, and this one here in the middle is Dionysus. Just the basics for what we?re doing,? he says with an air of confidence.
?Nice...? I say with enthusiasm as we fist-bump, ?...that makes sense given the alignment of the heavens tonight. Uh...why Dionysus though? I get this is a stage and all, but...? I let the question linger.
?Dionysus is also a god of justice and equality, not just partying and theatrics,? he answers.
?So why is all of this important?? Meadow asks, with Hannah just behind her. Ali and I look at the sneaky girls with a bit of surprise. I clear my throat.
?Well...? I begin awkwardly, ?...tonight would normally be the Blood Moon, a.k.a. The Hunter?s Moon, but it?s a lot more than that. It?s also a blue moon, a full moon, and it?s transiting through Taurus which is my sign. Additionally, in relation to the Sun, Earth will be transiting through Scorpio, which is a symbol of transformation. So this isn?t just any Halloween night; this is when the Flight of the Phoenix starts.?
?So there?s a lot of magical energy,? Meadow says.
?Yes, but there?s a caveat,? Ali points out.
?What is it?? Meadow asks.
?Mercury?s in retrograde, and the moon is conjunct with Uranus," he says.
?Can someone put this in normal people terms, please?? Hannah asks. Ali and I look at each other, and he gestures for me to take the lead. I look up at the black sky and ponder for a moment.
?This is a super rare time where the Mother Goddess has a lot of excess magical, transformational energy. There?s even an extra hour tonight because of daylight savings time. However, there?s a lot of interference with communication and a strong sense of negative rebellion. So, we might have good intentions for manifestation, but we could very easily be misunderstood,? I say.
?Then why are you doing a ritual if it could go bad?? Hannah asks.
?A lot of people always wanna take, take, take, but when was the last time someone gave to the deities simply to give? So that?s what we?re doing tonight: offering energies of love and virtue simply to aid in these dark times. This Shaolin Crescent Spade is the perfect conduit for these energies because it represents balance, with the sun and moon represented at either end, and so this ritual will represent the transformation of darkness into light,? I answer. Hannah nods with vague understanding. With a glint of her ocean blue eyes, Meadow signals me to talk with her alone for a moment.
?Excuse us for a second,? I say, and motion Meadow to follow me.
?She doesn?t really understand this stuff, she just wants to see you with your shirt off,? Meadow whispers. I let out a small chuckle and smile.
?That?s fine. You did tell her I?m not interested, right?? I ask. She looks away and winces audibly. I sigh in frustration. ?Come on Meadow, encourage her to go after someone who will reciprocate in the future, please?? I plead.
?Okay, okay,? Meadow agrees playfully. Her phone buzzes. She checks it and groans. ?It?s Tori; he just broke up with his girlfriend and he is super thirsty,? she complains.
?I take it you don?t want that D,? I assert playfully.
?I really don?t. He might come party with us later though,? she says.
?Alright. Let?s do this before I freeze. It?s fucking cold out,? I say with a smile. As we rejoin the others I remove the rucksack from my back. I place candles, a camera, laptop, speaker, and tripod on the stage. They watch as I arrange the candles between the sigils and place a black and red ceramic bowl on Dionysus? sigil.
?Anything we can do to help?? Meadow asks.
?Ya, go ahead and light the candles please,? I say as I grab the electronics. They go to work as I prep the camera and music on the stone seats across from the stage. Within moments the stage is glowing, Meadow and Hannah are seated, and Ali takes charge of the camera and music. I take off my shirt, climb onto the stage, and sit in the circle of the moon Ali drew at the center. I produce my written incantation The wind blows softly as my projecting voice echoes off the ancient stones:
?Mother Goddess in the heavens above,
In these dark times, I give you much needed love.
A symbol of what I freely give to you,
Is this heartfelt, genuine illumination of virtue.
Infinite power buried deep inside:
Enter the spotlight of my focused mind.
This night the phoenix will rise,
And begin its flight across the starry skies.
To aid its journey I offer this powerful light:
Burning virtue, which illuminates the night!?
I stand, light the paper with one of the candles, and set it in the ceramic bowl laden with colored fuel, wicks, and a red dragon candle. A vibrant, violet flame pierces the darkness as it erupts from the bowl. As the music starts I grab my weapon and light the sun and moon blades with the same violet fire. After one spin, the flames on the weapon go out, and my heart sinks. I quickly pour more fuel onto the wicks, motion for Ali to start the music over, and light them once more with the bowl. I spin them once, and they go out again.
Awh...Fuck it, I think to myself. The whole point of this is to love and enjoy myself, no matter what tragedy comes my way. Without missing a beat, I visualize my opponents anyway, and shadowbox like no one?s watching. One with the music, I dance and weave around the imagined opponents, destroying them with powerful grace. My Shaolin Crescent Spade flies through the air as though it were free of gravity, like it was born to orbit around me as easily as the heavenly bodies it represents float through space.
I find my flow and decide to go airborne. Staring into the vortex of a rotating world, I land a spinning kick-flip with my weapon on my back. I spin around on one leg, swing the weapon up high, and with another rotating aerial strike slam the sun?s edge onto the ground. The metallic ring echoes through the night. I tighten my grip on the vibrating haft and swing it around for a dramatic pose to finish the form, with the sun blade ringing like a tuning fork.
I bow and my friends applaud. I set the weapon down and hop off the stage. The flames suddenly dissipate in the ceramic bowl, catching our attention. The bowl breaks piece by piece, leaving us all in wonder.
?Hey guys, look,? Meadow says, pointing to the sky. The full moon, surrounded with a prismatic halo, shines directly on the stage as the sky glitters with stars. We all stand in awe at the beautiful sight.
?Awesome! I wish the damned spade would?ve stayed lit. Meadow and I spent hours prepping that thing,? I say.
?Yup, that?s how it goes,? Ali says.
?Why?s that?? Hannah asks.
?Magic always has a price,? I say, a little downtrodden.
?Yup, and of course it was the thing your heart wanted most,? Ali points out.
?Ha, naturally,? I say. We all laugh.
?Let?s clean up and go party guys,? Ali finally says with a smile beaming across his brown face.
---------------------------------------------------------------
?To Dionysus!? Ali toasts with honey wine. We all join, save for Hannah who decided not to drink tonight. Our game of Drunk, Stoned, or Stupid has taken its toll on me. This toast was fun, but I?m really starting to feel it. Like, how can everybody see right through me? Since when was I so damn vulnerable?
I?m several cards in, multiple shots down, and I might lose if I don?t come back with more ferocity. I loathe puking, especially from alcohol, and if this keeps this up, that?s exactly what will happen. I can feel it bubbling in my gut already. Shit, this is getting tough...
?You?? Ali taunts me. His hazel eyes flash with glee as they catch my gaze. My gut sinks and I brace for impact. ?You always tell the same story,? he smirks, sliding the card in front of me. Wait, is that true? My stories do tend to boil down to the same points of light and darkness, but that?s how stories go! You arrange the same elements a little differently each time and give them originality through context. I curse under my breath at the possibility of taking another shot.
But you can spin this...the intrusive thought bounces around in my head like a pinball machine in full tilt. It?s true, I am a storyteller amongst other things: I can call upon the power flowing through my veins, weave the magic of my words, and keep this part about me a secret. Then he takes the shot instead of me! He will do the puking, deal with the embarrassment, express his sorries, and I will sit safely in the seat of victory! A moment of clarity strikes me: this is a test of virtue.
?Virtue, no matter the cost?? I ask myself with a sigh. ?Yes,? I answer back, groaning internally. Besides, it?ll feel better to beat him within the rules anyway. I can still use my power, but I?ll do it the right way. And if I lose...well, that?s a part of life. At least I didn?t sacrifice my character in the process, and that?s more important to me than puking and social embarrassment.
?Damn bro, you got me again,? I say begrudgingly. Just then, a tall man walks through the door wearing a pizza hut uniform.
?Everybody, this is Tori,? Meadow calls out with...drunken grace. He nods and smiles at everyone and immediately sits next to Meadow. He prefers his phone over playing the game with us or even alcohol. After a few rounds, he finally speaks:
?Hey guys, we should totally have an orgy,? he says with a deep voice. The room goes quiet for a moment. Ali and I exchange glances. I think of what Meadow said earlier, and my lack of desire to see any of these people naked.
?Look man, I appreciate you shooting your shot, but I?m gonna pass,? I assert. Everyone quickly agrees, and Tori disappears into his phone again.
?Oh, you know what that means,? Meadow says.
?No, I don?t,? I reply.
?It is kinda mean to cock-block bro, those are the rules,? Ali says.
?What rules?? I ask in confusion. Meadow produces a pair of pink leather bdsm cuffs.
I?ve played in dungeons before, but honestly it?s been a while. Before I can protest, Ali starts putting the cuffs on my wrists, much to my groaning. If it were anyone else, I would just tell them to fuck off, but I trust my friend, and I can easily get out of these. However, they grow more uncomfortable with every passing second, and my kink side feels the need to escape.
I try to control myself, but my emotions are building up inside me, like I?m a volcano and my feelings are lava: I need to switch before I explode! I notice Ali is looking away. With the deftness of an escape artist I remove the cuffs from myself and look around for the closest pair of wrists, which are sitting to my right. Without looking at their owner, I pick up one wrist and draw the cuff closer, waiting for any resistance. Finding none, I begin fastening the belt.
?Oh wait, are those cuffs off, sir?? I hear Ali say. This lights a fire under my ass: I quickly finish the job (only one strap would fit around each wrist), and stand before he could stop me, pulling the wrists over their owner?s head by the chain.
?Yep! I needed to express dominance, and you don?t sub!? I declare in triumph. Ali smirks and sits back down. Ah, the rare, satisfying look of a dom not fast enough to stop a switch. I look down and see Hannah, enjoying herself. Panic alarms go off inside me. I need her to know that I?m really not into her like this. Fuck, why didn?t I think first?
?Hey, this is just play, I?m not interested in taking this any further,? I say under the music so that only she can hear. Confusion crosses her face, then anger, then the thing I desire the least: the darkness of a trigger. Its shadows leak out of her eyes, as though trauma could bleed like black tears escaping her canthi.
?Can we go outside and talk?? she asks curtly. I nod and immediately uncuff her. One of the rules of bdsm: if trauma surfaces during a scene, no matter how you got there, you immediately stop and deal with it. It?s a part of aftercare, something I never thought I?d do with someone I wasn?t interested in.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Four hours. Four hours of talking, reaffirming, and positive reinforcement. There?s only so much you can do to help someone out of their downward spiral, but they?ve gotta want to stop spiraling. Hannah just...didn?t. She wanted to spiral and milk every second of attention that she could, even expressing the desire to kill herself in the face of my rejecting her.
Eventually I closed the lid of Pandora?s Box. Gave her a couple of hotlines to call. My soul feels raw, like I took on more responsibility than I should have. Absolutely drained, I flop into the safety of my bed at 6:09 am. One thought still lingers as I drift off to sleep: Magic always has a price, no matter how virtuous the intent.
Three games in and both teams were sweating bullets. The Magicians? Association of Tennis, the MAT, wrote the rules, but frankly, college tournaments didn?t teach players professionalism. With all the chaotic volleys and explosive shots, it seemed as if anything went in amateur matches. Not so for the United States? Mage Nationals. The USM Open was nothing like those matches back in school. Gerald Hayes learned the hard way.
He wished he knew before reaching the semifinals.
Since his university days, Gerald could hardly believe magic tennis still existed. Hundreds of thousands went down the drain to fix damaged courts, and to an extent, the specialized rackets for mages. There was a reason Fire had been banned across the board. At least the other three categories could be controlled?the worst earthquake didn?t compare to a wildfire.
Luckily, Gerry had never touched a single flame. He specialized in a subgroup of the officially marked Water element: Ice. Sure, it had its problems. Stray ice made the court impossible to play on?for obvious reasons. This wasn?t hockey. Although, Gerald often thought, the amount of injuries said otherwise. Which is why the USM Open was lukewarm at best. Unlike college, you couldn?t infuse elements into the ball. Penalties were ruthless. This time, the last doubles team had been disqualified. An Earth player had used the ground to trip the other team?during their second serve, no less. Should?ve let the point go, was Gerry?s reaction. It was obvious to him. Couldn?t hit the other players directly, but anyone could manipulate the court.
You could also hit the ball with magic
How was it any different from ?infusing? the ball? Gerry wondered, for many years. His teammate, Trevor Thorne, also wondered this on occasion, though he would explain it himself. He reminded Gerry that rules were meant to be broken. Naturally, Gerry disagreed quite strongly?even so, nothing kept them from mocking each other?s beliefs. A straightedge, straight-A student and his B-minus partner in crime. They usually had a laugh about it, but it wasn?t so funny now.
Magic tennis matches were, on paper, meant to be quicker than regular tennis: three games, three sets, no advantages. It certainly was fast-paced. Game-set-match hit within an hour in a majority of cases, a pattern garnered from amateur tournaments. Outsiders assumed every match was the same, even for the USM Open. But anyone familiar with the sport knew how it really went. Contesting faults took the fun out of the game, yet many national tournaments had at least one argument per match. At present, Gerald and Trevor were stuck in limbo for the second set.
?Really wish you were an Earth player right about now,? Gerry said, swilling water like he?d traversed a desert. He crumpled the bottle the same way he?d click pens when his stress levels skyrocketed.
Trevor Thorne stared blankly. ?That?s what, the fifth or sixth time you said it??
Gerry gripped tighter. ?Who?s counting??
?Me, dumbass.?
The thin plastic crackled.
?And would you stoppit? I?m getting hives, Gerry.?
?Sorry,? he replied, yet squeezed the empty bottle again.
Trevor wiped the sweat from his brow, tossing his towel onto the bench. He exhaled, a breeze whirling up from his heels. Some of the air caught his teammate?s attention.
?Hey, send me one of those, Trev?I?m melting over here!? Gerry whined.
Without a word, but with a wry smile, Trevor raised his hand, palm downward. His finger twitched ever-so-slightly The gust would have turned Gerry?s hair into a birds? nest, if it hadn?t been tied into a low bun. A few strands still came loose.
?Haaah?? Gerry sighed, patting his beard. Cold air was always refreshing. ?Thanks, I needed that.?
Their coach gestured to them from afar?this break was over, but their opponents? dispute wasn?t. The server, Adam Espinosa, had kept a lengthy ramble going with his coach and the chair umpire. He refused to accept the accusation that he?d went outside the lines again.
In the last set, a similar fault had awarded Gerry and Trevor a winning point. The other way around. Instead of a serve, Adam?s receiving hit threw the ball high over the net. It landed, as tennis balls do. Everyone knew it was an inch from the alley line. Adam did too. Not unlike his current conniption, he claimed it was good?an inch away inside the court. He challenged it then, and lost. Somehow, the guy didn?t learn to shut his mouth.
Gerry calmed his nerves once he heard the next call.
?Double fault,? said the official, ?point Hayes.?
A serenade Gerry could waltz to. It would be a bumpy road to three more points, but it was a start. He strolled past the baseline, halting at his place, and began performing a few warmup squats. Settling on his signature closed stance, he awaited the serve. His baby blue irises were dead-set on Espinosa.
Trevor jogged over, nodding at Gerry. Adjusting his distance from the net, Trevor carefully watched the other opponent, Zacarías Silva. Trevor didn?t show his anxiety, but Gerry caught onto his quirk. He typically shifted his right foot forward. In this moment, Trevor did exactly that, except he also kept tapping his visor with the racket. Gerry knew why.
Zac wasn?t a bad guy; on the court, he merely played with elegant cruelty. His friendly personality didn?t make him any less terrifying. Gerry panicked at the very idea of Zac?s deadly slice. If Silva had served the first game in the initial set, they would?ve lost both.
Good thing Adam?s serving, Gerry mused. He ogled the other side, planning his defending shot. The other guy had a powerful overhand, but he often feinted the direction of the ball Like Trevor, Adam favored the Wind, and boy did he use it. His favorite spell seemed to be?
?Forty, fifteen,? the umpire shouted. ?Game point!?
No time to think. Adam was readying his hand.
Gerry saw him twirl the racket. Zac seemed to move his head in response.
The ball soared.
THWACK!
It landed smack-dab beside Gerry?s foot?he felt the impact with his heel. His mind cursed with every word he could remember.
?Net!?
At the umpire?s judgement, everyone froze. Now Adam was cursing up a tornado, resorting to Spanish, yet hurling regular old English obscenities when he got the chance. The censors would have a field day with this.
Gerry made sure he was watching this time. Adam didn?t linger on his next serve.
THWACK!
It bounced. Then a second echo of the taught strings against the ball. Zac stepped away from the net just in time, backhanding Gerry?s volley. Between them, their hits sounded faster and faster, while Adam sidestepped behind the service line. Zac pointed his racket to the sky. The hardcourt fissured. A jagged slab jutted from the ground, slamming the ball at an angle?a topspin!
But Trevor already kicked his body into the air.
The crowd roared and hollered. Trevor had smashed the volley into the ground, flawlessly hitting within the lines His chest rose and fell as he walked. From the stands, his mother jumped up, arms open and waving wildly. Trevor shook his fist.
When Trevor turned to his teammate, they both grinned ear-to-ear.
?We?re winning this,? Trevor mouthed.
Gerry directed a look at the other team, his expression implying ?don?t jinx it.?
?Forty, thirty,? came from the chair.
Adam threw the ball. As Gerry feared, the unthinkable happened. His opponent went for an underhand serve, the arc too high, and its distance too vague. It touched the center line. Gerry dropped to his shoulder, rolling as he swung the racket. Not even close. The ball bounced a second time?game over.
?Ace! Game, Espinosa!?
All confidence drained from Gerry?s face, along with the tan. He didn?t anticipate a service ace from Adam. It happened too quickly; the shock made him lose focus, nearly throwing him off balance. He stumbled forward, counterweighing the wobble.
?Hayes, c?mere!? his coach exclaimed.
Gerry reluctantly trudged to the side. Trevor followed, patting him on the back.
An organized discussion ensued among them, though Gerry let his teammate take the reins. Trevor was arguing something about their plays. Maybe it was a plan, or the coach was reprimanding him. Gerry didn?t care. The heat was bearing down on him, and the tension didn?t help; he wasn?t listening.
When he heard ?Wind shot,? his head jerked.
?What?? Gerry sputtered.
The coach motioned an ?okay? with his hand, and went into the stand again. Trevor returned the gesture. A smirk left a dimple on his cheek.
?We got the go-ahead to try something,? Trevor said, barely moving his lips. ?I?m marking it.?
To mark the ball was a colloquialism for infusing it?using magic to change its direction. Wind players were notorious for getting away with it; if they were skilled like Trevor, the shot left no evidence. Gerry looked from his friend, to the coach, and then back. ?No, Trev. If any of the line umpires see it, they?ll??
?You?re throwing the match??
?I didn?t say that. I?m saying don?t play dirty.?
A callous, determined aura glossed over Trevor?s eyes. ?The chances they?ll catch it is next to none. I need one of your good serves, so I can follow-up.?
?Trev, I?m not winning like this.?
?Coach counted. We have to score over one?we?ll be tied if they win a perfect game,? Trevor placed his hand on Gerry?s shoulder. ?Right now, if we don?t give it all we?ve got, they can overtake us.?
Gerry didn?t speak.
?You want to get into the finals, right??
Pulling his headband off, Gerry let his arms fall to his side. A racket in one hand, and his sweat in the other. It didn?t matter if Trevor would be the offender; letting him cheat made Gerry an accomplice. This wasn?t what the Gerry from the past wanted. He wished for fair matches. He earned those wins. His family?mother, father, and sister?they cheered Gerry on no matter how many games he lost.
?Yeah. Fine, let?s go,? his voice told Trevor. It was the mind and heart that kept a secret.
Two can play weatherman.
Gerry slapped his frigid hands against his face.
The Ice player tossed the ball into the sky, pointing ahead?a glowing circle opened above him. Ice burst forth. Across the net, Adam braced his knees and swung, catapulting the speeding blur. Gerry wound up his arm. Shards bloomed from the racket, its sweet spot colliding with the oncoming shot. The ball whizzed low, hitting between the baseline and the center. Gerry?s racket came loose, frame hitting the ground, skidding to a halt.
Zac tried to return it.
?Ladies and gentlemen, that was a double bounce. Double bounce, there,? an announcer from the radio stand rambled
His cohost repeated a similar phrase, chuckling. She added, ?Let?s get the instant replay! Hoo, was that a shot, or what? And poor Gerry?s lost his racket!?
Plain as an empty page, it was a point for Hayes and Thorne.
?Fifteen.?
And in the next volley, Gerry feigned a slip. Zac?s slice went through.
?Fifteen, all.?
Trevor couldn?t prepare the shot?his own gale only rustled his hair.
?Fifteen, thirty.?
Gerry smiled coyly at his teammate, who was glaring intensely, cheeks burning red.
?Fifteen, forty. Break point.?
Adam yelled triumphantly. He punched Zac playfully, and began drilling his fist into his teammate?s arm. Zac heaved in breath. Staring blankly, he tapped Adam with the back of his hand, distracting him. The look on Adam?s face was priceless. Gerry watched him trip over a stone, and another, and one more before the guy figured it out: Zac sprouted rocks from the court. Frowning a bit, Adam stopped moving. He broke into a laugh. The pair soon went off, rallying jokes as they went to their bench.
Things weren?t as jovial on the side of Hayes and Thorne.
?What were you doing?? Trevor muttered, closing in on Gerry?s face.
Gerry recoiled. His childish grin was impossible to mask. ?Sorry, it?s the sun.?
?You?re really being like this,? his teammate backed off. ?All right. I?m not missing. I swear if you pull a fault, I?m done, Gerald.?
?I won?t.?
?You better not.?
If his piercing, fern-colored eyes could ignite, Trevor was ready to combust, marching to the court as he clutched his racket by the throat. Gerry would have apologized, but he figured it would?ve been useless. He couldn?t pacify the beast he encouraged.
Besides, Gerry thought, searching for a new tennis ball. He doesn?t need to act pissy?it?s the second set.
Serves without magic were normally difficult for Gerry. It was far too tempting to be flashy, and with all the cameras around, he was compelled to play the crowd. They were quiet. Gerry noticed a few had leaned forward in their seats. This wasn?t going to end without a bang, not if he carried the ball.
Let?s try something completely different.
Into the air it went, tugged by gravity.
THWACK!
No magic, all force, and with the best overhand Gerry could pull off.
Adam?s backhand instigated the volley, spinning the ball laterally. It was in, beyond the center. Gerry extended his reach, chipping the frame of his racket, but it was worth the close hit. Back and forth. Forth and back. Zac and Trevor only returned a single volley each. Frantically matching the path of the ball, Trevor?s dance failed to lend him an opening. Only Gerry could intercept. Once the shot had bounced too far, Trevor?s struggle was in vain.
?Break!?
The ball spun awkwardly, whipping backward after its second bound. Although its jumps should?ve become weaker, the third hop sent it spiraling the opposite way. A fourth switched the direction once more?by the fifth, the ball finally rolled. It tapped against a line umpire?s shoe.
People whispering, shaking their heads, crowing as the instant replay focused on the ball.
?What?s this?? the female announcer started. ?Looks like they?re calling down the chair again. He?s saying Espinosa?s shot didn?t land naturally.?
The host sounded just as concerned, voice low and heavy. ?Could be a marked ball. Bold move, but what was he thinking??
Gerry walked to the net; Trevor was leaning over it, watching as Adam protested to the official. Zac?s arms were crossed, his hands folded and hidden, racket pressed into his side. The man gave Gerry and Trevor a shallow, pursed smile. If it could be considered a smile at all.
?Hey,? murmured Gerry, nudging his friend, ?that could?ve been us.?
Nothing from Trevor. The crowd booed, drowning the open stadium; the radio broadcast was churning on about the result.
?Code violation, illegal shot,? was the umpire?s final decree. ?Game, set, match, Thorne and Hayes??
Gerry didn?t hear the rest, and he didn?t need to. More importantly, Trevor wore an uncanny expression, stoic in every manner, save for a glint in his eyes.
?Too bad,? his chin tilted up, before he angled his head to Gerry?s side. Trevor spoke, half his gaze shown clearly, a faint emotion in his tone. ?Sometimes people get too reckless.?
A puff of laughter spouted from Trevor?s lips, and he coughed. His wide grin passed onto his befuddled teammate. Somehow, after the closest sets they?d ever played, Thorne and Hayes won another match. Not by a desperate comeback, but a rookie mistake. It didn?t make sense for Adam to mark the shot?he and Zac were on the defensive. They were winning the game.
Gerry?s mind clicked.
?Bastard, you didn?t!? the exclamation was barely audible. Gerry was shivering from both fear and glee.
Trevor stretched his arms, resting them behind his head.
?Who knows?? he replied, ?In the end, it?s your call.?
Well, no sense in letting this go to waste. After all?
It was Adam?s fault.
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