"I don't know how to play," she said.
"That's okay," said Perpetua, from Court 3, without coming over. "Neither does he."
"Hey," said Ruel.
"Your backhand is a rumor," said Perpetua. "Go on. Pick a racket."
The girl came across the gravel, slowly. She stood in front of the box and looked down at all the rackets with their bright new strings for a long time, as though choosing one were a decision that would follow her for years, which, Ruel thought, it might. Ferrol did not hurry her. He just sat with his hands on the table and waited.
Finally she picked up an old blue Prince with a chipped frame and held it out in front of her like she had seen people do on television.
"That's a good one," Ferrol said. "That one was Tito's."
"Who's Tito?"
Ferrol opened his mouth, and closed it, and Ruel saw him decide how much of a story there was room for on a cold Saturday morning at a folding table.
"A kid who used to play here," he said. "A long time ago. He had a great serve."
"Where is he now?"