Second point:
Long rally.
Harrison hit a drop shot.
Jamal reached it late.
Two-zero.
Harrison stared.
“Oh, this is happening.”
Jamal smiled.
“Enjoy it.”
Third point:
Ace.
Wide.
Harrison never moved.
Two-one.
Fourth:
Jamal attacked second serve.
Winner.
Two-two.
Final point:
Twenty-shot rally.
Harrison played brilliantly.
Old-man tennis.
Angles.
Slice.
No unnecessary pace.
Jamal ran.
Harrison drop shot.
Jamal reached.
Harrison lobbed.
Jamal retreated.
Tweener attempt?
No.
He refused theater.
Turned.
Forehand lob.
Harrison backpedaled.
Hit overhead.
Jamal blocked.
Ball floated short.
Harrison moved forward.
Volley.
Jamal guessed.
Passed him down the line.
Three-two.
Crowd erupted.
Harrison bent over laughing.
Jamal came to net.
“Better than three-zero.”
Harrison shook his hand.
“Considerably.”
Renee watched.
This time no humiliation.
No assumption.
Challenge between people who knew each other.
Same act.
Different context.
That mattered.
Afterward a young club member asked Jamal:
“Is it true you first came here as a staff kid and beat Mr. Cole?”
Jamal smiled.
“Yes.”
“Were you secretly nationally ranked?”
“No.”
“Then how were you so good?”
Jamal laughed.
“Practice.”
The boy looked disappointed.
People wanted hidden explanations.
Prodigy.
Secret academy.
Former champion father.
Something.
Practice sounded boring.
That was why it was true.
At thirty-two, Jamal became project manager for a transportation engineering firm.
He married a woman named Simone Clarke, an architect he met during a light-rail project.
Their first child, Micah, hated tennis.
Absolutely hated it.
Jamal bought a small racket at four.
Micah used it as a sword.
At five, Jamal tried mini tennis.
Micah asked to leave after twelve minutes.
Renee watched from a bench.
“Careful.”
Jamal looked at her.
“I’m not pushing.”
“You are making your face.”
“What face?”
“Your father’s.”
He went pale.
Renee laughed.
“Relax.”
Micah preferred swimming.
Jamal learned lane schedules.
Bought goggles.
Sat in humid pools.
No tragedy.
Second child, Ava, loved tennis.
Of course.
At six, she begged to hit every day.
Jamal became terrified of repeating Marcus.
So terrified he overcorrected.
He refused extra lessons.
Would not discuss tournaments.
Derrick, now older and slower, watched.
“You can coach your daughter.”
Jamal frowned.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I know too much.”
“That is not a disease.”
“It can be.”
Derrick laughed.