“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Harrison looked at her.
“You applied?”
“No.”
“Derrick did.”
Jamal stopped packing.
Renee continued.
“He said no one answered.”
Preston frowned.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Then perhaps that is the problem.”
Silence.
Renee picked up Jamal’s backpack.
“Come on.”
Jamal looked toward Miguel.
“Thanks for letting me hit.”
Miguel smiled.
“You embarrassed my boss.”
Jamal’s eyes widened.
Renee looked horrified.
Miguel corrected quickly.
“In tennis.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Harrison.
Renee did not.
She started walking.
Jamal followed.
After five steps, Harrison called:
“Mrs. Brooks.”
She turned.
“I owe your son an apology.”
Renee stared.
Jamal stopped.
Harrison looked at him.
“I challenged you because I assumed I knew what kind of player you were.”
Jamal shifted uncomfortably.
“That was stupid.”
Preston looked surprised.
Harrison continued.
“I’m sorry.”
Jamal nodded.
“Okay.”
Harrison waited.
No absolution.
No “It’s fine.”
Good.
Then he looked at Renee.
“And I’d like someone to check that application.”
She crossed her arms.
“Why now?”
The question hit exactly where it should.
Harrison looked toward Jamal.
Then back.
“Because now I know about it.”
Renee did not move.
“That is not a good answer.”
Harrison stared.
She continued.
“If Derrick sent it before today, somebody should have checked it before my son beat you at three points.”
There.
Harrison almost defended himself.
Then stopped.
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
“Good.”
And left.
Jamal walked beside her.
At the parking lot, he finally said:
“Mom.”
“No.”
“I beat him.”
“I saw.”
“Three-zero.”
“I can count.”
“His forehand was heavy.”
“Jamal.”
“What?”
Renee stopped.
She looked at her son.
He was smiling.
Proud.
Children deserved pride.
Even when adults had created the wrong stage.
Her expression softened.
“You played well.”
His smile widened.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
Then:
“You still disappeared.”
His smile vanished.
“Grounded?”
“No phone tonight.”
“That is worse.”
“Good.”
They kept walking.
Behind them, Harrison Cole stood beside Court One holding a tennis racket he no longer wanted to use.
Preston approached.
“You okay?”
Harrison looked at him.
“Fine.”
“You got hustled by a twelve-year-old.”
“I challenged him.”
“Same result.”
Charles laughed.
Harrison ignored both.
He looked toward the parking lot.
Then:
“Find Bennett’s application.”
Preston sighed.
“Harrison.”
“What?”