“Who?”
Harrison laughed.
Good.
“Westbridge.”
Another pause.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“I hear you met Jamal.”
Harrison looked toward the conference table.
“I lost to Jamal.”
Derrick laughed loudly.
Not polite.
Harrison waited.
Derrick kept laughing.
“You done?”
“Almost.”
Another laugh.
“Okay.”
Harrison smiled despite himself.
“I found your application.”
“That is nice.”
“We failed to review it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Silence.
Different now.
Derrick said:
“Thank you.”
Harrison continued.
“We’re changing the process.”
“Good.”
“I want to invite you to help design it.”
“No.”
Harrison blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I run a tennis program.”
“Not your diversity committee.”
Harrison’s face reddened.
Derrick continued.
“You have tennis professionals.”
“Administrators.”
“Board members.”
“Make them do their jobs.”
Harrison sat back.
Fair.
Then Derrick said:
“If you build something and want feedback, send it.”
“That I’ll do.”
“Good.”
Harrison paused.
“Jamal is very good.”
Derrick’s voice changed.
Warm.
“I know.”
“How good?”
There was a long silence.
Then:
“Good enough that everybody around him needs to calm down.”
Harrison smiled.
Renee’s language.
Derrick continued.
“He’s twelve.”
“He has hands.”
“Movement.”
“Sees the court.”
“Serve will get bigger.”
“Backhand needs work.”
“Forehand can become a weapon.”
“None of that tells me what he is at eighteen.”
Harrison nodded.
“What does?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Derrick continued.
“Kids quit.”
“Bodies change.”
“Families move.”
“School matters.”
“Money matters.”
“Injury.”
“Pressure.”
“Girls.”
Harrison laughed.
“Fair.”
“Sometimes boys.”
“Also fair.”
Derrick said:
“My job is not predicting his biography.”
“It’s coaching Tuesday.”
That sentence stayed with Harrison.
The following week, Jamal returned to Freedom Park.
Court Three had a crack running near the doubles alley.
Court Five’s net strap was broken.
Court Two had three dead balls nobody bothered to throw away.
Jamal preferred it.
Not because bad courts built character.
He hated when adults romanticized poor facilities.
He preferred it because it was his.
Friends.
Coach.
Noise.
No one staring because of his clothes.
Derrick stood behind the baseline.
“Three-zero?”
Jamal grinned.
“Three-zero.”
“Harrison Cole?”
“Yes.”
“Old man?”
“Fast old man.”
Derrick laughed.
“Did you serve wide?”