“Hello, darling.” Roy sat down next to his daughter, marveling at how a school gymnasium in Brooklyn could smell exactly the same as a school gymnasium in the middle of England. Sweaty socks, sticky floorboards, and exhausted fluorescent lightbulbs.

“We’re not allowed to talk, Dad,” Shy said through her teeth. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I was curious.” Roy had never mentioned his altercation with Mr. Streko at Monte. “Just offering a bit of moral support.”

Beep, beep! Mr. Streko blew his whistle and pointed at them to be quiet.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Roy went on, ignoring Mr. Streko completely. “And I like their red tops. It’s a good, deep red. I do like a good red,” he mused.

“The reds are the other team. Shush, Dad. You’re going to get kicked out.”

“Go girl!” Berkeley Carroll’s coach shouted after a particularly brutal serve. Why was she allowed to yell?

Berkeley Carroll won all four of the first matches. Then the next one was called.

Beep, beep! Mr. Streko blew his whistle. “Sun, you sit out. Shy, you’re up,” he shouted without even looking at her.

Shy almost peed her pants. She slid her feet into her shoes and hurried to tie them.

“Exciting.” Her dad rubbed his hands together the same way he did when he watched Wimbledon or the Tour de France on TV. “Show us how it’s done.”

“Don’t get too excited, Dad.” It occurred to Shy that Mr. Streko was only letting her play because her father was there and they were losing the entire match. “I think I kind of suck.”

Beep, beep! Mr. Streko pointed at her and then at the table where Tati, a senior from Berkeley Carroll, was holding her red paddle and shifting impatiently from foot to foot, her hair pulled up in a tight ponytail with a matching red scrunchie. She looked scarily competitive and mean.

“Come on, black and white!” her father yelled like an ardent Premier League soccer fan.

Shy approached the table. She picked up the black paddle and the Berkeley Carroll coach rolled her the ball. She took a deep breath and tried to remember everything she’d learned about serving. She was pretty crap at it, but she’d do her best.

Toc! The ball flew sideways, just skimming the net. Tati assumed it was out, but it hit the table in-bounds, and she lunged for it at the last minute. It ricocheted off the edge of her paddle and flew straight into the air. Tati lay across her side of the table, moaning dramatically. Shy had scored the first point.

“Get up, girl!” Berkeley Carroll’s coach yelled hoarsely. She didn’t seem to know any of her team members’ names; she just called them all “girl.” “Play, play, play!”