The racket clattered onto the ground, the “W” of the Wilson emblem facing down. She’d lost the toss. “Your serve,” Zed decided. Solemnly, they lined up on opposite ends of the court, tapping their rackets on the ground in tandem, their ritual.

“Love, love!” Kai roared, tossing the ball into the air and pummeling it toward the earth. It landed directly in front of Zed, who sidestepped it and responded with a quick backhand.

Sol’s neck stiffened as she watched the ball continually whizz over the net, propelled by grunts and devastating swings. Zed and Kai were only on the first point, but they were playing as if the point decided the match.

“Hey, Angel,” someone whispered to Sol. She turned around, fists clenched. The white guy from the basketball court smiled back at her through the fence, his eyes scanning her body, the sweat on his unformed muscles gleaming in the dim sunlight. Sol stood, meeting his gaze. He was shorter than she was.

“You girls from around here?” he stammered, feigning coolness. His eyes plunged to his feet like anchors in air as Sol silently stared him down, her arms crossed.

He spoke rapidly, his words dropping from his mouth like loose change from an overturned purse. “I’m throwing a party tonight. It will be pretty casual. Lots of guys. Only ten bucks.”

Sol remained silent, her gaze unbroken. “Lots of girls too…” he added.

The silence continued. “We’re not paying to get into a rando house party,” Sol finally said.

“Okay, you can get in free. Can I text you the address?”

“No, just tell it to me. Give me your number too.”

Sol was irritated by how quickly he obliged. She hadn’t shown him the slightest interest, but she could see the gears turning in his head, the fantasies unfolding.

“Is your name Charlie?” she asked.

“Yeah, what’s your name?”

Leering, she walked backward, away from the fence, swaying her hips and beckoning him onto the court. He sprinted to the entrance then stepped onto the court, slowing to a confident waltz, an erection gleefully pushing through his sweaty gym shorts. Sol stood in place as he approached her, her hips protruding unnaturally, like a damaged action figure. Charlie’s swaggy promenading strut continued, his boner leading him forward like a divining rod. Sol held steady, awaiting his arrival.

One punch sufficed. Before Sol could even unclench her fist, Charlie crashed onto the asphalt, his body expanding in all directions like spilled rice on a kitchen floor. “My name’s not Angel,” she scoffed.

With equal scorn, he looked up at her and sneered. “I bet you’ll still be at my party.”

“No contest,” Kai suddenly announced, shrugging and holding up her broken tennis racket. Sol grimaced. The splintered wires reminded her of Jerry’s braces.

chapter 6