I narrow my eyes. Oh, it’s on.

After that, the match is a blur of balls, racquets, and sheer determination. Piper and Dash are fine enough players, but they lack the killer determination that Georgia and I have now, and basically do their best to just stay out of the way as we slam our shots at each other.

“Easy now,” Dash smirks in amusement, after I hurl myself to the court to catch a sneaky drop shot. “It’s just a game.”

“Uh huh,” I paste on a big smile, brushing myself down. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Soon enough, we have the match point. This is it.

I line up to serve.

“Wait!” Georgia calls. “Just need to tie my laces.”

I pause, impatient, as she leisurely fiddles with her shoes.

“And since we’re taking a quick break…” Georgia strolls over to her bag and takes a sip of water.

She’s trying to knock me off my game, I can tell, but if I didn’t get distracted by the antics of the Newhaven Under-10 Boys Team running riot during practice, this peach won’t do the trick.

“Ready?” I call in a syrupy tone. “We can take a longer break, if you’re feeling tired.”

“I’m fine.” Georgia takes position again. “What was the score again?”

“Match point,” Dash replies. “Hit it, Callie.”

With pleasure.

Thwack.

I send it to Piper, who manages to return. “Mine!” I yell, diving in front of Dash—and whacking the ball back to Georgia. She manages to return—straight at me.

Owww!

The ball hits me dead on the shin.

“Whoops!” Georgia calls. “I’m sooo sorry.”

I’ll bet she is.

“Are you OK?” Dash comes over, looking concerned.

“I will be, once we beat her,” I say through gritted teeth, my shin stinging. No way was that an accident. I should be getting hazard pay.

We have another match point, so I line up to serve, narrowing my eyes at Georgia across the net.

If she wants to play dirty…

Whack.

The yellow projectile whizzes across the net, striking Georgia directly in the right boob. Her ear-piercing shriek stops nearby play. Heads whip our way. She drops her racquet, doubling over and clutching her chest. “Owww!”

“Oh, no, I’m sooo sorry!” I call, mimicking her syrupy voice. Ha! But just as I’m celebrating our win—and my personal victory—I realize Zelda is watching from the sidelines.

Shit.

We pack up and leave the court—Georgia whimpering over her bruised boob—but just as I’m braced for Zelda’s disapproval, she gives me an appraising look. “Congratulations,” she says.

I wince. “I might have let my competitive side get the better of me,” I say, but she just smiles.

“I like a bit of fighting spirit,” she says, and then gives me a wink.

Huh!

My victory is cemented when we head into lunch. “You don’t mind if it’s just family, do you Georgia?” Zelda says, stopping her at the door. “I’d love some time with just for us.”

Georgia’s face falls. “Of course,” she manages to cover. “I’ll see you tonight at the gala. You owe me a dance,” she adds to Dash, fluttering a wave on her way out.