The Spare Racket
June held out her hand for my spare racket, then waited while I checked the strings. "It is the same as this one," I told her, lifting my own. "Almost new." She turned it over and smiled. "I only asked to borrow it, Rafi. I did not ask to buy it." I put the racket in her hand. Across the sports hall, somebody hit a shuttle high above the net. Its white feathers flashed under the lights. Saturday's junior team trial was less than a day away, and I wanted every shot tonight to say something good about me.
I had moved to the town in August. Most afternoons, I practised in our garage, hitting a shuttle into the air and trying to catch it on my racket. There was little room to move. On a real court, the shuttle could fall in a hundred different places. I knew that. I had played singles at my old school, where I was usually the strongest player. At this new club, however, I knew nobody except Sol, who had invited me. He had also mentioned that the junior coach sometimes watched the Friday games. I had arrived early, wearing my cleanest sports shirt.
Sol put a sheet of paper on the desk beside the entrance. "Write your name under June's," he said. "Her racket is being repaired. Thanks for bringing two." I looked at the pairs already listed. Sol would play with his sister, Beth. June was taking off a grey raincoat. There was a supermarket bag at her feet, and she had a little notebook in her jacket pocket. I had expected a partner my own age. "Have you played here before?" I asked. She looked towards the court. "Most Fridays for twelve years. You?" I suddenly found something to fix on my shoe.
June explained that her usual partner had moved away. She still came on Fridays because she liked doubles, and because it was one evening when she did not have to rush home from work. "So let me have a few shots," she said. I laughed, as if she had made a joke. The Friday games were friendly games, not part of a competition. Our court had time for a full game to twenty-one. Sol and Beth were ready. I could hear the rain on the high windows. Then a woman beside the far wall lifted her hand to Sol. It was the junior coach.
Two Players, One Corner
At first, everything went well. June served, Beth returned the shuttle high, and I hit it sharply into the back corner. One point to us. I glanced towards the coach. She was talking to another player. On the next rally, Sol sent the shuttle towards June. She raised her racket, but I stepped across her and reached it first. My return hit the net. "I had that," she said. "Sorry. I thought it was too far away." She looked at the place where I had been standing. "From you, perhaps."
We won some points because I could hit hard. We lost others because I tried to hit everything. Whenever the shuttle came between us, I moved towards it without speaking. June sometimes stopped to avoid my racket. Sometimes I stopped too, and the shuttle dropped quietly between our shoes. That was worse than a bad shot. There was no speed or strange angle to blame. Just an empty space that both of us had left at the last moment. Beth began placing her returns there. Sol did not laugh, which somehow made me feel worse.
When Sol and Beth reached eleven points, we paused for water. June took a drink and asked me to watch Sol. He was wiping his glasses beside the other team's bag. "He goes backwards before Beth hits," she said. "She knows where he will be. Do you know where I will be?" I said that I was watching the shuttle. "Yes. Both of us are." She left the question there. When we started again, I told myself to move less. But the coach was now looking towards our court. The next high return seemed to hang under the lights, waiting for me.
I ran backwards for it. June was already there. My shoulder struck hers, and the shuttle fell behind us. She caught her balance, but the borrowed racket slipped from her hand. Nobody was hurt. That did not make the sound of the racket on the floor any easier to hear. I picked it up and held it out. "I was trying to get behind you," I said. "You need to let me know when you are going back." June took it without answering. We finished the game in near silence. Sol and Beth won, twenty-one to fourteen. I remembered each of my seven good shots and almost none of their twenty-one points.
A Different Kind of Practice
June put the racket beside my bag. "I can sit out the next game," she said. "You might prefer another partner." I started to say that we only needed more practice. Then I saw her supermarket bag on the bench. A packet of bread lay beside it. She had come from work, carrying her shopping, to spend one evening playing. I had given her an evening of waiting for me to finish. I picked up the bread and put it in the bag. "I told you to warn me," I said. "But I did not warn you either."
She sat down to tie her shoe. "When you ran into me, I was under the shuttle. You could see me." I looked at the court. I could remember her there now: her feet apart, her racket up. I had seen her before I moved. "I thought a strong shot would make up for the rest," I admitted. "I was thinking about tomorrow." June glanced towards the coach. "That is a long way from this court." I asked if she would play one more game with me. She did not answer immediately. Then she stood up. "Five minutes of practice first. Together."
We used the empty half of a court beside ours. June asked Sol to send the shuttle gently between us. Before each return, one of us had to call "Mine" or "Yours". It felt simple until I tried it. I was quick to move, but slow to speak. On the third return, I called "Mine" after June had already lifted her racket. She stopped, and my shot went wide. "Too late," I said before she could. On the next one, I called early. June moved away, leaving room for my arm. The shuttle crossed the net. There was nothing special about the shot. I wanted to try it again.
June could reach farther than I had expected. She also noticed things I missed. Sol was sending us gentle returns, but he kept stepping towards the front of the court. "When he does that in a game, send it over him," she said. She showed me with a light, high shot. I wanted to copy it at once. Instead, I asked her to show me again. The coach walked past while we were practising. I knew she was there because her shoes squeaked. For once, I did not turn to see whether she was watching.
The Space Beside Me
Beth agreed to another game. "Same pairs?" she asked. June looked at me before answering. I nodded. This time, we began with a plan. If one of us was clearly nearer, that player would take the shot. If it came between us, we would call early. We would still have to change places, but we would leave each other room. Our plan lasted exactly three rallies before I forgot it. I chased a shuttle that June could reach and hit it out. "Yours," I said, much too late. She laughed. "Next time, tell me before the shot."
There were other mistakes. My first high return was too low, and Beth hit it back past us. June missed an easy shot when she tried to move backwards too quickly. I wanted to say, "I could have got that." I drank some water instead. On the next rally, she called for the shuttle. I let her take it. Her return was not powerful, but Sol had moved forward. The shuttle dropped behind him. June turned towards me with a small, pleased smile. I raised my hand, and she touched it with hers. We took our places for the next rally.
The game became close. At eighteen points each, I heard somebody move a chair near the coach. I kept looking across the net. Beth sent the next return towards the middle. "Yours," I called. June moved in, while I went behind her. She hit a short return. Sol reached it and sent it high, so I had time to move under it. I hit to the back. This rally felt slower than the earlier ones, although the shuttle was travelling just as fast. I knew where June was. When Beth's return landed outside the line, I heard June laugh before I remembered to count. Nineteen to eighteen.
We lost the next three points. First, my return hit the net. June reached Sol's next shot, but her return went wide. Then Beth sent a long shot to our back corner. I called for it and tried to reach it, but I was too late. Sol and Beth won, twenty-one to nineteen. June held out the borrowed racket. "Thank you," she said. "That was a game." I looked at the score, then at her. I had hit fewer winning shots than in the first game. I could remember far more of the rallies. "Friday again?" I asked. "If you are not too busy being a junior star," she said. "Next Friday," I added. "I would like to play with you again." She smiled. "Then put your name down."
The coach met me at the entrance while I was putting my two rackets away. "The trial starts at nine tomorrow," she said. "I know." She asked what I had been practising with June. I could have told her about my high return, or the point I had won at eighteen each. "Calling before I move," I said. "I am still late sometimes." She nodded. "See you at nine." That was all. She did not promise me a place. There was a second sign-up sheet on the desk, for next Friday. June had written her name there. I put mine in the space beside it. Then I held her shopping while she put on her raincoat. The rain had stopped, but neither of us hurried to the door.
