Smash to the Heart

Aerin's POV

The courts were buzzing.

Students in different school colors were scattered across the bleachers — some huddled in groups, others walking around with rackets slung over their shoulders.

Coaches barked reminders. 

Volunteers handed out match schedules. 

Flags of each participating school fluttered along the fence, catching the wind like banners before a battlefield.

“Court 1: North Hills Academy versus Silverdale Institute. Second match of the day,” came the announcement through the speakers.

We were early, which meant we had time to watch the second game.

“There,” Galey nodded toward the right bleachers. “Let’s watch that one. Might be useful.”

We made our way toward the edge and sat down, the sun still gentle overhead. 

I scanned the players warming up on Court 1.

Red and gold.

That was North Hills.

The girl in red, standing on the far side, caught my attention immediately. 

The girl yesterday.

She wasn’t tall or overly flashy, but there was something about her stance — solid, unshaken. 

Her warm-up wasn’t rushed. 

Each motion was clean, calculated. 

The way she shifted her weight before hitting a forehand—automatic, grounded. 

She was in control of her rhythm even before the match had started.

“She’s sharp,” Jex said beside me, tracking the same player. “Look at her footwork.”

“She’s not wasting energy,” I replied. “Every step has intention.”

The match started.

North Hills served first, and the girl launched a strong flat serve that sent 

Silverdale scrambling on the return. 

It barely landed inside the baseline.

“Fifteen–love,” the umpire announced.

“Ang galing niya,” Soleil observed.

“She’s dominant,” Gianna added. “And she knows it.”

The rallies that followed weren’t long — mostly three to five shots. 

North Hills dictated every exchange. 

Silverdale tried lobbing and slicing, attempting to break the pattern, but the girl in red adjusted easily. 

Her baseline control was tight, her pace steady. 

She wasn’t flashy. 

She was effective.

The first set flew by: 7-5.

Second set began, and Silverdale changed their approach. 

They went for more variation—drop shots, angles, surprise net plays.

It worked — for a while.

But the girl from North Hills countered quickly. 

I watched her change tactics mid-point, catching her opponent out of position and punishing the open court. 

She forced long rallies when needed, then ended them cleanly.

The set ended 6–3.

The North Hills player barely looked fazed. She packed up calmly, nodded to her coach, and exited the court with a straight face.

No celebration.

Just focus.

“She’s definitely one to watch,” I muttered under my breath.

Court 2: Southbridge Academy vs. Westbrook High

I pulled my hoodie over my head and walked toward our assigned court, racket bag in hand. The crowd had grown thicker now, with matches underway on all sides.

My name was called, along with my opponent’s.

“Southbridge, ready?” the marshal asked.

“Yes, po,” I answered with a nod.

Westbrook wore green and navy. Their player was already bouncing a tennis ball in her hand, glancing briefly at me.

I wasn’t in the mood for nerves. This was just another match. Another win to take.

We shook hands.

First Set

She served first. The ball had a flat, direct trajectory — fast, but readable. 

I returned it cleanly, sending it crosscourt. She moved fast, but her next shot hit the net.

“Love–fifteen.”

The next few points were a test — she had good instincts and quick recovery. 

But her rhythm was off, and I exploited that. 

I pulled her side to side, varying my spin. She made two more errors.

First break: mine.

I served next — opened with a wide serve, then followed with a drop shot. 

She reached it but couldn’t send it over. My game.

2–0.

By the fifth game, she was trying to get in my head — longer rallies, more net play, a few fist pumps after every point won.

Didn’t matter.

I stayed quiet and steady. My shots were deep, angled, tight to the lines. She got a few games in but couldn’t take the lead.

6–3. Set one.

Second Set

The sun was higher now, beating down the court harder. 

I wiped sweat off my neck, sipped water during the changeover, and adjusted my visor.

She came back stronger this time — opened the set with an ace and a clean down-the-line winner. 

I gave up the first game.

“Okay,” I muttered. “You want to run? Let’s run.”

I broke back immediately, pushing her deep into the court, then sneaking a short angle that caught her completely off balance.

Our rallies grew longer in the next few games. 

Fifteen shots. 

Eighteen. 

Twenty-one. 

She wasn’t backing down.

But I had more control.

At 4–2, I saw her serve speed dip. 

She was tiring.

I didn’t hesitate.

Two more games. One clean hold, one break.

6–2. Game, set, match. Southbridge.

As we shook hands, I looked around at the rest of the courts.

North Hills was done. The red-uniformed girl was nowhere in sight.

Still…

That style. That level of control.

It stayed in my mind longer than I expected.

Just another player.

But something about the way she played made it hard to forget.