Mum comes in like a hurricane. She strides through the door and whips it behind her so it closes with a terrifying slam. Then she’s up the stairs like a gorilla, voice shrill as she hurtles herself into my room.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she roars. I jump a little from the bed, scattering my revision notes across the covers. “I told you not to do anything rash and the first thing you do is demand a pay rise?”

“I was trying to help,” I say quietly.

“Well screw your helping, Chandy! It’s gotten us nowhere!” She jabs a finger to my chest. “Tomorrow you’re going in and apologising because what you did is disgraceful. You hear me? Utterly disgraceful!”

I can only hang my head low as my bedroom door slams shut.

Mum doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the afternoon. I can only hear her seething in the living room.

I understand her anger. She was hoping I’d give a good impression, not blow the whole thing up.

I’ll make it up to her, I think as I get myself ready for training. Somehow.

* * *

Sam has got a haircut. That’s the first thing I notice as I step out onto the courts. He’s got it cut so now it sits above his head. His old, thin locks have been loped off.

He must have caught me staring. “Just in time for summer,” he says, grinning.

That’s the only jokey thing I get from him the whole session. Once the war starts in the battlefield, he turns into a general. His eyes go hard, his lip curl into an occasional sneer, he pushes us to our absolute limits and then, for the sake of it, pushes us some more.

As I run, I notice that Megan isn’t here. I turn to one of the girls next to me who’s bright red in the face, nose streaming.

“Where’s Megan?”

She glances over to me, surprised that someone’s taking the effort to talk to her.

“I don’t know,” she says between pants. “When I called her, she said something about going over to her boyfriend’s.”

“Chandy and Mel!” comes Sam’s vicious growl. “Less chatting, more sweating!”

I thank her and push on forward until I’m at the front of the line.

It’s a good thing Megan’s not here. Not only do I get to slide past her wrath as I shouted at her father, but I also get to shine in the limelight.

“Brilliant, Chandy.”

“Nice shot!”

I revel in Sam’s praise. The others, including Mel, look at me in disgust.

By the end, I believe I’m almost glowing from the attention. And I gobble it up. All mine. Not Megan’s. Mine.

“Where’s Megan?” Sam asks us at the end. “Mel? You’re good friends with her.”

Mel glances at me, eyes warning. She’s the same one I asked at the beginning. If she mentions the truth about Dayson, then I’m sure Sam will be having none of it.

“She’s sick,” she says. “I think her Nan died.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. He knows what she’s getting at. I don’t think he’ll ever get over the shame of shouting in that girl’s face.

Mel looks smug. “Maybe don’t pick favourites next time.”

“If this is a personal attack on me, Melanie,” Sam says slowly, “then I recommend you walk out of these gates as fast as those little legs can carry you.”

“Gladly,” snarls Mel. “Just don’t praise Chandy and Meg all the time and leave the rest of us in the dirt.”

She flounces off. I almost roll my eyes.

“Right, session’s over,” Sam calls. If he was feeling any hurt I don’t see it now.

I briskly make my way down the little side-road and to the park round the corner. I glance at my watch. Six-oh-four. Forcing myself to move faster, I hope Amias won’t be annoyed that I’m late.

He’s set up at a court. Sliding past the gate, I watch with a smile as he tries with his racquet to keep a ball in the air, the little ‘thwack’ generating a new jump of the ball, his tongue lolling out from the concentration.

“Twenty-eight!” he shouts proudly as I arrive and he catches the ball with a flourish.

“A new record?”

“Well, I only started a few minutes ago.”

I kneel down and take my racquet out of its case. A touch of the handle tells me it’s still warm from my grip only ten minutes ago.

“Are you all right?” asks Amias from behind me. “You look exhausted.”

“Training,” I mumble. Now that he points it out, there’s a stinging pain down my calf and another down my right hamstring.

He gives a low whistle. “So that’s why you’re so good. You’re training with an elite team.”

I nod. “Enough about me. What about you?”

He looks smug. “I’ve been practising.” He lifts his gaze up. “Is the challenge still on? The one where your ass is going to get smashed?”

I chuckle, rising to my feet. “Depends which way you take it.”

He grins, and now I notice a glint in his eyes. “Enough of the dirty talk. I challenge you to a Duel of Tennis.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and?” he splutters with a smile. “I’m going to win and that’s that.”

“Don’t look so smug. We have to have stakes.”

“Stakes.” His eyes turn as dark as the black keys on a keyboard. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”

My breath hitches in my throat.

Stakes indeed.

His lips look soft from here. Then I shake my head from that thought.

“And if I win?” I ask. “What do I get?”

He raises his hands to say I don’t know. Whatever you wish.

“You have to scream ‘Chandy is the best tennis coach in the world’ at the top of your voice.” I can’t think of anything better.

He grins. His teeth seem to flash in this light. “Deal.”

There's something buzzing inside me as I turn and take my position at the net. It feels like there’s a bee crawling underneath my skin, causing my whole body to vibrate with some sort of energy.

It’s a mixture of fear, nerves, and excitement.

He serves underarm. It comes nice and slow. I take a step back, position myself, and I can feel the shot before I take it. It’s quick and deadly, a silent strike.

He handles it well. His stance isn’t accurate but I give it to him.

We carry on like that for a while. I count the score, announcing it as we go. Forty-love, game. Soon, I’m winning by a whole set and I have no intention of stopping.

And then a thought crosses my mind. What if I let him win? Then I can feel his lips, his closeness.

What fascinates me is his determination. With every powerful shot I throw at him, he comes back harder until he’s grunting with the effort.

“Look who’s winning,” I tease.

His eyes narrow. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Then he begins to lob it. One by one the shots go flying past the baseline.
“Out,” I call. And then again. “Out. Out.”

But they keep coming like annoying mosquitoes. When he’s run out of balls, he saunters towards the net.

“You didn’t return any,” he says. “So I win.”

Indignant, I place my hands on my hips. “That’s not the rules of tennis. I was thrashing you.”

“Okay.” He gives me a mock-sigh. “You win.”

My smile seems too wide for my face. “Shout it. For all the world to hear.”

He joins me by my side of the fence and then begins picking the stray balls. It’s obvious he's trying to buy time.

Then he straightens, leaving the balls to one side. “I, Amias Yousief, have something to announce!” His voice is loud in the hubbub of the park. Then they begin to hush and I find I can’t stop grinning. “This girl”—he gestures to me—“Chandy Dixon, is the best tennis coach in the world!”

I feel like I might be drunk on laughter. The looks on the parents’ faces behind me are priceless.

My laughing stops when he takes my hand and leads me to the fence. My back rests against it and I can feel every metal bar of it, every stare of every stranger.

Amias’ hands trail to my waist. The bees start again, electrifying every touch.

And then his lips are on mime.

Like I imagined, they're soft. As he applies gentle pressure to my bottom lip, it’s all I can do to respond. He inches my mouth open wider and a tingle surpasses my body as his hands find my waist again, and then the fence behind me, caging me in his warmth. Mine find his hair, the back of his neck.

Our lips move as one. I’m lost in it all.

Then we break for air. We’re so close I’m certain he can hear the beating of my heart.

“But you didn’t win,” I manage to say, breathless. The taste of him still lingers on my lips.

His lips graze my forehead. I can only breathe in the strong, cosy scent of him.

“I did win,” he whispers into my hair, “because I won your heart.”