Page 14 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

She Calls Me Back – Noah Kahan

I was bone tired and depressed. A loss like that always left me wiped out.

I’d packed my bags already, wanting to get out of Manchester as soon as possible. Maybe I’d go stay in London, spend some more time with my parents. I picked at my room service order, then climbed into bed, committed to wasting away between the sheets.

When sleep was chased away by returning memories, the match playing over and over in my head, every missed shot, every bad step, I turned to the TV, flicking to find something, anything , to watch.

My phone buzzed, and I ignored it, assuming it was a text, but when it continued vibrating, I gave in, finding Dylan’s caller ID. A text from her was expected. But not a call. Never a call. It was me who called her. Apprehensively, I put the phone on speaker.

‘How is it going, kiddo?’ Her tone was light, playful, but in a way that let me know instantly that she’d seen the result. Seen how awful I’d played.

‘Kiddo?’ I questioned.

‘Would you like a different nickname?’

‘Kiddo might be the best pick.’

‘I personally wouldn’t risk it.’ Her voice warm and comforting, the hug I didn’t know I needed. ‘What are you up to?’

I looked over at the paused screen, an image of the gloomy mountainous Washington wilderness. ‘I was watching a movie.’

‘Which one?’ she asked, ‘I’ll watch it with you.’

I paused, my brain scrabbling for any other film. And coming up blank. I reached for the remote, to find another respectable movie to tell her, but I missed, the remote spinning from reach. I scrambled across the bed. ‘It’s on Netflix.’

‘Yeah, tell me the time mark and I’ll fast forward and watch it with you,’ I heard her say as I stretched, trying to grab the remote.

‘No. It’s fine.’

She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Why aren’t you telling me what film it is?’

‘It’s nothing.’ My fingers found the remote, but it was too late.

‘Oliver … did you answer the phone while watching porn?’

‘No!’ I cried, sitting up straight, panicking. ‘It’s not that.’

‘Then what is it?’ If I didn’t tell her the truth now, she’d think I was some sort of pervert, answering the phone mid-wank. The only way forward was the truth … but at what cost?

‘It’s …’ I stopped, re-evaluating my options, before swallowing my pride. ‘ Twilight .’

‘ Twilight .’ Her voice was deadpan. ‘Like Bella and Edward?’

‘It was just on,’ I stuttered for any excuse, any reason to give her other than the truth. I loved this fucking film.

‘You said Netflix,’ she chuckled. ‘You had to choose it.’

I paused, stuck for better excuses. ‘It was the first thing that came up.’

‘Likely story, vampire boy.’

‘I’m really more Jacob.’

A loud cackle. ‘Jacob? Like the dude that imprinted on a newborn baby?’

‘There are extenuating circumstances,’ I tried to defend. Tried, and failed.

Jacob, you’re on your own mate.

‘The “you named my daughter after the Loch Ness monster” guy?’ I could see the hole I’d dug widening by the second.

‘It was Bella that said that line,’ I corrected, but I was cut off by another sound of unhinged glee. She was enjoying this far too much.

‘Ha! You do like those films!’

‘It’s a classic!’ I relented, already regretting picking up the phone.

‘It’s certainly something ,’ she said. ‘What’s your time mark?’

I glanced at the screen. ‘Fifteen thirteen.’

A few moments of silence, before she finally replied, ‘Okay, press play on my mark.’

We counted down, pressing play at the same time, confirmed by the echoing music I could hear on her side of the call.

‘Do you need me to catch you up on the first fifteen minutes?’ I offered.

‘No,’ she replied, ‘I’ve seen this film before. You know in the year of our lord Kristen Stewart, watching Twilight isn’t uncool anymore.’

‘Then why did you make fun of me?’

‘Because you were embarrassed, vampire boy,’ she teased, ‘And it’s fun.’

I settled in, put the phone on speaker and asked, ‘How did your day go?’

She sighed. ‘It was fine. Brooke arranged another test match. She wasn’t happy that it went as far as the third set. I could’ve taken the second had I been a little smarter, but I got cocky.’

‘Is that her words?’

‘Yeah, but …’ Dylan trailed off, ‘She wasn’t wrong. I got too comfortable, lazy.’

I wished I’d been there to see it. I’d been rewatching her old matches when I had the mental capacity, keeping notes on her plays, learning her style.

It was aggressive and strong; it wasn’t like her to back off on the court.

Dylan Bailey was known for being relentless.

That was until she got to a final. There, it hurt to watch her fall apart.

‘You still won though. Take the win.’

‘I certainly did.’ Her voice was warm like honey, her Australian accent singing through on every vowel. The line went quiet, the conversation dying. I couldn’t be sure if she was caught up in the film, but it was like I could sense her indecision down the phone.

I heard the silent question loud and clear: how are you really doing? I’d been there a hundred times, when you’ve done well, and a friend has lost. It can be awkward.

‘I’m okay,’ I said to her, ‘Or at least I will be tomorrow.’

‘It was a rough match,’ she comforted me. ‘You played well.’

I let out a pained laugh. ‘I didn’t. But thanks.’

I heard her swallow on the other end, and I wondered what she wasn’t saying. Instead, all she asked was, ‘Where are you heading next?’

I was thankful for the change in conversation, not wanting to linger on the loss any longer.

‘I think I’m going to hang around London for a bit,’ I said. ‘Take a break, practise a little –’

She cut me off. ‘Have a Twilight marathon.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Is it just the movies or are you into the books too?’ she asked, obviously trying to get another dig in.

‘Never had time to get around to the books.’ I began to wonder if I’d ever be able to escape her teasing.

‘That sounds like a good plan anyway,’ she agreed.

I relaxed into the cushions, my attention barely on the film. ‘How are you feeling about it? China must be creeping up.’

‘Um …’ She trailed off.

I frowned, refusing to accept this level of self-doubt. ‘Come on, you did well in New York. You’re at your fancy training camp with that very expensive team Brooke assembled for you.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s like The Avengers ,’ I said. ‘Where’s the confidence?’

‘I mean,’ her voice was quieter, tinged with an emotion I couldn’t place, ‘you saw the article.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I don’t think we should take anything that Rachel Kenrick says as gospel.’

The article was a piece of shit, typical of the Daily Tea .

I wasn’t even sure who on her team would agree to that kind of interview.

But that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard chatter around the courts about it, everyone pulling quotes, talking about the record.

I had kept to myself, disengaging whenever anyone brought it up.

‘I know, but it’s still hard,’ she admitted. There was something about Dylan, our calls and texts. I was different around her, and when she opened up like this, I felt convinced it went both ways. This connection, despite all the distance.

‘The only person you need to focus on right now is yourself,’ I said, trying to bring her back from that self-doubt. Stay too long in it, and it will start to eat you up. ‘You’ve got so much talent. Believe in it.’

She sighed again; the noise was heavy. I knew she heard me, but whether the words would have any effect, only time would tell.

‘Sometimes I think you are the only person who doesn’t give me unsolicited advice,’ she admitted.

A small spark of joy lit up inside of me, glad I could do that for her.

It was easy to give opinions, especially to others playing tennis, but it didn’t mean that’s what they needed, or needed to hear. Sometimes, we needed to vent.

‘Oh, I mean I have a few pieces if you want them,’ I joked, a low grumble of a laugh following my words.

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘But that’s not why we are friends,’ I said, ‘or why we talk.’

‘Why do we talk?’ she pondered.

I shook my head, somehow still with a grin on my lips. ‘I think you want to keep tabs on me for the bet.’

‘Absolutely.’ She lit up, and I could hear her smile in her voice. ‘I’m not letting that go.’

‘But also, I like talking to you.’ I didn’t realize what I’d admitted until the words were out, too late to correct.

I like talking to you? I sounded like an idiot.

‘Of course, I’m a delight,’ she joked, relief overwhelming my small embarrassment.

I hummed, unable to stop myself, ‘A delight is not how many people would describe you, Dylan.’

She made a sound of horror. ‘And how would you describe me then?’

‘A terror.’ I didn’t even have to think about the correct words. I’ve heard about her before. Dylan Bailey, a terror on court. She was a thrill to watch, a nightmare to play.

‘I can’t argue. That does feel more likely,’ she laughed. ‘I like talking to you too. It’s lonely being out on the road.’

I thought back to our first meeting, the hotel bar, a few drinks in us both. She’d mentioned her family then, how much she missed them.

‘You must be counting down the days to Melbourne.’

Her response was immediate, like it was an impulse she couldn’t control. ‘Yes. I miss it. It’s a cliché but there’s nowhere like home.’

I let her words sit, feeling them too hard myself. And even though I’d be back tomorrow, I had this feeling like it wouldn’t cure the homesickness, like London wasn’t the answer I needed.

She continued, ‘It’s bittersweet. The closer it gets, the faster it seems to go. And the few weeks at home get taken up with tennis and competition. Before I know it, it’s time to leave and it barely feels like I’ve been home at all.’

I could feel her sadness, her disappointment seeping into my own bones. I swallowed away the lump in my throat. ‘You don’t ever take a break?’

A sharp laugh rang out. ‘Do you take a break?’

‘I mean … I’m overdue one,’ I admitted. ‘But yes. It helps.’

Another breathy laugh followed, and I could imagine her shaking her head, not truly believing that anyone took time away. ‘I wonder what Brooke would have to say about that.’

‘You’re the boss here,’ I reminded. ‘And if it means you come back stronger, what is she going to say about it?’

It could start to feel that way with some more controlling coaches. They tell us what to do, how to train, what to eat. It’s good to be reminded that we should be the ones calling the shots that matter. That we can say no.

‘I don’t think now is the time to ask for a break.’

I tried to stop myself, tried to remember the boundary we had, the very thing she had said she enjoyed about our friendship. But everything she was expressing; I couldn’t help it.

‘Honestly, Dylan, is it working out with her?’ My question a little sharper than I mean it to be, an overwhelming worry for her overtaking my self-control.

‘It’s fine,’ she gritted out the words. ‘I’m getting used to her coaching style. I’ve burned through a lot recently and I’m trying to stick this one out. See if it helps.’

I took a deep breath, hearing her words. And if that was what she wanted, to carry on, if that’s what she needed, then fine. She’d heard me and had a perfectly reasonable explanation.

‘I understand,’ I said calmly, ‘I don’t want to see you hurt. Or burnt out.’

‘I know.’ The call turned quiet, the tension holding out a few moments longer before she broke it with a joke. ‘But don’t worry. I’m famously difficult to coach.’

I forced a laugh. ‘I’ve heard.’

‘I should work on my reputation courtside,’ she said, ‘It sounds terrible.’

I thought about how to perfectly encapsulate her, more than a terror. What the right description for her truly was. There were a lot of words thrown about, some worse than others. But they all had the same idea behind them, the same intention.

‘They’re all afraid of you.’ There was a good reason she usually made it to the final; she was relentless on court. Nobody looked forward to their match against her.

‘You know what,’ she said. ‘I like that. Let’s keep it that way.’

I could see the smile on her face in my mind’s eye, knowing she would revel in that nugget of information. Whether it was new to her, I was unsure. But she didn’t seem to mind one bit.

‘Now stop talking,’ she added. ‘Daddy Charlie is on screen.’

And somehow, despite the loss and exhaustion and failure of the match today, I forgot all about it.

Forgot to be sad. Not while we stayed on the phone for the entire film, not when she stopped making her little comments about the hot vampires, not when I realized she had fallen asleep on the other side, her soft snores sounding through the speaker.

And not when I smiled, thought of her safely tucked in bed, and said my good night, before ending the call, sleep finding me quickly.

I woke up, bolt upright, a hot sweat on my brow. My fingers gripped the thin bed sheet, my lungs struggling to take in a deep breath.

Closing my eyes, I could still see the dream clearly. Soft brunette hair, spread out across a silk pillowcase. Pink lips, puffy from kissing. Skin so soft under my touch. Long, strong legs that wrapped over my shoulders, around my neck, spreading for me , and pulling my tongue against her.

Could I still taste her on my tongue?

It had felt like she’d been real. Too real, if the unbearable hardness between my legs was anything to go by. My bed was unmade, sheets tangled up in my legs as if I’d been grinding myself into the mattress thinking of her. Dylan.

Pushing myself from the bed to sit to the side, I wiped at my forehead, skin still hot to the touch. Every moment I closed my eyes, I still saw her, as if the image had burnt itself into the back of my eyelids.

Where had this come from?

Dylan was beautiful, there was no denying that.

And we had a relationship, but it was a friendship, I’d insisted.

But that didn’t lessen the way I felt about her, the clear connection between us.

Very quickly our friendship had become something I was so accustomed to, almost not a single hour going past without at least a text to her.

But dreaming of her? Like this? I struggled with it, feeling unsure despite having little control over the matter.

Pushing up, I resigned myself to a shower, the water ice cold as I tried to wash the thoughts of Dylan away.

But as the water pelted at my back, my body shivering under the temperature, I was still left with the memories of the dream, and a want for somebody I shouldn’t have.