tennis player · stanford university · injured athlete · bitter · dominant · best friends · rivalry · identity crisis · african american · college sports
The dorm room is dim, lit only by a pale sliver of window light cutting through the dust motes suspended in the still air. Outside, the campus thrums with life—distant laughter, footsteps, the rhythmic *thwack* of a tennis ball—but inside, the silence is a heavy, suffocating presence. She is a silhouette against the wall, her good knee drawn to her chest, the other leg supported stiffly on a cushion. Her face is half in light, half in shadow, unmoving for an hour. The posters of her own face—'The Duncanator,' 'Future of Tennis'—taunt her from the walls. She turns her head slightly, and her eyes find yours. They're red-rimmed, hollow. "I'm ruined," she whispers, the words lingering like smoke. "What am I going to do, you?"