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“Okay, thanks.”

I step outside and glance toward the practice courts. They’re all in use, full of girls serving, working out the kinks in their forehands, and running footwork drills.

I take out my phone and send a few texts, starting with Zoe, who has been my lifeline this week. As I scroll through our conversation, I smile at the messages she sent a few days ago:

Zoe

My couch is your couch.

Zoe

We’ll unpack your boxes and your questionable decisions later.

Zoe

Hurry up and bring your stuff over already.

I scroll to the bottom of the thread and type:

Katie

Made it!

Katie

I’ll see you at the hotel later.

Zoe

Can’t wait for our girls’ night.

Next, I text Theo.

Katie

I just checked in.

Katie

They’ll have the order of play for tomorrow available after seven. I’ll let you know as soon as I have the details.

Finally, I pull up my thread with Max, and hesitate. Feeling slightly ridiculous, I open my camera and snap a quick selfie holding up my player credential.

I don’t bother checking the lighting or taking another one. Max has already seen me at my absolute worst—covered in sweat, sunscreen, and sand. A blurry tournament selfie with my hair shoved into a messy ponytail, and me squinting into the sun isn’t going to scare him off now.

I hit send, then add a message.

Katie

I just arrived in Coral Bay.

Katie

I’ll text you once I get my schedule.

Katie

Merde.