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The next few days are a blur of frantic packing, trying to fit my entire life into two suitcases.

I try my best to get in touch with Max, but his week is just as chaotic as mine.

Our exchanges go something like this:

Monday

Max

Katie! Just saw your message—absolutely chuffed to bits for you!! A new coach!

Katie

I know. I still can’t believe it. He coaches players like Alexander Georgiou and Raoul Fabre.

Max

I feel like I ought to know who these people are.

Katie

Haha. Don’t worry if you don’t.

Max

I’m trying my best with the tennis homework, I swear. Still a long way to go.

Wednesday

Max

I survived eight hours of choreography today.

Katie

Congrats. You survived.

Katie

Any chance you’ll show me some of the moves?

Max

Once I’ve cleaned it up, absolutely.

Max

Also still dying to know the rest of your mystery news. You free for a call?

Katie

Give me thirty minutes?

Max

Brilliant. Speak soon.

Thirty minutes later, however, I’m knee-deep in visa paperwork, sorting out a problem with my passport.