Chapter Text
queens, nyc | 2002
That summer had been a hot, sticky mess. You almost wished you were doing summer school, if only to escape the relentless heat and enjoy a few hours of functioning air conditioning. With only a small electric fan to keep cool in the apartment, you were determined to find the coolest spot in New York City. At least as far as Flushing, Queens, was concerned. You came to learn that this would be the fancy tennis facilities not too far from home.
Taking refuge on a plush sofa overlooking the indoor tennis courts, you had tried to watch the players at first but gave up quickly, knowing you would never play; it's not like your family could afford it. Occasionally, a stranger would make small talk, and you would pretend you were waiting for your sister, but for the most part, you were left alone to read your books. This proved to be a wonderful idea—until it wasn't.
You knew something was different that day. There were more people, like a lot. And they were dressed nicely, too. You realized you stuck out like a sore thumb and tried to find a place of solace, but it was impossible. Tennis players passed by with an entourage of people and expensive uniforms. This was your cue to leave
There was a stairwell exit that you thought would get you out faster, but instead, you found yourself even more lost. As you passed through a tunnel, you soon found yourself at an open court and many different workers rushing around. This wasn't good.
"You!" An older man with a clipboard rushed over. "My replacement ball girl?"
He phrased it more as a statement than a question. For whatever reason, your tongue betrayed you, and you replied yes, not wanting to get in trouble for trespassing. If we're being honest, though, it shouldn't have been that easy to get on the court in the first place.
You followed him nervously, wondering when he would figure out you weren't supposed to be there. Soon you were in an unfamiliar uniform trying to figure out what to do with these tennis balls. By some miracle, you weren't found out. You observed the others and learned quickly. You were officially a ball kid for the Junior US Open.
The next day you returned and did the same thing, occasionally paranoid that the true replacement ball girl would arrive, but she never did. You even found yourself understanding tennis far more being this close to the players. They weren't much older than you, and you watched their athleticism in awe, but there was no one that instigated this as strongly as Tashi Duncan. The girl could play.
Every movement was with purpose, her eyes focused on the ball. She was a breakout star at fifteen and everyone was talking about her. Despite being the same age as you, there was something about her that radiated maturity beyond her years. At one point, she caught your eye and smirked, the game was over and victory was not unfamiliar to her.
On the final day you were packing equipment when you heard a snarky voice below.
"She only practices in Marin, she's not even from there. She's from Oakland."
You leaned over the railing, the curiosity biting you. A brunette stood with her hand on one hip speaking to two players. You recognized her as Anna Mueller, another name people kept mentioning. Apparently, her father had played successfully for years and was now her personal coach, but she was nothing on Tashi.
"I didn't know they had tennis courts there," Anna snorted.
"Believe it or not, we do," an icy voice came from the side and you grinned at the sight of Tashi with a bag over her shoulder confronting them. She was expressionless, her eyes burning into them. "Not all of us have a private court behind our mansions."
"What do you want? A handout?" Anna rolled her eyes.
"Oh, don't worry about me, worry about that backhand. Your daddy is Peter Mueller, but you couldn't even win against a girl 'from Oakland'?"
The other two players tried to hide their laughs, and Anna's face reddened. "Watch it. My family knows important people here, I can have your career end before it even starts—"
There was no way to explain what came over you, but you let the bag of tennis balls in your hand fall open, and a wave of balls went right over the railing onto Anna. She screeched and looked up, "What the hell?"
Tashi let out a laugh and met your eyes. Your body froze. She had an odd way of captivating anyone who she glanced at, even if for a moment. The scolding you received as a consequence later that night was nothing compared to the sweet satisfaction of seeing Anna Mueller be humiliated and Tashi looking at you that way.
As you walked out to the parking lot, you were surprised to feel a pang of sadness. Your adventure had come to an end. School would be starting soon, and you would return to your regular life.
"Hey! Wait up." Tashi jogged up to you with a big smile on her face. "I know what you did back there, thank you."
You froze before responding, "Well, she deserved it."
"Agreed." She looked you up and down, making you feel self-conscious, like it was an evaluation. Apparently satisfied, she pointed back towards a group of teenagers, other players. "We're going out to celebrate; you should join us. Another ball kid here is a friend."
Sure enough, you recognized a ball boy you had worked with, who gave you a nod. It was getting late, but when else would you get the chance to hang out with a bunch of hot and wealthy tennis players? To hang out with Tashi Duncan? So you went with them and had an incredible night. You not only got tipsy for the first time but found yourself kissing a French player during spin the bottle. It felt like you were in a movie.
Sometimes you wonder what would have happened if you had told Tashi you needed to head home instead. She wouldn't have given you her phone number at the end of the night or called you to vent about Anna Mueller every so often that year. She wouldn't have visited you every time she stopped by New York or helped you eventually become a line judge. Up until that point, there was no reason to regret having met her.
That is, until the year she introduced you to Art and Patrick.