Victory

• Brooke Kavanagh, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

She could feel the eyes of the spectators’ on her as she eyed up her opponent across the expanse of dark green. The heat of the summer night pushed down on her but she was saved from feeling it’s full effect by the soft breeze that drifted through the much-loved outdoor area.
Her toes curled and the pavers below her feet were rough on her bare skin. An owl hooted off to the right and her opponent’s blue eyes temporarily darted in its direction. Stupid move. Now she knew he was doubting himself. She smirked and twirled her… her weapon in her hands.
It was match point and she was happily in the lead. It had been a tight game. She’d been losing by more than half only a short while ago but now… now she would be victorious. She’d made an amazing, silent comeback that had left him gaping like a confused child.
His incredulous cries and the solid smacks that had followed after each powerful hit had eventually drawn in their spectators. Even the dog was sitting obediently by its master’s feet, it’s ears pricked and his head tilted as he tried to comprehend why the humans were so tense.
Finally, she uncrossed her arms and with one last challenging smirk, she raised her hand with the racket and served. The ball flew quickly over the net and her opponent shifted into gear, moving swiftly to return the play. The rally came to life rapidly and they laughed and shouted their battle cries as they began to hit harder, wilder shots. The spectators laughed and cheered, making stupid comments that only teenagers can. Excited by the commotion, the dog began to bark.
Her shirt was beginning to stick to her in the heat of the summer, despite the breeze. Moving so quickly in order to return the ball, to secure her victory, was making her pulse race. Adrenaline surged through her and she could see the rally coming to an end.
She pushed the play her way, waiting for the shot she was after - the one that would crown her the winner, the champion. Steady, steady, she kept pushing until finally, the shot came in and bounced high enough for her to lift her racket and smash the ball back down.
It flew over the net and bounced off the back right corner, lifting off at such a height and speed that it was impossible for her opponent to return it. Laughing and yelling her success, she threw the paddle down onto the table and flung her hands high into the air. Her opponent groaned and lowered his head.
“That’s right!” she declared, facing the male side of the spectators while her fellow females cheered loudly. “Table tennis champion, right here! I took you down, boys!”
“Rematch,” Jake, her opponent, ordered, moving to fetch the ball.
She lowered her hands and grinned sweetly, mockingly. “Oh, but Jake, I don’t want to make you cry.”