Face Down
by Parker Liu | Grade 10 | Scholastic 2023 | Personal Essay & Memoir | Silver Key
“You excited for practice?” My mom asks.
“Hopefully.” AC rushes across my face. My hands clench the fabric lining of the passenger seat.
Our silver Honda Odyssey marches up a hill, groaning and whimpering as it enters a tight, compact parking lot. Rows of new cars litter the white bold lines. Teslas, BMW’s, Mercedes. I step out of the car and onto the cracked concrete, strutting to the trunk. The back opens as I shove tennis balls and empty plastic bags into the right corner, finding my tennis bag and water jug.
My mom drives away. Silence drifts across the lot below and empty sky above. I dig my white Nike tennis shoes into the ground, kicking up bundles of brown straw and black soil as I walk down the hill, alone. My hand chokes the nylon grip of my tennis bag. Thin fibers poke out from cheap sewn-on patches. Bulbs of sweat form in my palm, trickling down my fingers.
I feel a dozen pair of eyes lock onto my mismatched cotton outfit and cheap Babolat racket as I enter the pro shop. Spartan logos embed their fine polyester clothes, vibrant stripes mark their shoes, Apple watches wrap their wrists. Light mutters stir the room.
“New kid.”
“Wonder who he is.”
Sweat and must clog the room. A light hum chirps every three seconds, directing my attention to the man and stringing machine in the corner of the room. A black Nike hat sits atop his head, hiding his ruffled brown hair. Creases run across his forehead, dark sunglasses masking his rough face and baggy eyes. His mouth and nose fidget. He sniffles as he taps his foot against the tiled floor of the shop. A golden cross chain runs down his multicolored striped Lacoste shirt, baggy pants droop below his knees, and black Nike shoes cover his black rolled-up socks. He grabs the machine, one hand clasping the throat, the other yanking the string.
I walk up to him and extend my shaking hand. “Hey, I’m Gabe. Are you the coach?”
He lifts his head and stares down at me.
“Yes.” he rasps, nodding.
“Should I go hit?”
“Yes.”
I walk out from the chilled proshop, into the blistering sun. Miniature trees hiding in their pots line the narrow sidewalk to the courts. Tennis bags double the size of mine lie against the fence next to water jugs, zippers drawn open with rackets hanging out. I spot a group of three boys chatting.
“Hey, can I hit with you guys?” I ask.
“Sure.” Replies the blonde boy.
“What’s your name?”
“Farley.” Golden hair flows over his forehead. An arm sleeve wraps around his right elbow; a wristband chokes his left wrist.
I rush to the opposite side of the cracked court. He feeds the ball in. I tighten my grip on my racket and swing forward, but the ball catches the frame of my racket and rockets up, landing in the bushes and trees beyond the courts. He feeds another ball towards me, and I lunge forwards towards, racket out in front, only for the ball to land in the net after contact.
“Tre, Carter, 10 laps!” Coach Mark blurts as he steps onto the court.
Two rackets fall to the ground: two thuds. Two kids both with brown-blonde hair sprint side-by-side around the three courts, their shoes grazing the corners, shoulders shoving. Their pale faces wrinkle and scrunch as they complete their last lap, their hands on their knees, panting and gasping.
“Over here everyone.” Coach Mark says in a soft voice.
We all hurry over, grouping in a huddle.
“Suicides. I want three in a row to the second court. Line up here.” He demands, pointing to the doubles line behind us.
“NOW!” This time Mark hollers.
Footsteps flee the doubles alley pounding as everyone sprints, sweat splattering the ground, soaking it. The gap between me and the others widens: one foot, two feet, four feet. Gasps fill the silent air as everyone stops. My hands cover my knees as my lungs gulp for air. My lips long for water.
“20 pushups!” Mark says.
Mumbles stir.
“NOW!”
My arms struggle and stutter, my cheeks shake and tenses as I clamp down on my jaw. My shoulders give and I collapse onto the floor, the sizzling concrete burning my temples I lay there, face down.
