Page 396 of Bad Prince

---

I pivot, plant, jump off-balance, and hit cross-court with everything I have.

The ball clips fingertips and falls in.

24–23.

Match point.

The crowd is on its feet now.

I’m breathing through my mouth.

Sweat runs down my temple.

My ponytail is half-falling out and my knees feel like they’ve been held together by tape and rage.

Lila tosses me the ball from the service line.

“End it,” she says.

I look at her.

Then at the court.

Then at the stands.

Then somewhere inward, toward the place where fear and longing and ambition all knot together so tightly they become one thing.

I toss.

Jump.

Serve.

They get a piece of it.

Not enough.

The return comes back messy.

Mari keeps it alive.

Lila sets outside.

I approach.

Everything slows.

My feet know where to go before my brain does.

Left.

Right.

Plant.

I rise.

Their block comes with me.

---