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against one of the varsity players for a set.
    My turn. The coach fired off round after round of balls from where she stood next to the ball basket at and across the net, making me run after countless forehands and backhands. Then she hit a drop shot that brought me to the net and struck volley after volley at me. After several minutes, she waved me over.
    “Nice work, Cassidy. You have a great backhand, and your instincts at net are impressive.”
    I didn’t respond, but kept my eyes on her. I’m not good with compliments. They make me feel I’m under a microscope, and I’m uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
    “I want you to go hit with one of the varsity players.” Coach called out across the courts. “Sarah!” Sarah looked up, then jogged over to the fence separating us. “I want you to play a set with Cassidy here.”
    “Sure, Coach.” Sarah glanced at me and quickly tossed her head to the side, indicating that I should join her on court two.
    The coach addressed me. “Sarah’s one of our top singles players so don’t worry about the score. I’ve got a lot of girls to watch today, but I’ll be able to catch some of your play. Just do your best.”
    I hustled off the court, around the fence and onto court two, and stopped on the opposite side of the net from Sarah, relieved at the court-length distance between us. I felt it would help me concentrate better, though I didn’t understand why.
    Sarah gazed at me for several moments, as if taking stock, making me uncomfortable under her inspection. Finally, she lightly hit to me the two balls she was holding. “You serve first.”
    Perfect. My serve was the worst part of my game. Net play, baseline play, return of serve—all fine. My first serve was hard and flat, with zero spin. It would be fine if it actually went in, but it only did so about half the time. My second serve was the epitome of wimpiness. I tapped it in like a third-grader.
    I walked to the baseline and watched Sarah across the net, shifting her weight from side to side, anticipating my serve. Sure enough, it slammed into the net. I hit my weak second serve, which landed a good foot inside the service box, and could do little but stand on my heels as Sarah attacked it on the rise, pounding it with devastating effect down the backhand line for a clean winner. Love-fifteen.
    From the ad court, I attempted a down-the-line first serve. It was hard and fast, but well wide. On my second serve, I tapped it to her backhand, which she again attacked and drilled for a winner.
    “Nice shot,” I said. Love-thirty. This was going well.
    Sarah walked quickly to the even court without looking at me until she was ready to return. I tossed the ball, bounding into the court as I smashed my racket strings against it, aiming for a serve that would pull her wide to the right, and watched in relief as it fell in. Sarah couldn’t get more than her frame on the ball. Fifteen-thirty. Back in the ad court, I decided to go down the line to her forehand. The serve caught the line, and she stretched far for the forehand return, hitting it well wide. Thirty-all. All business, Sarah walked again to the even court, tugging at a few racket strings before raising her eyes to await my serve. This point and the next ended as the first two had, with my second serve coming into play and Sarah taking full advantage, striking each for outright winners. She won the game, and we switched sides.
    Return of serve was one of the better aspects of my game. Sarah had a strong serve, but I was able to return each one, forcing us into some long baseline rallies. Serving at deuce, she went wide to my forehand and ran to the net for a serve-and-volley. I returned down the line for a winner. At my ad, she missed her first serve and spun the second serve wide to my backhand. Taking it on the rise, I hit a crosscourt return she could barely get her racket on and won the game.
    “Nice,” she said, clapping her left hand on the strings of her