Every year the number one singles player at UCLA could choose a charity for the Celebrity Exhibition and invite a celebrity opponent. Because it was LA, most of the players chose actors or musicians, which didn’t make for particularly great tennis, but who wouldn’t want to see Bradley Cooper running all over the court in shorts and no shirt, sweaty and grinning and playing to the crowd? Last year she’d read Reese Witherspoon had been invited to play. The first year Charlie had gotten to choose the celeb, she didn’t hesitate for a second: Martina Navratilova graciously accepted and, even though she was thirty-five years Charlie’s senior, managed to take a set off her before Charlie beat her in the next two. It had been the most thrilling match of her entire life, playing against a living legend. Charlie was light-years from Navratilova in terms of record and experience, but she hoped Yuan felt a tiny bit the same way.

‘Don’t give her more than a game in either set,’ Todd whispered in her ear as Charlie adjusted her headband.

‘I’m not “giving” her any games,’ Charlie said.

‘Double bagels is humiliating.’

‘Not as humiliating as knowing someone’s handing you a game.’ She was almost relieved when Yuan played nearly perfect tennis and took a game off Charlie in the first set and two from her in the second. The girl was petite, but she was mighty. And the students went crazy cheering for both of them.

‘That was awesome, thank you,’ Yuan said as they shook hands.

‘You hit beautifully,’ Charlie said. ‘You ever think of joining us?’

Yuan looked taken aback. ‘Turning pro? Me? No way.’

‘You’re definitely good enough,’ Charlie said, collapsing into the courtside chair beside the net. ‘Better than I was when I played here.’

‘Thanks, that’s nice to hear. But I want my degree. I want to study medicine and go home to China one day to practice. Tennis is great, and I love it, but it’s a means to an end.’

‘I hear you,’ Charlie said, suddenly feeling awkward. She never felt her college dropout status more acutely than when someone else pointedly and confidently made the choice to finish her degree.

Todd came over to the girls and clapped Yuan on the shoulder. ‘Good match. You probably could have gotten another game off Charlie if you’d taken a few more risks, especially with your serve, which isn’t half bad. When you’re playing someone so much better, it’s not enough just to keep the ball in play.’ He turned to Charlie. ‘You, on the other hand, were lazy!’ he all but shouted. ‘You were dragging ass on the baseline, and we’re going to fix that right now. Meet me on Court Six in ten minutes for practice. I sent Dan to pick up some protein, but no dinner until we’re finished.’

The girls watched as he picked up Charlie’s racket bag and walked off the court.

‘And that is why I don’t play professionally,’ Yuan laughed.

‘Oh, you get used to it. Without hours of classes a day, there’s plenty of time for practice. It’s not so bad,’ Charlie said, although she knew that wasn’t at all what Yuan meant.

‘Anyway, thanks again. And good luck the rest of the season. I’ll totally be cheering for you!’ Yuan gave Charlie a hug and bounded off the court, no doubt headed for a hot shower and then probably a night spent with friends, either at a movie or studying, maybe even a college bar. Charlie watched her wistfully.

Dan was waiting for her on Court Six with a prepacked box he’d picked up at Starbucks containing a hard-boiled egg, some apple slices, and a stale biscuit with a packet of peanut butter. She downed the box of chocolate milk first, not even bothering to use the straw, and then devoured everything else.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That was lifesaving.’

‘Anytime. I was going to get you a latte, but Todd would have put a bullet in my head.’

Charlie did a snort laugh. ‘Yeah, probably not worth the murder risk. But thanks for thinking of it.’

‘You looked great out there,’ Dan said, motioning toward the first court. ‘I mean, uh, your game looked really solid, and I think you’re making a lot of progress with—’

Charlie’s phone rang. The caller ID was a jumbled bunch of run-on numbers, which only meant it was someone – anyone – calling from abroad. Charlie gave Dan an apologetic look and answered the call.

‘Charlotte?’ The voice and accent were unmistakable, despite the fact that she had never before spoken to him on the phone. Was that possible? In nearly a year? Only texts and emails and Snapchats, but never a real, live, actual conversation?

‘Marco?’ she heard herself ask, although of course she knew who it was. Next to her, Dan recoiled. She knew she was being rude – she’d interrupted him, after all – but this was Marco. ‘Where are you?’

‘Hi, hi. I am calling from Rio. You are in California, yes?’

‘Yes, I just finished an exhibition match in LA. I’ll be here practicing until I head to Palm Springs …’

He remembered, didn’t he? Where they’d first hooked up a year earlier after that bottle of champagne and the skinny-dipping? That chevron print rug in front of the fire? Breakfast together the next morning right in the restaurant because they were all alone and had nothing to hide? Charlie wondered what he would think of the fact that she now had an image consultant who was champing at the bit to tell the world they were sleeping together ‘for the optics’ of it.

‘Yes, that is why I call. To let you know that I had to pull out of Indian Wells. I won’t see you next week.’

To say Charlie was disappointed was an understatement – in her mind, she’d already set the stage for round two, and it looked a whole lot like their first meeting – but another part of her was delighted that he even thought to call her before she’d read the update on the daily news digest sent out by the ATP. Was it a high bar for a guy with whom you were having sex? Not exactly. Did she sort of hate herself for being grateful that the man she was sleeping with had picked up the phone for the first time in a year? Yes. But she reminded herself that this was what casual looked like.

‘Is it the shoulder?’

‘Sí, it is strained. Nothing so serious, but the physios are advising two weeks of rest so I do not do more damage.’

‘Ugh, I’m sorry. Are you staying in Rio?’