‘No, I am going back to Madrid tonight to stay with my parents. But I wanted to make sure I will see you in Miami?’

‘Miami? Yes, of course. Miami.’ She glanced at Dan, who was clearly trying to listen without appearing like he was listening.

‘Charlotte? I am sending you kisses. I must go now, but I wanted to tell you that I miss you.’

Charlie gripped the phone so hard it almost slipped from her hand. ‘I mi—’ She remembered Dan at the very last second. ‘Same here,’ she said. ‘Keep in touch.’

She was still staring at the phone in disbelief when Dan said, ‘It’s okay, Charlie. I’m not going to tell anyone.’

‘Tell anyone what?’ she snapped. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

Dan shrugged. ‘Whatever you say. In case you haven’t noticed, I do travel with you pretty much every day of every week. I’ve known for a long time. So has Todd. We’re not blind. But it’s none of my business. I just wanted to reassure you that I haven’t – and would never – breathe a word to anyone else.’

‘You’re right, it’s none of your business. Whatever you think you know, you don’t.’

Dan held his hands up. ‘Loud and clear.’

They both watched as Todd walked toward them, phone pressed to his ear, looking extremely displeased.

‘Move, people!’ he shouted, and it took a beat for Dan and Charlie to realize he was yelling at them.

The practice that followed was brutal. Charlie could barely concentrate: the combination of the fatigue from the match she’d just played, the call from Marco, and the ensuing weirdness with Dan resulted in Charlie’s making Todd even more furious than usual.

‘Where the hell are you?’ he screamed. ‘You look like you’re here, but you’re not mentally present. Where is your concentration right now? What are you thinking about, getting your nails done? A little shopping? Maybe a facial? Buy yourself something pretty? I, CHARLOTTE SILVER, NEED YOU TO FUCKING FOCUS!’

Charlie could feel her face redden. She tried not to notice the gathering crowd around her court, all of whom could hear every word Todd yelled.

Dan drilled her backhand. For just a moment, Charlie thought she felt a small twinge in her left wrist.

‘Low to high!’ Todd barked.

It went on like that for two hours: Dan slamming shots at her; Todd screaming like a deranged lunatic; Charlie trying desperately to move her feet, turn her shoulders, hit low to high, follow through, switch her grip, get light on her feet, keep her eye on the ball. Charlie was bouncing on her toes at the net, trying to volley even more aggressively than she normally did. She wasn’t allowed a break until she’d successfully returned ten in a row. After a half hour, her record was six. Dan smashed another one straight down the line, and Charlie didn’t even get her racket on it.

‘Where the fuck is your head?’ Todd yelled from the sidelines. ‘Are you blind? Drunk? Or just lazy?’

Charlie knew enough not to answer him, instead lunging for the next three and actually managing to hit a winner on the fourth. ‘Does that count?’ she asked, staggering over to the sideline for water.

‘Get back out there,’ Todd growled, snatching away her water bottle before she could reach for it. ‘You haven’t earned your break yet.’

Charlie nodded and sprinted back to the baseline. She wanted to kill Todd, but she knew this was how he operated. Charlie had known it going in: Todd liked to break his players down and rebuild them into winners. Champions. So, despite being exhausted and thirsty and feeling like she wanted to sit right down on that hot court and cry, she got back up on her toes. She bounced and moved and dived, circled back for overheads to smash crosscourt and hurried back to pick up drop shots. By some miracle she returned nine net shots in a row, and finally – finally! – she didn’t psych herself out on a relatively easy backhand volley, putting it away with more finesse than power, a pretty shot that hit the perfect angle.

Todd nodded. That was as close to approval as he would ever get, but to Charlie it was as though he’d skywritten his congratulations.

‘Pretty freaking great, huh?’ she said, nudging him with the head of her racket. ‘Admit it, you’re impressed.’

‘I’ll be impressed when you win Indian Wells next week and Miami after that. Until then, I want you aggressive. You’re still too tentative. You’re hitting like a girl.’

‘I am a girl,’ Charlie said.

Todd glared at her.

‘Natalya isn’t remotely masculine, and she’s ranked number one,’ Charlie said, scrambling to follow Todd off the court. Dan followed behind them, carrying both his racket bag and Charlie’s.

The crowd of students clapped for her when she walked off the court, a towel draped across her neck. Sweat rivulets ran down from her forehead.

‘You know she’s ranked, like, among the top women in the world, right?’ one girl said to her friend, who appeared impressed.

‘She’s smokin’,’ Charlie heard a guy half whisper to someone, although she pretended she hadn’t heard.

‘If you’re into man thighs,’ his friend replied.

‘Dude, she can hear you!’

‘What? I’m not saying anything I’m sure she doesn’t know. Great hair, great rack, but big legs. It happens.’

‘Your friend’s right,’ Charlie said loudly to the second guy. He looked like he wasn’t a day older than seventeen, with hairy arms and a skimpy goatee. ‘I can hear you.’

‘Ignore ’em, Charlie. You rock!’ a voice called from somewhere in the crowd, which had parted for her to pass.

Charlie flashed a quick smile of thanks, but she had to run to keep up with Todd as they walked toward the locker rooms.

‘Natalya is tough as nails and doesn’t let anyone get away with anything. That’s what I’m talking about,’ Todd said as he led them past the crowd. They were alone now, just the three of them, but still Charlie noticed students staring at her as she walked past.

She lowered her voice. ‘I work my ass off day and night. I haven’t had a cookie or a burger or a goddamn drink in longer than I can remember. I’m on that court and in that gym longer than anyone you can possibly—’

Todd cut her off. ‘I take no issue with your work ethic. It’s decent. And your strokes are mostly there. They’re not perfect, but you’ve got more god-given natural talent than anyone deserves, and that one-handed backhand of yours is a fucking blow-away. What you don’t have – and what you very badly need if you have any hope of making the super-big leagues – is the mental focus. Not news, is it? I told you as much when we first met. I know you want it – I wouldn’t have agreed to work for a girl if I didn’t see at least that – but wanting it and fucking going for it are two different things. I need Cutthroat Charlie. Brutal Charlie. Step-on-Your-Own-Mother-to-Get-Ahead Charlie. It’s my job to get her here. It’s your job to use her – and win with her – once I’ve created her. Think you can do that?’