José realized that he was in trouble. He felt limp as a dead fish.

“You ready?” she asked, adjusting her goggles over her eyes. “I have to leave at five.”

“Almost,” he said. He took off his shirt. Then he put it back on when he realized how skinny his chest was. “Yeah, I’m ready. You go first.”

Estela, sizing him up, said, “No, you go first.”

José decided to accept the offer. He figured he needed all the help he could get. He bounced the ball and served it into the ground twice.

“You’re out,” she said, scooping the ball onto her racket and walking briskly to the service box. José wanted to ask why, but he kept quiet. After all, he thought, I am the winner of several tournaments.

“Zero-zero,” Estela said, then served the ball, which ricocheted off the front and side walls. José swung wildly and missed by at least a foot. Then he ran after the ball,