which had rolled out of the court onto the grass. He returned it to Estela and said, “Nice, Estela.”

“Stinger.”

“Yeah, Stinger.”

Estela called out, “One-nothing.” She wound up again and sizzled the ball right at José’s feet. He swung and hit his kneecap with the racket. The pain jolted him like a shock of electricity as he went down, holding his knee and grimacing. Estela chased the ball for him.

“Can you play?” she asked.

He nodded as he rose to his feet.

“Two-nothing,” she said, again bouncing the ball off the front wall, this time slower so that José swung before the ball reached his racket. He swung again, the racket spinning like a whirlwind. The ball sailed slowly past him. He had to chase it down again.

“I guess that’s three to nothing, right?” José said lamely.

“Right.” Estela lobbed the ball. As it came down, José swung hard. His racket slipped from his fingers and flew out of the court.

“Oops,” he said. The racket was caught on the top of the chain-link fence surrounding the courts. For a moment José thought of pulling the racket down and running home. But he had to stick it out. Anyway, he thought, my backpack is at the court.

“Four-nothing,” Estela called when she saw José running back to the court, his chest heaving. She served again, and José,