Page 67 of The New Guy
After the first five points, we’ve drawn a crowd. “Come on, Castro!” his teammates call. “Fight for it, man!”
The next serve puts us into a long rally. I lose count of how many times we send the ball back and forth across the net, but it’s a big number. Then he hits one a little long, and I’m able to chop it.
The underspin does him in, and the ball drops short of where he expects it.
Everyone hoots.
We battle onward, but Castro loses the next point, too. “Oh God, I’ve miscalculated,” the hockey player says from the other end of the table. “The young padawan cannot defeat his master.”
I win the next point with a smile, and a little bit of luck. I’m playing great tonight, and he’s probably just a little drunk and a little tired. It isn’t even a fair fight.
But it’s still fun. I win the game without too much bother.
“So who’s willing to play Gavin next?” the team captain asks. “Let’s put some money on it—with a cut to charity, of course. Jimbo—you’re the bookie. I’ve got a hundred bucks on whichever one of you is brave enough to play him. Who’s it gonna be?”
“Me!” Hudson steps up to the table. “I got this.”
“Youdon’tgot this,” I say automatically, because smack talk is my second language.
“Ooooh,” says the crowd.
“Burn,” says Castro with a snicker. “I’ll put a hundred on you, New Guy. Don’t let hockey down, bro.”
“I’ve got a hundred on Newgate!” someone else calls.
Then I hear the head coach’s voice. “Two hundred on the trainer.”
The players roar.
“Aw, man,” Hudson says, shaking his head. “Where is the love? Coin toss, Jimbo.”
He wins the toss, and I brace myself for Hudson’s serve. And it’s fiery. My guy comes out swinging. I bear down and drive it back to him.
Neither of us is fooling around, here. I win the first point, but he takes the next. And that’s how it works for the next fifteen minutes—a tight, sweaty game. But then I ace him on a serve, and he curses.
Someone runs off to retrieve the ball, and we both grab our drinks for a swig.
Then his eyes flip up to mine, and he smiles at me.
I put my cold beer bottle to my forehead and smile back. And I realize I went a couple of years without having this kind of fun in my life. Uprooting my little family to take the job in Brooklyn was a big gamble. But it’s done a lot for me. It kick-started my career. It gave me a new set of interesting friends.
And it brought me face-to-face with the man across the ping-pong table—the one who’s gotten under my skin every day since I met him across a different ping-pong table.
Suddenly, the most outrageous thought pops into my brain.Everyone can play ping-pong at our wedding.
Okay, what?No. I smack that thought aside, the way you smack a mosquito. I’m being ridiculous. The novelty of the road trip is obviously messing with my brain.
It’s Hudson’s serve, and I get back into my groove. This is probably the longest ping-pong game of my life. Neither one of us is willing to turn down the pressure. We’ve drawn a crowd, with players upping their bets on every point. It’s loud and rowdy and I’m sweating like a marathoner.
And I wouldn’t change a thing. Even as my hand slips a little on the paddle, making my return a little clumsy, I’m still having the time of my life.
Hudson capitalizes, though. He wins the point, and the score is eleven all.
“You got this, Gavin!”
“Smash ‘im, New Guy!”
We lock eyes, and his serve is lightning fast. I return it in a flash. The rally is furious, but then he kills me with a backhand shot—and does it beautifully.
