Page 4 of Break Point
“I know.”
“You’ll be lucky if they let you play next year,” he adds, sucking on his yellow drink.
Panic swirls around me, making my spine stiffen for a second, but I shake the thought away. He’s overreacting. I’ve seen other players do worse and walk away with a modest fine, but they’re men, so having a temper and acting out is “more acceptable.”
Commendable, even.
“I saidI know.” I shove my shoulder against Robbie’s while trying to overhear Dad’s conversation with Drew. He’s not telling me anything new. My inability to control myself doesn’t affect my self-awareness.
My father nods at whatever Drew’s telling him with bunched-up brows, his lips pressed into a line.
It’s bad news.
No … it’sterriblenews.
They both walk in my direction, and I look at them from the corner of my eye, taking a longer swig of my blueberry Sportaid. Angry tears are stillrolling down my cheeks. I can’t help it. I’ve never known how to shut down my emotions or reel them in.
“Okay,Bamm-Bamm,” Drew says as a creative opening statement. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you. We’re safe with Adidas because they’re obsessed with you, but the guys at Neel Ultex are peeing blood after your littledemonstrationout there with their precious little racket.”
Drew takes out his cigarette box. “You don’t mind, do you, kid?”
He lights one up inside the locker room, leaving no room for me to complain.
I give him a blank stare and a raised brow because I’m not in the mood to remind him that my alveoli are wide open after physically exerting myself, and that secondhand smoke might do more damage to me than the actual smoking will do to him.
But we both know he’s going to smoke it anyway.
“Neel Ultex wants to drop you,” Drew finally says, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He exhales upward, but I cough anyway to let him know how annoying it is. I can’t help myself.
“If you ask me, I’d say it’s great publicity,” he shrugs, “since that thing is intact after you tried to annihilate it. But that’s not what they’re aiming for marketing-wise, I’m afraid.”
I was expecting them to drop me. It comes with the territory of being:“A Mercurial Hot-Mouthed Teen.”That’s from another headline I woke up to a few days after my birthday during the Australian Open earlier this year.
“Sportaid?” I ask Drew, lifting my drink.
“No thanks, I’m good,” he replies, lifting a hand in front of him.
“Jesus, Drew,” Dad says, his tone exasperated. “She meantSportaid.” He lifts his brows to see if Drew will catch on.
“Ah, shit. You’re right.” Drew chuckles under his breath. “I gotta give Lou a call. They might be willing to overlook this,” he considers, his eyes fixed on his phone’s screen as he types. “They didn’t mind when Dane Gomes accidentally uploaded a controversial video on Facebook last month with a hook?—”
“We all heard about the video,” Dad cuts him off before he finishes that sentence. “No need to bring it up.”
Robbie chuckles, and I sigh because I don’t want to ask the nextquestion, but I have to. So I toss my Sportaid on the bench beside me and harden up. “What about Rolex?”
Drew looks up from his screen and parts his lips to reply.
“They’re out,” Dad says, looking away. The disappointment in his face slashes my gut.
No…
I lean my head back and pull my knees against my chest.
“Eh. Not exactly, Joe,” Drew interjects, lifting a finger. “They said they’re willing to temporarilyhold offon the ambassadorship.” He waves his cigarette in an undulating motion in front of him. “They want to observe you during the tour next year.” He takes a longer drag.
“O-kay?” I reply, not wanting to get my hopes up. “That’s good, right?”
Everyone stares at me in silence.
