Chapter Ten: "Ruining His Peace."

ONCE UPON A TIME I loved tournaments.

Tournaments had once brought excitement—the good kind. The type of excitement that came because I wanted to get out there and play.

Yet today, the type of excitement I was feeling wasn't familiar. In fact, the bagel I had eaten this morning in haste when I ran out of the front door was about to come back up.

On an October weekend where I could have been stuck in my room, breaking pencil after pencil over a lengthy assignment, I stood in the lobby of an arena in some small town near Niagara Falls. The loud chatter coming from my team was riddled with contrasting emotions before collecting and falling into silence as they took in the scene before them. My lips formed an 'O' as I looked around at the pictures of people that played for national teams along the walls. At the excited buzz in the atmosphere, people already with racquets in their hands, rush to get from one part of the arena to the other for the opening welcome ceremonies.

My hands within my pockets of the purple jackets I had waited weeks for rolled into fists as the crowd seemed to only get bigger.

And bigger.

"Jesus Christ," Rhett muttered as he passed me, some members following suit as they moved in the direction of where our coaches were speaking up ahead.

When I had overheard the conversations on the bus we used from Jasper Bay to come here, someone had mentioned teams from various places in Canada had come. And America.

I caught sight of a particular team's yellow jackets. I was basically squinting at them when Liya, who had been standing next to me 'ooh'ing and 'ahh'ing, let out a small laugh. "Don't tell me you think their jackets are nice," I said under my breath.

"Maybe it's their school colors." She suggested before we started walking through the crowd, catching up to our team.

Herringway's colors were purple and yellow. So why did they choose to make such an awful decision?

"How many players are here?" I asked. I knew the number because it had circulated throughout the bus ride but it was still too big for me to believe. People brushed by us with light smiles and squealing. Then there was me, a ball of nerves running on a few hours of sleep because of said nerves and feeling like if someone made the wrong comment towards me, I was going to snap.

A sigh left me as I rubbed my eyes, but Liya didn't seem to notice my lack of energy when she shot me a curious look. "How many do you think?"

My stomach twisted. Too many. "How many in women's singles?" I asked instead.

"Larine..." She trailed off, looking at me with caution. Now she could notice how nervous I was. Was it the way my gaze was darting across the crowd or did she have X-ray vision that allowed her to see that my nails were now making a home into my palm within my pockets?

Before I could say a word, Rhett who had been walking in front of us, twisted to look at me. "Why are you asking her? You know. You're guaranteed one full set of matches this morning and then after that, if you lose, you're out," He narrowed his eyes at me in a way that may have been menacing but in reality, it looked like whatever he had eaten for breakfast was about to come back up. Good to know I wasn't alone. But at the same time, this wasn't Rhett's first rodeo. "You know there are 128 women competing in your section, Larine."

128 sounded terrifying.

It shouldn't have sounded like a strange number.

If anything, the number, while making me nervous more than I realized, only seemed to make me grit my teeth before I took a deep breath. Just get through today. If I got through today, to the round of 32, then I'd be okay. I'd be able to play tomorrow and not sit in the stands overlooking the remaining games with the rest of the crowd of...

Losers.

I hated being many things and being someone that lost was high on my 'I hate this' list.

Rhett had redirected his snarky tone onto someone else. Liya had started typing on her phone, looking at ease and content and everything I wasn't. Glancing around wasn't even helping as Coach Rosen made some random announcement about where we were sitting and where we should go after getting our player ID cards for the day.

Why did the first tournament we had to attend have to be one of the biggest?

As if my question needed to be answered, Nikko, who had been jabbing arms with Alan to the point where Alan had cracked a grin as Coach Rosen talked more and more, caught my eye across the room. I hadn't had time to speak to him because he almost ran late to catch the bus this morning. Although it didn't stop him from greeting everyone before he had taken an empty spot at the back before knocking out for the entire journey.

The words of the hotel, a curfew that likely wouldn't be taken seriously, and where to meet at the end of the day for dinner floated in the air. Yet Nikko didn't pay attention, his eyebrows furrowing as he examined me in a way that made me shift on my feet. 

'What?' I mouthed from across the room.

'You okay?' To make sure I understood him, Nikko made the ok sign with his fingers. Three fingers up. His index and thumb touched.

I nodded, pulling on a reassuring smile that completely contrasted the turmoil in my stomach.

He frowned. Okay, he didn't seem to believe me.

'You okay?' I mouthed in return, returning the same gesture.

He gave me a shrug, his lips mouthing words that I was certain meant 'could be better'.

Immediately, my eyebrows knit in confusion. Was whatever happened linked to why he almost missed the bus this morning?

It wasn't as if he could answer. From what I could tell Coach Rosen's mini-speech was almost up and Peters was about to say his thoughts as well, which like the ending of many of our practices, was for sure to end up being a closure of two sentences. 

But the weighted gaze Nikko held in my direction even as everything around us went on gave me the impression he was waiting for me to explain next. That he was giving me the open to explain what was going on with me for him to possibly continue the conversation on what was going on with him.

That was Nikko.

And for some reason that only managed to add to the anxiety settled deep within my chest.

Quickly, I averted my gaze. I had games to play. I had games to win. I turned to Liya who had stopped texting on her phone, her hands behind her back and the C on her purple jacket looking like it belonged on armor. "You ready?" I asked her.

She met my eyes. "Ready."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes flew open.

I held in another long and agonized groan as the events from a few hours ago replayed in my head. I couldn't physically do that out loud without sounding like I was ruining the shared bathroom. Two of my other teammates were on the other side of one door and I was going to let them hear me. Liya, who was in the other bedroom her and I were sharing, would definitely ask me if I was okay. So there was no way I was going to vocalize my frustration. 

Instead, my hands gripped the marble on the counter of the sink. My reflection gave the impression that I was stable. Like a scene of mistakes wasn't piling over and over in my head. Like I wasn't finding more issues as the minutes went by. I pinched my eyes close yet again.

The stupid last game. I breathed out sharply, my nostrils flaring as I brushed my hair over my shoulders.

Too close.

The score in my last match had been 13-11. My opponent, a girl from Utah, shouldn't have gotten so close to me. But I was sloppy in ending play after a long day of games, stretching, and waiting. A day with nervousness rattling my bones up and an annoying voice in my head that I'd been meaning to suppress before remembering that it was me—it'd been a long day.

Reluctantly I pulled myself out of the bathroom, forcing a smile through the small conversation with Liya before we said goodnight to each other and crawled into bed. She was out in less than five minutes. I, on the other hand, had my sight fixed on the ceiling. 

Sleep didn't come. Every time I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, the time seemed to move fast and slow at the same time.

One second it was 11 PM. Then it was 12. Then 12: 30.

Liya and I had to be downstairs at 9 AM. I planned on getting 8 hours but at the rate that I was lying here, thinking and thinking and—

I wasn't going to be sleeping until at least 3 AM.

I glanced over at the clock one more time, wondering how many times I would look at it throughout the night while Liya slept on and on in her quiet and peaceful slumber. She was so at ease today and the way she owned the court in the games I caught a glimpse of was supernatural. I'd assume as captain, it came naturally. She had won each of her games with ease too and her brightness hadn't dimmed throughout it all.

Liya was the epitome of optimism. However, I hid my thundercloud throughout dinner. Until we both had said goodnight to each other. A part of me envied her ability to do so. Terribly. It seemed so nice and so easy to just go to sleep after a day like today. After game after game, winning with a smile on your face and not being pressed with constant thoughts.

Twisting carefully enough to not make a sound, I shoved my face into my pillow. I hated being like this.

For the next few minutes—it could have been hours really—I made sure I didn't look at the clock no matter how hard I wanted to. Instead, I wallowed in silence.

Could I have stopped that shot? I could have won that game in the second round. I didn't, losing 13-11. I won the third game 13-11. But still, it was all too close. 

Move faster. You can move faster. Larine, fucking move.

I turned on my back, shutting my eyes.

This will pass.

No, it won't.

Forget it. If I wasn't going to sleep, I at least was going to grab something from the vending machine down the hallway. I barely ate the food I had ordered that we all got at dinner earlier. I leaped out of bed, making sure not to disturb Liya. Slipping into the slides I had managed to bring, I threw my blue University of British Columbia sweater over and stepped outside my hotel room—only to bump into someone.

Nikko's eyes rounded in surprise. His dark hair was wet, pushed away from his face to expose his features. He was wearing gym shorts and a grey hoodie and like always there was a goofy grin on his face, "What are you doing?" He whispered.

I gently closed the door behind me. "What am I doing? You're standing in front of my room. What are you doing?" I shot back.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to go explore the hotel," Nikko wiggled his phone. "You didn't answer your phone."

"I turned it off," I whispered, pulling him further down the hall to not interrupt Liya. "Explore?"

"Rhett didn't want to come with me," He explained as I led him over to the vending machine. "He was doing yoga and said I was ruining his peace."

I surveyed the options in front of me, trying not to look at him. A part of me was glad that his arms were covered for my sanity. And annoyed. "Were you ruining his peace?"

"No, I wasn't."

I clicked the button for the large granola bars, buying two. I faced him after I tapped my debit card to pay for them, raising an eyebrow before collecting the bars. The chances of Nikko bouncing off the walls, and bothering Rhett were more likely than Rhett being able to do his yoga in the middle of the night.

Nikko raised his hands in defense. "If he doesn't want to explore then that's his loss." I chuckled, offering him a granola bar to which he shook his head.  As we made our way inside the elevator, he asked: "What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," I answered. "Why were you up and why was Rhett doing yoga?"

"He has rituals he has to do before matches. It's weird."

"It's not weird," I confessed, glancing down at my sweater. I had slept it in last night and on the bus ride here. Hell, years ago I slept in it before every single game I had. We all had our little things. "You probably have one: knocking on girls' doors and taking them around hotels."

"First of all, I didn't knock."

I let out a breathy laugh as the doors opened. "Anyways, why were you awake?"

"I couldn't fall asleep." He admitted. Wordlessly, we slipped past the concierge desk. We didn't speak a word to each other as we peeked from room to room, Nikko shot me impressed looks as we looked through the fitness room and a room with a pool table and darts up on the wall. Nikko led the way as we glanced at any available door before he saw another cracked open. The indoor pool.

He didn't hesitate to slip through the door. I followed as he moved closer to the blue water. He yanked his shoes and socks off, and took a seat on the edge of the pool, both of his feet now engulfed in the deep water. It wasn't until I had taken a seat next to him, cross-legged that he spoke up, "Congrats again," He said. "On making it."

"You too." 

"I watched your 32 game," He said, rolling up the sleeves on his arms. And there it was. Completely unnecessary and yet my gaze lingered on the action far more than I wanted it to.

Wait, he what? "Y-you did?"

He nodded once, before giving me a sideways glance, "You didn't look happy when it ended."

I didn't say anything. There was no point. I bent over slightly in the pool, my reflection distorted along with the man next to me. "You don't want to talk about it?" He asked. 

"No." I quipped, my hands coming and locking on the back of my neck. I tilted my head back, forcing myself to look away from our reflection. And from the easy look of acceptance on his face.

"I can't sleep because Justin is having money issues." He suddenly said.

My arms slackened as I peeked at him. Who was Justin? No, he's mentioned a Justin before—"Your cousin Justin?"

Nikko nodded, "He's a personal fitness trainer but his clients have stopped seeing him because he hasn't been putting in the work."

"He's the one that has kids, right?" Nikko nodded again, his gaze still on our reflection below. "This has happened before, hasn't it?"

"Jus doesn't stick to one job," Nikko sighed. The exhaustion he had seemed to be fighting since he was outside my hotel room appeared to have caught up with him. "He finds a liking for something and then...well, he gives up. Claims it doesn't make him happy anymore. Like, when I was in high school, he started a baking business. He needed help to keep it afloat. I deferred uni and worked for him for a year."

I blinked. Wait. "You're a year older?"

He gave me a small smile. "Technically only four months older than you."

True but—I shook my head. His age wasn't the focus of the conversation. "You worked for him for a year...and then what?"

"And then he decided his next dream was to work in construction. He quit that, had my niece, and decided to be a personal trainer."

Oh.

"He doesn't sound stable, at least career-wise." Switching careers seemed fine but the grimace on Nikko's face clearly said otherwise.

"He's not," Nikko's lips pressed in a grim line. "And now I have his wife in a group chat with my cousins getting fed up for the future of their kids if he doesn't get his head out of his ass."

"And you're worried...about him. And her."

"And their kids." He added, taking out his phone from that brown case. He showed me a picture of two kids, both grinning at the cameras. They both couldn't have been more than 4. "Eric and I have tried to talk to him about it but he doesn't want to hear us. I want to drive all the way to 'Sauga and knock some sense into the man."

Nikko scowled. The sight on his face was always one of the strangest things to see for someone so cheery.

Glancing down at his hands, I realized his fingers, nails closely cropped were bitten down to the nub. As if the internal anxiety that he had kept up all day had been expressed through different methods. Then again, he did say that his cousins were like his siblings. He grew up with them and saw them the same way I saw Paula. He had deferred university to help someone in his family. Of course, it was on his mind for longer than he needed it to be.

I also realized, in the silence, that his part of the conversation was over. Glancing down at our reflection once again, he didn't appear curious. Only thoughtful. Yet I already knew it was my turn to lead this conversation in any direction.

I gave him the way he wanted. "My last match wasn't good."

"Oh," Nikko's eyebrows went up. "So now, we're talking about your grumpiness."

I made a face, "I am not grumpy and we never said this conversation was going to be about me being grumpy. I said my last game wasn't good."

"And it's made you grumpy," he said. "You didn't talk to anyone at dinner."

To be fair, no one really spoke to me other than to tell me congrats and even then, it was brief and short. Liya did, but Liya was captain. She had to speak to everyone. "I was tired." I opted to say.

"You were upset, L," He murmured. "And I don't think you should have been."

"I don't think you can dictate when or not I should be upset." I couldn't help but mutter.

He didn't take his eyes off of me, his gaze steady, "I wasn't."

"It sounded like you were, and it wasn't needed."

"You can be mad at what I said, L, but that's not going to stop me from voicing my opinion."

There it was again. The bite back.

I didn't think I'd ever get used to it.

But he didn't...he didn't deserve the attitude I knew I was giving him. I didn't want to hear it. And yet I inquired, "And what's your opinion?"

"That today you've gone up against people who have played squash for longer than you have. Who have touched that court more times than you can imagine for God knows how long and have trained for longer than you have. The fact that you've entered top 32 is already a win. And I don't think that you should be upset over it because of one game that could have gone south."

Because of one game that could have gone south. So he knew exactly what had happened. How I could have lost the match entirely and been out of the running.

As if he could ready my thought, Nikko sighed, "Peters was with me when I watched the game, you know?"

What? If I knew one of our coaches had been watching the game—well, I didn't know what I would have done. Maybe I would have been even more rattled. Peters wasn't a hard man to miss either. He was a tall man with an authoritative presence and a few words.

"He said you're going to go far this season with more practice and that it's a shame that you tried out only in your last year," Nikko explained. "He could tell that you were upset by the last game which is why he said more than one sentence today at dinner and some of his words were directed towards you but you were too busy sulking to notice."

I ignored the jab. Peters said that it was a shame. It was. Even though I was nervous on the court today, playing competitively as the day had gone on before my final match felt good. It was familiar. It was a shame that I had held back from doing this in the first place. "What did he say?" I asked, my voice scratchy.

"He said that you should take what you get from each match, every mistake, and correct them for the next one," Nikko shook his head, running a hand through his hair. A scoff of disbelief left his lips. "I don't know how many more voices of praise you need for you to believe that you're doing a good job, L."

I didn't know either.

Before I got the chance to respond, Nikko glanced down at the unopened granola bars in my hand. "Now please eat something. You barely touched anything but water at dinner."

In silence, I did as he asked, opening the package and chewing on the giant granola bar. Minutes passed by as I slowly ate, as his restlessness took over and he failed to stop moving his legs in the water. I didn't think Nikko liked silence either because he suddenly asked me, "What's your goal? For the tournament?"

"To win," I said immediately even though I knew the chances of that were low. Not impossible. Just low with my amount of training and experience.

He knew that too. Not because he didn't believe in me, judging by his sure eyes, but definitely because he was aware I wasn't there yet. "Now, what's your real goal?"

"Top ten," I admitted. "Top ten gets me a free t-shirt if no medal."

Nikko let out a breathy laugh, "You and fucking clothes."

"The t-shirts looked cute."

"The t-shirts looked cute!" He mocked, the two of us sharing a laugh. "You practically think everything looks cute." 

The slight tension between the two of us cracked when I took off a piece of the granola bar to hand to him. He took it with ease, a little less daunting. A little more Nikko. "The jackets are cute," I mumbled.

He chuckled, "Sure." In between bites and Nikko mindlessly moved his leg in the water. I went back to the original topic, my voice coming out softer than intended, "What are you going to do about Justin if it's preventing you from sleeping well?"

"What are you going to do if you don't reach your goal?" He asked back, his voice just as quiet. As if we weren't the only two people in the room. "Even after what I just told you?"

The two of us had been down these paths before. Him with his cousin and me with a sport.

To answer his question: I didn't know.

I had a feeling his response might have been the same.