Tumbling Down

I had mixed feelings about playing a night match. The higher ranking I moved to, the more night games I played. Some players saw them as a gift, I hated them. By the time I got out on court at seven thirty, I was tired, I just wanted to get off and go to bed but that wouldn’t happen until at least four am which really disrupted my whole routine. Being a professional tennis player made routine and structure essential to me. For the past ten years my life has been a revolving door or eating, sleeping and playing. It was a lifestyle which involved sacrifice as well as great reward.

I closed my eyes as the driver took me down to Santa Monica pier where I was to do some press for the WTA. The road was bumpy my head roughly hitting the window was I tried to sleep.

“C’mon Brooke, act at least half alive” my coach Matt laughed. He was almost more of a friend than a coach. He was two years older than me but about five years more immature. We met while we were both at John Bollittieri’s Tennis Academy in Florida, he was a good enough play who was amazing at reading the play but didn’t have enough natural talent to make it to the ATP tour, two years after leaving Bollittieri he became my coach.

“I hate press” I grumbled.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

A mini tennis court was set up on Santa Monica pier overlooking the water. I was hoping they had a large stock of balls as I was sure that a few would be hit well past the pier. Although I had moved from New York to California three years ago, I was referred to as a Californian native and was there for the home favourite for the tournament. None of the other players were from California so it only seemed fitting for me to be down in sunny Santa Monica, dressed head to toe in Nike and all ready for a publicity hit up with a local celebrity, and here in LA that could be absolutely anyone.

I arrived at the pier to cheers and the odd “Who the hell is she? I thought Serena Williams was coming”. I smiled thankfully at the crowd and began warming up in preparation for the match .Seeing as it was a mini court and Matt was going pretty easy on me I was thankful that my knee did not being to hurt. I had been spotted leaving the specialists and news had gotten out in regards to my knee. Tonight’s opponent would now know about it, and use my possible injury to their advantage.

After my introduction the host who look surprisingly similar to Holly Madison came on court to present the celebrity. I was interested to see who I was playing against. Was it a proper celebrity like...Brad Pitt? Or some nobody such as Paris Hilton’s new BFF?

“Santa Monica, I present to you the challenger to tennis superstar Brooklyn Andreson...
Brendon Urie?”

My initial thought was ‘who the hell is he?’. However, once he emerged from the crowd I knew exactly who he was. He was my new neighbour, yes, the one from last night.

He walked up to the net, I wasn’t sure whether to make a joke about his attire or not, after all, he may have actually been serious. Brendon was wearing an oversize Chicago Bulls jersey which was tucked into a pair of red, black and white checked shorts. He was wearing pale blue sweatbands on each arm and one around his forehead further messing up his untidy hair. The closer we approached to each other I noticed he was already sweating and we hadn’t even started playing yet.

I smirked, shaking his hand “So Mr. Urie, what’s your claim to fame?”

He shrugged his shoulders, a small smile forming on his lips “Well, I don’t want to brag or anything, but y’know, I slept with Tiger Woods.”

“Oh my God! So did I!” I cried sarcastically “No, seriously, what do you do...apart from live next door to me?”

“I’m in a band” he said simply

“Oh really, who?” I asked curiously, I didn’t mind my music and couldn’t help but wonder if one of his albums might be buried somewhere in my 12 000 song iPhone.

“Umm, Panic at the Disco.”

I wracked though my brain for a few seconds “Never heard of them” I said slowly.

He laughed to himself “Yes you have, you know ‘It’s nine in the afternoon, your eyes are the size of the moon?’”

I bit down on my lip “...no, sorry”

“No, trust me” he smiled “you have heard of us.”

“Gee cocky much?” I laughed at him.

“Closing the God damn door no” he sung.

“Oh my God” I shrieked “You’re that “I signed in haven’t you people ever-””

“It’s chimed” he corrected.

I raised my eyebrows at “Who uses the word chimed these days?” and walked back to the baseline.

I had to admit, I thought to myself as I jogged towards the net, although I wasn’t trying my hardest Brendon did but up a pretty good fight. In the end he lost 6-4 and his short had fallen down on numerous occasions. He was a good sport about it though, parading around court in nothing but his boxers for all the crowd to see.

“Miss Anderson!” a number of reported ran after me as I tried to make a quick escape from the press “How is the knee for tonight’s match.”

I smiled graciously “As you all know I was at the specialist yesterday, he said everything seemed to be fine.”

“Are you confident going into tonight’s match?”

I smiled at them all as I got into the waiting car “as confident as I’ll ever be.”