The Ghost

The morning light was unforgiving.

Maya woke up alone on the couch with a blanket thrown over her. Ezra was in the kitchenette, making coffee. His back was stiff.

"Ezra?"

He turned around. The walls were back up.

"Hydrate," he said, shoving a glass of water across the counter. "We lost a day of training. We need to double up on film study."

"Are we not going to talk about last night?" Maya asked, sitting up, pulling the blanket around her.

"It was a mistake," Ezra said flatly. "I'm your coach. I crossed a line. It won't happen again. It’s a distraction."

Maya felt the rejection like a physical blow. "A distraction? Is that all I am?"

"You have a tournament in two weeks, Maya. Focus."

Before she could scream at him, a sleek black Mercedes crunched up the gravel driveway.

Maya froze. She knew that car.

The door opened, and a man in a crisp linen suit stepped out. He looked out of place in the dusty lot, shielding his eyes from the sun with disdain.

"Father," Maya whispered.

Mr. Lin didn't knock. He walked into the bungalow as if he owned it. He looked at Maya’s disheveled hair, then at Ezra.

"So this is the 'training camp' you told me about," Mr. Lin said, his voice smooth and cold. "A shack in the desert with a washed-up cripple."

"Dad, don't," Maya stood up. "Ezra is helping me."

"Is he?" Mr. Lin looked at Ezra with a sneer. "Because I checked the stats. You haven't played a match in six weeks. You're doing... breathing exercises? While your ranking plummets?"

"We're rebuilding her foundation," Ezra said, stepping forward. He put himself between Maya and her father. "She was playing on anger. It burns out."

"Anger wins titles," Mr. Lin snapped. He turned to Maya. "I came to tell you that I secured a wild card spot for you in the exhibition match in San Diego tomorrow. Against Katerina Volkov."

"Volkov?" Maya’s eyes widened. She was a top-ten player.

"You're not ready," Ezra said instantly. "Your shoulder is tight. You haven't played a set yet."

"If she doesn't play, she shows weakness," Mr. Lin said. "If you want me to even consider coming to Santa Monica, Maya, you will play tomorrow. And you will win."

He walked out, leaving the ultimatum hanging in the air.

Maya looked at Ezra.

"Don't do it," Ezra said. "He’s baiting you. Stick to the plan."

"The plan isn't working!" Maya shouted, the old panic clawing at her throat. Her father’s disappointment was a weight she couldn't bear. "You're holding me back because you're scared I'll surpass you. You're jealous."

It was a low blow. She knew it as soon as she said it.

Ezra’s face went blank. "If you play that match, Maya, you're on your own."

"Fine," Maya grabbed her gear bag. "I don't need you. I never did."

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