The sun is beating down on my shoulders and back. The weatherman claimed this morning that the temperature would only reach 81 degrees, but I beg to differ. I feel as if I’ve stepped onto the Sahara Desert. And amidst all this, I must serve the tennis ball in my first ever tournament.

Typically, I would choose to receive first because I’m not the best at serving yet. But as we warmed up before the match, I knew this girl had a wicked serve and I did not want to be stuck hitting that on my first try at a real tennis tournament. So I took a chance and chose to serve.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and smear it all over my skirt. My nerves kick in, and my first serve barely makes it to the net. I breathe deeply and talk to myself as my coach told me to do.

“Come on Mary. You’ve served before. You can serve well. You know you can.”

I bounce the tennis ball while in the background I can hear the slight patter of my opponent’s feet hitting the hard surface of the court. She’s ready. She’s prepared for my serve. But you are supposed to play to the server’s pace. So I make her move a little and give myself several more seconds to serve. Finally, I launch the ball into the air.

Across from me, my opponent has now quickened and widened her jump. The ball gets taken over by gravity, and I proceed to swing my racket through. The ball sails over the net into the far corner of the service box. I ace it. My opponent trips into the corner calling to me, “Good shot.” And my confidence level skyrockets.