It took about ten minutes to adjust to the smaller court, racquet, and three walls. I had two distinct bruises on my left arm from taking solid hits that stung. Brack had several more than I did. He finally figured out I was aiming at his balls and protected them. He was smarter than his muscle-bound jock looks indicated.
I was down by four, dripping sweat, and trying to keep my frustration under control. He was good and had obviously played for a while. I was better than this, though. No one had a backhand like I did. It didn't matter that this wasn't my game. I owned every court I walked onto.
I made a perfect serve and Brack missed. Another serve and the battle was on. I scored again. Two down. Brack took my next point away and it was his serve. I jumped to the right and backhanded the ball. He missed. My serve.
I shut him down after that and won the game.
