Archive of Our Own ^beta

“But, Aaron, they’re cheating!”

Aaron shook his head. “It’s not cheating, Cam,” he said, biting back his own frustration. “Not technically.”

“They’re stacking!” said Cam, his voice rising. Aaron could see the color mounting in the stocky junior’s cheeks. “It’s fucking obvious that’s what they’re doing!”

The six young men of the Rosie Baughm men’s tennis team huddled on Court 3, where Cam and Dodo had just finished their grueling doubles match. They’d lost in the tiebreak, putting RBU down 0-1 against West Middleton University.

Fern, the freshman, looked up at Aaron. “What’s stacking?” he asked.

“Stacking the deck,” said Aaron. “That freshman we played against? He’s their number one singles player.”

Aaron and Fern had won their match pretty handily. They’d played against Angus Lund—a brawny titan who’d dominated the court, and who Aaron recognized from previous years—and his partner, a freshman, almost as small as Fern and with far less talent.

Fern furrowed his brow. “That guy? But his partner was way better at the net. And on his serve. And… his groundstroke.” That was pretty much all the things a solid player should be good at, Aaron watched Fern realize.

“His partner is number two,” said Aaron.

Cam snorted. “The freshman’s not their top player,” he said. “He’s just playing in the top spot.”

“Why would they do that?” said Fern, looking back at Aaron. “You’re gonna crush him.”

Aaron held up a hand, fingers splayed to the side. He pointed at his pinky finger at the bottom. “If you take your number six guy and put him in your number one spot,” he said, drawing his finger up and slotting it in above his thumb, “what happens to your number one guy?”

“He… goes to number six?”

“No,” said Aaron. “He goes to number two. Then your number two guy goes to number three.” He demonstrated, ticking down his fingers.

Fern’s big brown eyes flicked back and forth as he started to work it out.

Dodo piped up with the conclusion. “They sacrifice one match,” he explained. “They lose their one-singles match, cause Aaron spanks the tar outta the shrimp that should be playing at number six. But then every one of us is stuck playing someone who’s supposed to be ranked higher. So we’re all a little more likely to lose.”

Fern was aghast. “That shouldn’t be allowed!”

“It’s not,” grumbled Cam.

“But it’s hard to enforce,” said Aaron. “How do you tell if one guy’s better than another, really? For all we know, that kid might just be having a bad day.”

Cam rolled his eyes. “Or a bad season,” he said. “Or a bad his entire fucking career.”

It was frustrating, to say the least. Bad sportsmanship, in what was supposed to be a “gentleman’s game.”

But frustrating as it was, resentment wouldn’t help them win. And as the captain, Aaron had a particular responsibility to keep up morale.

That started with his own.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, straightening up out of the huddle. He turned to Fern with an encouraging smile. “Who says you can’t beat their top guy? Their actual top guy,” he clarified, referencing the powerhouse of a senior doing all the work in the match they’d just played. “You just did beat him.”

Fern looked dubious, but he nodded slowly.

“And that goes for everyone,” said Aaron. “Stacking— if that’s what they’re doing—” (it obviously was—) “is a psychological tactic more than anything. So they’re pitting their number two against our number three.” He looked to Cam. “Our number three kicks ass.”

He immediately wished he’d picked a different example. Cam, out of everyone, was sensitive about his position in the lineup, having lost out to a freshman for the number two spot. He matched Aaron’s gaze with a cold one of his own.

Okay. New tactic.

“Anyway,” Aaron said briskly, “we’re not gonna beat them by sitting around moping. We got six more matches to play.” He clapped his hands at the team, shooing them away like squirrels. “Get warmed up! Let’s go!”

Obediently, the team scattered.

Aaron and Fern claimed Court 5. As they began a low-speed rally, Aaron watched the freshman’s form with maybe a slightly more critical eye than usual.

Fern was fast. It was possibly his greatest asset. And he never ran out of energy. You didn’t want to tire yourself out during warmups, of course, but with Fern, Aaron could send him some trickier balls without worrying about wearing the kid out. Fern skipped around the court like a grasshopper, returning each shot directly to Aaron with practiced ease.

He could definitely outrun Lund, Aaron thought. He should be fine.

They were about halfway through the fall season. Aaron had gotten to know Fern reasonably well in that time. He’d been assigned as the freshman’s accountability partner due to Fern’s interest in the tennis team.

Then Fern had actually made the team—securing the number two spot, no less—and now Aaron was his captain as well as his AP.

There was always an adjustment period for new freshmen at RBU. Even once you got used to the idea of spanking as an acceptable—and encouraged—disciplinary measure, most students were at least a little startled by the pervasiveness of the culture. You could hardly traverse the campus without overhearing someone learning a painful lesson, or seeing a Top catch their Bottom by the ear and haul them across the quad.

So far, Fern had taken everything in stride. He was a good kid, overall—not the best student, but good enough, and generally well-liked by his professors.

If anything, he was a little too invested in tennis, and a good portion of Aaron’s AP responsibilities involved making sure the kid got to class the morning after a match, or got his homework done when practice ran late. Aaron had had to spank him a handful of times, and Fern always complied with little pushback; was demure and apologetic, and promised to do better.

Sometimes, Aaron worried it would seem like he was playing favorites with Fern. Aaron didn’t set the lineup, of course. It was Coach Halko who ranked them, and it was natural that the top two singles players would also be doubles partners. But as a result, the two of them spent a lot of time together on the court, and Fern benefited from some one-on-one coaching from his captain that the rest of the team didn’t get.

After their warmup rally had gone on for a while, Aaron caught the ball in his free hand. “Take some overheads,” he said.

Fern jogged obediently up to the net, and Aaron sent him a high-arcing lob.

The ball winked past the late afternoon sun. Fern’s sneakers squeaked against the red-painted surface of the court. He pointed a finger up at the ball, sailing so gently you might have thought time had slowed. Fern planted his feet. His elbow kicked up, and the head of his racket plunged behind him, grazing the white shorts of his uniform.

He swung.

Aaron caught the ball after one bounce. “Don’t hit it back to me,” he called. “Gimme a winner.”

He saw Fern pause. The point of warmups wasn’t to beat your teammate. But if Fern disagreed with him, he didn’t voice it. He gave a curt nod and wrapped both hands around his racket, bobbing on his toes.

Aaron launched him another easy lob.

Fern tracked it with perfect form and sent it whizzing down the line to Aaron’s left.

Aaron stuck out his racket and popped the ball up in the air, catching it with his free hand. “Try again,” he called. “He’s a lefty, like me. Hit to my backhand. Get it past me.”

It was hard to read facial expressions from this distance, but he could see the determination in Fern’s stance as he fell back into his ready position.

Aaron sent him a trickier shot. Lower than the first two, and off to one side.

Fern was on it in an instant, and it was like he had never moved. He cocked the racket back and let it fly, straight down the line on Aaron’s backhand side.

Aaron lunged. Even though he’d known it was coming, he just barely got his racket around it. He sent it sailing back over the net. Another high lob.

Fern smashed it down the opposite line.

Aaron watched it bounce off toward Court 6 with mingled amusement and awe.

“Good,” he said. “Shit, nice topspin, Nono! Did you see that kick?”

He heard Fern give a little chirp of acknowledgment, and Aaron felt some relief. He’d been worried the whole “stacking” conversation had wound the kid up, but Fern seemed to have relaxed.

He jogged up to meet him at the net.

“Hey, listen to me,” said Aaron. “You’re good. Right?”

Fern shrugged with characteristic humility, but Aaron shook his head.

“None of that, Nono. You’re better than this guy, all right? I don’t care if he’s the best one on his team. If you were on their team, you’d be the coach. You get me?”

Fern cracked a grin. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious.”

Aaron canted his head toward the top court, where Angus Lund, the titanic “number two” player, was warming up with the freshman kid he’d been paired with during their doubles match.

“Just play your game,” said Aaron. “Your body knows what to do. Your racket knows what to do. Right?”

Fern nodded. Aaron saw him shift, tightening his grip on the racket.

“And if you lose to this asshole,” he added, “I’ll smack you rosy. Got it?”

“Oh, fuck off,” said Fern, finally laughing outright. “He’s big, but he’s slow. If I can keep him moving, I think I can tire him out.”

“Watch out for his serve,” said Aaron.

“I know.”

“Don’t let him get to the net. Keep him deep.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n.”

Aaron started to say something else, but he was interrupted by the shriek of a whistle two courts down.

He and Fern parted to scoop up the errant balls littering their court, and then they met up with the rest of their team.

They huddled around the tall, pale form of Coach Halko. He had his binder tucked under one arm, and he held a clipboard in the other long-fingered hand. The sun glinted off his glasses as he peered at the boys.

“I take it you all saw the roster,” he said.

“Yes,” said Cam. “They’re fucking stacking, Coach, it’s bullshit.”

“It is what it is,” Halko said calmly. “There’s no point crying over it.” He looked around at the team. “I think our team is better than theirs,” he said. “They must think so, too. So you all need to show them their little strategy isn’t going to work.” He adjusted his glasses and turned to Aaron. “Anything to add, Captain?”

Aaron stood with his arms folded, the racket in one hand dangling at his side. He looked at each of his teammates in turn.

“Tim,” he said, addressing one of the seniors. “What would happen if Prof found out you’d cheated on your Psychology of Switching final?”

Tim was the tallest among them, lanky, with olive-toned skin, shoulder-length brown hair in a low ponytail, and a short beard.

“Ha!” said Tim. “I’d get my ass handed to me on a paddle.”

“That’s right,” said Aaron. “So let’s hand West Middleton University their cheating asses on a fucking tennis racket.”

The boys let up a guttural cheer.

“Peaches on three,” called Aaron, thrusting his hand into the center of the ring. Five more hands, plus one from Coach Halko, piled on top of it. “One… two… three…”

“PEACHES!”

They split up for their respective courts—Aaron, Fern, and Cam for the upper courts, and Theo, Dodo, and Tim for the lower.

Cam still looked moody. As they deposited him at Court 3, and he glowered across the way at his approaching opponent, Cam muttered, “Maybe we should do something about this.”

Aaron stopped in his tracks. “Do what?”

Cam shrugged. “Get them back.”

“Absolutely not,” snapped Aaron. “We’re not stooping to their level, Cam. I mean it.” He reached for Fern, wrapping a hand around the freshman’s curly-haired head. “And don’t say shit like that in front of Nono,” he added. “The kid’s impressionable.”

Fern batted at Aaron’s hand.

Cam didn’t respond; only turned away to meet his opponent at the net.

Aaron watched them shake hands with apparent civility. He heaved a sigh and turned, releasing Fern’s head with a playful shove.

“Don’t listen to anything Cam says,” Aaron grumbled.

Fern blinked up at him, eyes wide in his nut-brown face. “I can’t help it,” he said. “I’m impressionable.”

He yelped when Aaron’s racket popped against the seat of his shorts, and he danced away before Aaron could decide to follow up.

At the top court, Aaron met the freshman he and Fern had faced earlier. He’d looked small next to his behemoth of a partner in the doubles round, but god, he looked even smaller standing all by himself on the court.

They shook hands. The kid’s name was Will Spencer. Aaron hadn’t heard of him, which was unusual. He knew most of the players in their division. Especially the number one players.

That’s because he’s not their number one player.

Aaron drove the thought from his head. It didn’t matter where Will Spencer was supposed to be in the lineup. The fact was, he was here, and Aaron had to beat him. RBU was down 1-0 after the doubles round, and the rest of the team had their work cut out for them. Aaron’s match was the assured victory. He had to win.

So… he did.

Aaron thought it must have been a record. Will didn’t take a single game off of him.

It wasn’t that the kid played badly. He was fast on his feet—not as fast as Fern, but if their suspicions were correct and he should have been playing at #6, Will would have given Tim a run for his money.

It was a shame, Aaron thought.

They shook hands, packed up, and were off the court before anyone else. Most of the other matches had only just started the second set. Some were still in their first.

It was a strange sensation. Aaron’s matches tended to be some of the longer ones on the team. He wasn’t used to being the first one done.

He joined Coach Halko behind the fence, where he was watching Fern’s match with a thoughtful expression. He seemed troubled by something, but he didn’t voice it.

“Well done, Aaron,” said the coach.

Aaron sighed. “He didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“Still. Your serve looked good.”

“Thanks.” Aaron followed Halko’s gaze to the match on Court 2. “How’s Nono doing?”

He glanced at the scoreboard. Fern had taken the first set 6-3, but he was down 1-2 in the second, and his opponent was getting up to serve. That meant Fern had already lost his own service game.

“Lund just broke serve,” said Halko, confirming the situation.

“Nono must have broken… twice in the first set?” said Aaron, calculating quickly.

Halko nodded. “He can do it again.”

Aaron cupped his hands around his mouth. “You got it, Nono!” he called. “Take it back! Let’s go!”

Fern didn’t turn around, but Aaron saw him nod to himself, a sign that he had heard, as he settled into his ready position.

Halko said, “Will you keep an eye on Cam?”

“Sure,” said Aaron. No further explanation was required. The hotheaded junior had needed an eye kept on him for as long as Aaron had known him.

Sure enough, Aaron arrived at Court 3 just as Cam lost a point, and Aaron saw him slam his racket onto the tape of the net in frustration.

He was up 6-5 in the first set, but Aaron watched in dismay as his opponent served two aces in a row to win the game, bringing it to a set tiebreaker.

Cam continued to unravel. Every lost point, he hit something with his racket—his thigh, the net, the sideline bench. Worse, his opponent had noticed his frustration and was taking advantage, tossing trick shots into the corners of the court with deadly precision.

Aaron bit his lip. “Come on, Cam…”

But no dice. Cam lost the tiebreak, and with it, the first set.

He let loose a primal roar of frustration, and, to Aaron’s horror, brought his racket down like a hammer, smashing the head of it against the court.

There was a blip in the surrounding white noise as spectators, players, and coaches alike all glanced up at the disruption.

Coach Halko had noticed, of course, but he stayed where he was, returning his attention to Fern’s match.

Had to be Aaron, then.

In the interim between sets, Aaron strode out onto Court 3. “Cam!”

Cam was not a small guy. At six feet tall, he was second in height only to Tim, and he had nearly twice the muscle mass, most of which was concentrated in the upper half of his body.

Aaron had known Cam long enough not to be intimidated. He marched right up to him and glared up into his face, tinged with pink from the sun.

“How’s your racket?” Aaron demanded.

Cam held it up. It sported a new scuff mark, but it was still in one piece. “Sorry,” said Cam.

“You need to cool it, Cam, do you hear me?” said Aaron. “If you break a racket, Coach will light you up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cam sighed heavily. “Sorry, Aaron. I’m just so… pissed off.”

When wasn’t Cam pissed off?

“I know,” said Aaron. “But you gotta get over it, man. Get out of your head.”

“Yeah,” said Cam. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“You got this.”

They exchanged a fist-bump, and Aaron returned to the sidelines.

As team captain, Aaron had the authority to spank anyone on the team. Technically, that included Cam.

The very notion was ludicrous. Aaron spank Cam? They were the same age, and both designated Tops at RBU. They’d met on this very team as freshmen and played together for two years before Aaron became captain. He had the authority to spank him… but the thought of it seemed so weird.

It didn’t feel great to threaten turning him over to Coach, either.

Thankfully, Cam kept the tantrums at bay for the rest of his match. Maybe because he knew Aaron was watching him.

But he was clearly still frustrated, and it reflected in his game. On an easy approach shot, he slammed the ball into the net. His overheads went wide. Even his serve was off. Aaron shouted encouragements from behind the fence, but it was no use. Cam lost the match in the second set.

On the losing point, Cam gave a “FUCK!” that reverberated throughout the complex, and Aaron tensed. But Cam didn’t smash his racket, this time, and he approached the net to shake his opponent’s hand.

When he joined Aaron on the other side of the fence, Aaron threw an arm around his shoulders. With anyone else, now might be the time for coaching, or even for encouragement… but, he knew, not with Cam.

“Come on,” he said instead. “Let’s see how Nono’s doing.”

They regrouped beside Coach Halko, who was looking grim.

Aaron groaned to see the scoreboard. Fern had lost the second set, and he was trailing in the third. “Come on, Nono,” Aaron muttered. “What’s wrong? He’s panicking?”

Halko nodded slowly. He pointed a slender finger toward the court. “Watch this serve,” he said.

On the far side of the court, Angus Lund bounced the tennis ball a couple of times. He reared back and smashed a flat serve down the center line.

Fern put up a finger. “Out,” he called.

Aaron did a double-take.

Beside him, Cam said, “Huh. Thought that was in.”

So did Aaron.

Lund, however, didn’t contend the call. He took his second serve—slower than the first, but with enough topspin that it bounced high.

Fern pounced on it, sending the ball screaming down the sideline.

Lund returned. The ball sailed up over Fern’s head.

Fern flung up an arm, pointing at the sky. His racket came around, and the ball disappeared into the far corner of the court.

Cam whooped and clapped, and Aaron called, “Atta boy, Nono!”

Lund set up for the next serve. It went to the corner of the box, and Fern sprang like a cat to return it. Lund sent the next shot to the other side of the court, and Fern ran that one down, too.

On a short ball, Fern took an easy cross-court approach and ran up to the net, preparing for the attack.

Lund lobbed it up over the freshman’s head.

“Go, Nono!” called Aaron, as Fern turned on his heel and sprinted for the back line, racing to get there in time to make the return.

The ball landed just inside the line. Fern was fast, but it didn’t look like he was going to make it.

Cam groaned. “Come on, Frosh!” he barked.

Fern slowed to a jog.

He held up a finger.

“Out.”

Aaron felt a weight drop in his gut.

This time, Lund was eyeing the spot where the ball had landed. “You sure?” he called.

“Yep,” chirped Fern, and Aaron felt his stomach twist.

They played out the next few games. As Aaron watched, it became increasingly obvious what was happening. Fern was sneaky about it, but any time the ball was close to the line, he called it out… whether it was or not.

“He’s fudging the calls,” Aaron muttered.

Coach Halko nodded.

Aaron shot a dirty look at Cam. “Let’s get them back,” he quoted. “Look what you did.”

Cam threw up his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t mean it!” he said. “I didn’t tell the dumbass to cheat!”

The ball landed in. By a foot.

“Out,” called Fern.

This time, Lund looked angry. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

Aaron didn’t know what to do. He looked up at Halko, but the coach was simply observing, mouth set in a hard line.

Aaron wrapped his fingers around the links of the fence. Damn it, Nono, what the hell are you doing?

Lund was on to him, now. Aaron hoped this would deter Fern from his idiotic “strategy.”

It did not.

On Fern’s next bad call, Lund called for his coach.

Aaron raked his fingers through his hair as Coach Halko jogged out onto the court to meet the WMU coach.

Fern looked sour. Aaron watched anxiously as the coaches conferred.

It was decided that the WMU coach would stay on Fern’s side and help adjudicate the calls.

Halko offered Fern a clipped encouragement before returning to the sideline.

They proceeded with the match. Fern behaved himself, but he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

He started hitting harder, and as a result, his usual pinpoint accuracy started to wane.

“Shake it off, Nono!” Aaron called after Fern smashed an overhead into the net for the third time in a row.

Fern didn’t shake it off. He gave up point after point, and far too quickly, it was Lund’s match point, and Fern was serving.

His first serve went into the net. He pulled a second ball from his pocket and bounced it.

“Come on, Nono,” Aaron muttered. “Get your second serve in. Don’t lose on a double fault. Come on.”

Fern hit his second serve. They watched with bated breath as it cleared the net and sailed to the far corner of the box, where it landed, close to the line, but just barely…

“Out,” called Lund.

Fern exploded. “No way!” he cried. “That was in. You’re fucking cheating.”

The match was over. Aaron was through the fence in an instant, half-running to meet Fern on the court.

By some miraculous stroke of luck, Fern managed to rein himself in before he did something really stupid. He shook hands with Lund—returning the gruff “Good game” with a little “hmm” that was dangerously close to a scoff—and turned abruptly to the bench to start packing away his things.

When Aaron reached him, Fern looked up from his bag with a glum expression.

“Sorry,” said Fern. His brow was knit in frustration.

Aaron stood over him, taking full advantage of their difference in height. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that,” he said. Fern’s eyes snapped open, suddenly realizing the danger he was in. “Exactly what are you sorry for?”

“I… lost,” said Fern. Sweat shone on his copper-toned cheeks as he stared incredulously up at his captain. “Aaron… you’re not really gonna spank me for losing, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Aaron. “I’m gonna spank you for cheating. Get over here.”

Aaron collared him. Fern made a noise like eek! as Aaron dragged him off the court.

A knowing “Oooooh!” went up from the RBU students in the stands. None of them had heard the conversation, but anyone who had been at this school long enough could read their body language loud and clear.

Fern didn’t struggle to get away, but he did make a series of flustered noises as Aaron hauled him off the court, through the team room, and into the coaching office, where he released him none-too-gently and shut the door behind them.

Fern steadied himself against the coach’s desk, looking like a cornered mouse. “I didn’t cheat!” he squeaked.

“You were throwing calls all over the place,” said Aaron. “Don’t give me that.”

The tennis office was small, but Coach Halko kept it quite orderly, so there was always enough room to maneuver. Aaron pulled a hard-backed chair into the center of the room and took a seat.

Fern chewed his lip. He looked shocked, but some of his earlier anger was still stirring somewhere behind his deep brown eyes.

“Let’s go,” said Aaron, patting his knee. “Bare butt, right here, now.”

Fern gave a whine of protest.

“What?” said Aaron. “Am I missing something? Or were you behaving like an absolute brat that entire third set?”

Fern wrinkled his nose. “Come on, Aaron,” he said weakly, but he shuffled obligingly over to Aaron’s left side.

Aaron reached out, tugged Fern’s white uniform shorts down to his knees, and then took him by the wrist and pulled him forward. Fern groaned, but he didn’t resist as Aaron oriented him over his right knee, threading his left leg up and over the backs of Fern’s ankles.

Aaron rested his sun-tanned hand on Fern’s comparatively pale bottom. The freshman was brown from head to toe after a summer outdoors, but once the winter settled in, Aaron suspected they’d be much closer in skin tone.

“I didn’t take you for a cheater,” said Aaron.

“I didn’t cheat!”

Aaron sighed. “You’d better straighten up, Silva,” he said. “You’re not gonna make this better by lying to me.”

Fern only made a grumpy sound and twitched his shoulders anxiously.

With no further preamble, Aaron started in.

The little office filled with the sounds of ringing smacks. It was faster than Aaron usually took it, and Fern responded at once, bouncing his toes and lowing softly into his arms.

“We don’t cheat on this team,” said Aaron.

Fern groaned through his teeth. “I wasn’t cheating!”

“You’re sticking with that story?” Aaron slowed his pace but hit harder. With each resounding slap, Fern gave a squeaky gasp.

“You saw the ball go in, and you called it out,” said Aaron. “And then you did it again—and again—and again.” He punctuated his words with crisp swats to the center of his target, which was quickly reddening under his hand. “In what world is that not considered cheating?”

“I—” Fern gasped, his breath hitching. “I wasn’t! I didn’t!”

Aaron canted him forward and smacked the tops of his thighs, alternating back and forth, until Fern’s little sounds drew together into one long, “Ahhh- howwww!”

“We,” said Aaron as Fern writhed. “Do not cheat. On this team.”

“Why does it matter?” cried Fern. “I lost anyway!”

“It matters,” said Aaron, “because we do not cheat on this team.”

Fern’s voice was choked with tears. “But they cheated first!”

Aaron returned his focus to Fern’s cheeks. Fern gave a self-pitying moan, and his shoulders started to shake.

“You’re telling me Lund was cheating?”

“Yes!” Fern moaned. “He wasn’t supposed to play me!”

“And that was his decision?”

Fern vocalized a series of short sobs, but otherwise didn’t respond.

Aaron changed his attack pattern. He struck once, with a snap of his wrist that made Fern cry out, and waited several seconds before striking again. With each blow, Fern’s head bobbed up.

“Ah!”

“It sucks that their coach rigged the lineup,” said Aaron.

“Ow!”

“Their coach,” he repeated firmly. “Just for the sake of winning one match. It blows.”

“Aaron— ow!”

“That poor kid I played is gonna have a trash record.”

“Hnngg!”

“And even if Lund himself was cheating, which I seriously doubt he was…”

“Owww!”

“…You could have been the bigger person,” said Aaron. “You could have kept your cool, played your game, and won your match. You could have showed them how much better than them we are.”

Aaron dealt two quick swats, then leaned over to glare down at the dark curls on the back of Fern’s head. “Is that what you did?”

Fern took a couple snuffling breaths. “N-no.”

“No.”

Another volley of blows, right where he’d feel it the next time he sat down, and then Aaron paused to lean over again. “What did you do.”

“I…” Fern took a quivering breath. “I ch-cheated.”

“Why did you cheat?”

“Because I…” He sniffled. “I didn’t think I could win. And it wasn’t fair.”

“I see.”

Aaron started in again. Fern was really crying, now—a soft, pitiable sound, muffled by his arms.

Aaron made it a solid final round, without slowing or letting up until his shoulder—already tired from his own match—began to complain. At last, he relaxed his arm.

“I told you you could beat him,” said Aaron. “Remember?”

“Y-yes.”

“Didn’t you believe me?”

“I… I did, at the time,” said Fern between sobs.

Aaron wrapped his left arm around the bright red bottom, taking Fern’s far hip in his hand.

The other hand he placed between Fern’s shivering shoulders. He rubbed slow circles while the boy got his breathing under control.

When Fern spoke again, it was in a soft voice, but steady. “I thought I could beat him, too,” he said. “But then we started playing, and… he had so much power. He kept acing me. And I kept thinking about how it wasn’t supposed to be me he was playing, it was you. And I just got so… so mad.”

Aaron sighed. He patted Fern’s bottom. “You ready to get up?”

Fern nodded, and Aaron helped him to his feet. He pulled up his shorts. Aaron stood up. He’d barely opened his arms before Fern dove at him, lodging his head in his chest.

“Oof,” said Aaron, and he wrapped the freshman in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Fern said into Aaron’s polo. “I freaked out. I didn’t want to lose.”

Aaron was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You know, Cam was really gunning for that number two spot.”

Fern stilled, listening.

“Number one, even,” said Aaron. “After our captain graduated last year, there was gonna be a new first singles, and it was Cam or me. And I gotta say, Nono, he’s a tough guy to beat. You’ve seen his jump serve. The guy’s a maniac.”

“I know,” said Fern. “He beat me in tryouts. I was surprised Halko ranked me higher.”

Aaron nodded. He pulled away, holding Fern by the shoulders. “So why did Halko rank you higher?”

Fern shook his head, eyes widening at the prospect of insider knowledge.

“Cam’s been third singles since our freshman year,” said Aaron. “He’s good. And as long as he thinks he can win, he absolutely annihilates.” He raised his eyebrows. “But if it’s windy, and his serve isn’t working, or the sun is in his eyes, or you start fucking him over with squib-shots, or somebody looked at him weird on the way to the court…” Aaron shook his head. “It doesn’t take much to get under his skin. And once he starts going downhill, it’s all over. He totally self-destructs.

“You, me, and Cam… There’s not much difference in our ability. Really, there’s not. At this point, it’s all up here.” Aaron tapped his temple. “I know how to keep it together. And you’re playing number two because Halko thought you could keep it together. Better than Cam, anyway.

“You could beat me out for first singles next year. I wouldn’t be surprised at all.” He poked Fern in the chest. “But not by acting the way you did today.”

Fern hung his head. His eyes, already pink from crying, filled with fresh tears. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Aaron, I’m really sorry. I don’t normally… I don’t like to cheat. Really, I don’t.”

“Well,” said Aaron, “prove it. Don’t ever let me catch you losing your shit like that again.”

Fern shook his head fiercely. “I won’t. I swear.”

Aaron ruffled his hair. “Come on,” he said. “Last I checked, we were all tied up. Let’s see how Theo’s doing.”

They made their way back through the team room and out into the bright afternoon sun.

The rest of the team was gathered behind the fence at Court 4. Coach Halko looked up as they approached, and Fern gripped Aaron’s arm in a sudden terror.

“Aaron,” he whispered. “Does Halko know?”

“Ha!” said Aaron. “Does he know? Nono, some of those calls were off by a mile. Of course he knows.”

Aaron locked eyes with Halko. He curled his fingers around Fern’s shoulder and gave a curt nod. Halko’s eyes flicked to Fern, and then he turned back to the ongoing match.

Fern swallowed. “Is he… gonna…?”

“No,” said Aaron. “He knows I got you good.”

Fern gave an embarrassed little humph, but it was half-hearted. Aaron had gotten him pretty good.

While the upper courts were embroiled in their antics, Tim and Dodo had both won their matches, bringing the overall score to 3-3. What had started to feel like certain defeat was suddenly anyone’s game. The match on Court 4 would decide the winner.

A look at the scoreboard explained what was taking them so long. Each of the first two sets had gone to a tiebreak. Theo had taken the first set for RBU. He’d lost the second.

Now, they were at 3-3 in the third, and all eyes were on them.

Aaron pulled Fern up to the fence. “Watch,” he commanded, as Theo got up to serve. “He’s down love-thirty. Watch what he does.”

Theo stepped up to the line. He took a deep breath that seemed to run all the way up and down his body. He shook his head, and his chin-length twists bounced back and forth, flinging tiny droplets of sweat. Then he leaned forward and bounced the ball three times.

“What’s he doing?” Aaron said to Fern.

Fern frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing.”

Theo took in another breath. He looked out at his opponent. Then he crouched down, tossed the ball, and sprang up again, his racket passing in a swift arc over his head.

His opponent got a racket on the ball, but just barely. Theo returned it deep cross-court to win the point.

A roar went up, both from the RBU stands and from the team gathered at the fence.

Aaron nudged Fern as Theo got up to serve again.

They watched as he took a deep breath, shook out his hair, bounced the ball…

“He’s doing the same thing,” murmured Fern. “Like, the exact same thing.”

Aaron smiled. “He has a ritual,” he said. “Lots of players do it. It can help keep your serve consistent. In Theo’s case, I think it’s also helping him reset before the next point. Mentally.”

Theo served again, another smash down the center line. This time, the opponent whiffed completely. The stands went wild.

Theo took two more points in a row to win the game. At the changeover, he stood near his opponent, guzzling Gatorade. He said something to make the other player laugh—a friendly laugh, in spite of the circumstances.

Theo tended to have that effect on people.

They resumed play. Now Theo was on the far side of the court receiving the serve, and even at a distance, they could make out the expression on his face.

He wasn’t smiling, exactly. He looked serious. Not upset. Patient. Calm.

He looked like he was having fun.

After a half-dozen grueling points, Theo’s opponent took the game on a service ace, and the score was tied again at 4-4.

Fern was watching intently. Theo’s reaction to losing the game was only to tap his shoe with his racket and collect the balls for his turn serving.

Theo’s serve was as consistent as ever, and Aaron could tell his opponent was getting frustrated. When Theo won four points in a row to take the game, the WMU kid swore loudly—at least, Aaron assumed it was a swear. He couldn’t be heard over the cheers throughout the complex.

Theo was up 5-4. His opponent double-faulted his first serve, and Aaron knew his guess had been spot-on. The kid had crumbled. All Theo had to do now was keep his cool.

And keep it he did. His opponent scored one point on a service ace, and the next three were long rallies—Theo’s specialty. He took all three points.

Game, set, match. RBU had squeaked it out.

They rushed the court, surrounding Theo in a mob of head rubs and victory swats. Aaron felt a surge of pride for the senior. Theo might only be their number four player, but he was unflappable, and it meant he tended to win.

Coach Halko joined them, a smile on his thin lips. “Well done, boys,” he said. “Way to fight to the end. That’s the kind of determination that wins matches.”

As they ambled off the court, Cam clapped a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Congrats, Theo! You get to spank the brat!”

He whirled around to face Dodo, whose eyes had gone wide. Before he could run, Cam drove his shoulder into the smaller sophomore’s midsection, hoisting him up and over like a sack of potatoes.

“Hey!” Dodo pounded at Cam’s back. “C’mon, man, I didn’t even do anything!”

“He hit me with his serve,” Cam said to Theo, presenting the squirming butt like an offering. “In our doubles match.”

“Not on purpose!” cried Dodo, halfway between laughter and true indignation.

Theo tsked. “You’d better work on that consistency, Dodo. Not a good idea to annoy your Top.”

“He’s not my— ow!”

Theo dealt him a flurry of stiff-handed swats. Dodo yelped and squealed over Cam’s shoulder.

Cam moved on from Theo to parade Dodo’s butt around the team with the pronouncement, “Winners get a smack!”

Tim and Aaron happily obliged with a smattering of swats each.

From the far side of Cam’s broad torso, Dodo’s upside-down head said, “Hey! I won my match!”

“Good point,” said Cam, and he dealt Dodo a ringing slap of his own.

“OW!”

“That one’s from you,” said Cam, grinning, as he finally swung Dodo down to his feet.

Dodo put both hands on his backside and rubbed furiously. “Fern’s the freshman,” he whined in mock indignation. “Why doesn’t he get smacked?”

“Because Fern’s not a brat,” said Aaron. He cast a sidelong look at the freshman, whose reddened bottom was just about visible through the white fabric of his uniform. “Usually,” Aaron added, and Fern’s ears went pink.

After their team meeting, as they headed off to their respective housing, Fern caught up to Aaron.

“Hey,” said the freshman. He looked sheepish. “Um… I’m sorry.”

Aaron smiled. “I know you are, kid.” He threw an arm around Fern’s shoulders, and Fern relaxed gratefully into him. “Did you learn something today?”

“Yep,” said Fern. “If I’m gonna cheat, be sneakier about it. Ow! I’m kidding!”

“Just making sure,” said Aaron, retracting his hand.

Fern rubbed his butt with a sulky expression. “No, really,” he said. “You were right about Theo. You knew he was gonna win, didn’t you?”

Aaron shrugged. “He wins a lot,” he said. “I mostly just wanted you to see his energy.”

“Yeah! I never really noticed, but he really stays calm, doesn’t he?” Fern looked back over his shoulder, where Theo had just said something to make Tim and Cam crack up. “That was awesome. I mean… I guess I see what you mean,” he said. “About keeping cool. And I’ll try. I want to be like that.”

Aaron gave the kid another squeeze, ruffled his hair, and then let him go.

“You have homework tonight?”

Fern made a face. “Reading,” he said.

“Text me when it’s done.”

“I will,” said Fern.

“Tonight,” Aaron added with a raised eyebrow. “Not right before class tomorrow.”

Fern groaned. “I will,” he repeated. “Bye, Dad.”

Aaron grinned after him. “Later, Nono.”

Fern steered off in the direction of the dorms, and Aaron rejoined the upperclassmen. As the four of them headed off campus toward the tennis house, Aaron found himself wondering if this was going to be a new issue with Fern. He had a sudden, dreadful image of spanking the freshman after every remaining match of the season.

He shook his head. Not likely. Fern was a smart kid—at least when it came to tennis. He’d figure it out eventually.

And if he didn’t, well… that’s why he had Aaron.