Chapter Text
Katara always thought that when the moment came, when she finally had her breakthrough, she would fall backwards onto the court, or cry, or do any of the things she’d seen her idols do on TV after pulling off an impossible victory.
But Katara hadn’t done any of that. She hadn’t even realized it was over at first.
“Game, set, match,” the umpire announced into her microphone.
Katara blinked and looked up. Was that really it? She had been locked in, so focused on every individual point and so determined to not think about the score, she hadn’t even realized she had held match point. Much less that she converted it.
But she must’ve. Because the umpire went on to say, “Miss. Waters wins two sets to one. Four to six. Seven to six. Six to one.”
The bleachers erupted in cheers and commotion. She felt light-headed, and like she might vomit. Usually, it was just Katara’s family and a smattering of other spectators watching her play, but today, the bleachers were filled. She hadn’t noticed so many people were here, watching her. Had they been here the whole time?
Katara immediately scanned the crowd for Sokka, who was losing his mind, and looked about ready to jump over the railing and pull her into a bear hug.
“I won?” Katara mouthed the words to Sokka. The umpire said she had won, but she needed him to confirm it.
He nodded back, leaning against the railing, practically bursting at the seams with elation and pride. Her big brother was on the verges of tears. If Katara hadn’t been in a state of shock, she would’ve been crying along with him.
So, it was true. Holy shit. It was true. She did it. Here in Planation, Florida, in the third round of the Orange Bowl, she did it.
Katara Waters, at fifteen years old, had just defeated a seventeen-year-old in a thrilling come-from-behind victory. Before today, she had never beat an opponent ranked inside the Top 50. The seventeen-year-old she had just defeated had won the Junior French Open a few short months ago. She was ranked number 3 in the world among juniors. Katara’s ranking coming in this tournament was 536.
Time froze as Katara breathed in the moment. She breathed in the Floridian air, which felt different now, somehow. Less stuffy than it had been before. Crisper.
Nothing was ever going to be the same for her again.
She smiled and waved to her family. Her brother and her Gran-Gran had been living out of a suitcase with her for the past year to support her tennis career, and they never missed a match. There had been so many low points that they had lived through, and never a high point nearly like this. Sokka was waving at her frantically, trying to get her attention, as if she might forget they were there.
Katara thought about her mom, and how she should’ve been there, how Katara wished that they could celebrate together. Quickly, she banished the thoughts. She promised herself years ago when she started competing that she would never cry on court. And she always cried if she thought about her mom for too long.
She stayed calm the best she could, wiping her sweaty palm off on her skirt. She ran to the net, where her opponent was already waiting. They shared a firm handshake over the net.
The Russian girl had been yelling at her coach throughout the entire third set and received multiple point violations, but to other players, she was the very picture of sportsmanship.
“Good game, Waters.”
“Thanks. You too.”
“I play like shit. We know this. It’s okay,” she said solemnly. She patted Katara on her back as they walked together to the umpire’s chair. “But congratulation. That backhand down the line you have – what the fuck, huh?”
“Um… thanks?”
“Good luck next round.”
“Thanks,” Katara repeated, as if she knew no other word.
Her opponent’s walk slowed to a shuffling, indicating she had more to say. “You know who you play, no?”
“Oh, no. I don’t. I try not to look at draws.”
The Russian laughed. “Silly girl. You still have to play her.”
“Sorry?”
“You will know soon. Good luck.”
“I – um, thanks…?”
But the girl was already gone.
***
It had been a strange interaction at the net, but tennis players were a weird bunch. They said all sorts of strange, ominous things to Katara, so she pushed it out her mind quickly.
She smelled horrible after a match that had dragged on for just north of two hours, but she didn’t bother stopping by the locker room. She was too excited. She shoved a stick of deodorant under her armpits in the bathroom and hoped for the best.
Who cared if it didn’t cover the stench? She smelled like a goddamn champion.
***
The Orange Bowl, a tournament hosted in Southern Florida every winter, was the last major junior tournament before the winter holidays. Besides the Four Junior Slams, it was one of the most prestigious tournaments there was for a player under the age of 18.
This year had been Katara’s first year on the junior circuit, and she had just defeated the World Number Three to make the fourth round. If she could defeat her, why not everybody else? Why shouldn’t Katara win the next round, and the round after that, and after that, and after that?
The kids who won this would grow into adults, and those adults would go on to become legends of the sport. Roger Federer, Björn Borg, Chrissy Evert, to name a few. Katara’s role model, Coco Gauff had won the title back in 2018.
Perhaps this year, it would be Katara Waters.
***
Nobody on the grounds seemed to mind her smell. People she vaguely knew and people she didn’t know at all were patting her on the back, congratulating her on staging the biggest upset the tournament had seen in some time.
Her and her brother walked past the courts to return to the main clubhouse. Sokka, as always after a match, was wearing Katara’s enormous racket bag on his back. Katara, meanwhile, had been struggling not to grin manically since she got off the court.
Like every tennis player, she was addicted to the heady, euphoric high of victory, and she had never in her life had a hit quite like this. She wasn’t sure if she could live without it.
As they were on their way, a local reporter somehow recognized her and asked for a quote. Katara stopped walking, tried again to not look like a maniac, and considered her words. She’d never spoken to a journalist before, and didn’t really have a good quote on hand.
“Um… play hard and play fair?”
The reporter looked at her blankly, and Katara explained, “You wanted a quote? My dad tells me that all the time before matches…”
“No, not that kind of quote! That’s lame.” Sokka butted in. “How about… float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. Mohammad Ali!”
The reporter looked at them as if they were aliens from outer space. “Right. Okay. Uhhh… Katara, how about you just tell me how you feel about pulling off the upset?”
“Amazing! My opponent is an incredible player and I feel really fortunate to have won today,” Katara said. “I still can barely believe it. I don’t know if it’s really registered fully. I can’t wait to tell my dad, and all my friends and family back home. I know they’ll be over the moon.”
“You should believe it. You showed a lot of grit, coming back from down a set and a break against a player far older and more experienced than yourself.”
“Oh, gosh. Thanks.” Katara blushed. She wasn’t yet accustomed to flattery. “I just played hard and kept my head down, even when things weren’t going my way. I’m glad they did, in the end.”
“Just one more question, if I could.”
“Sure.” Katara looked at Sokka. “Give us a minute. I’ll meet up with you in a minute, okay?”
Sokka narrowed his eyes, clearly reluctant to leave his sister alone with a reporter.
“I’ll play nice, I swear,” the reporter promised.
“You better. Make sure to mention me in the write-up!” he called as he walked away.
“Sorry. I know he’s so…”
“Protective?”
“I was going to say annoying, but yeah, we’ll go with that.”
The reported laughed, then asked her question.
“What do you think about your chances next round, where – let’s be honest – it’ll be even more of an uphill battle against the defending champ and number one junior in the world.” She placed the cellphone she was using as a microphone uncomfortably close to Katara’s face. “It must be quite daunting in your shoes, knowing you’re playing Azula Burnside next round.”
“I didn’t know that until just now,” Katara said. “I don’t like to look at draws beforehand. I like to just focus on my game.”
“Ah, sorry. You know Iga Swiatek is the same way?” Before Katara could get a word in, she went on, “didn’t mean to burst your bubble. But I guess you’d be finding pretty soon anyway.”
“It’s okay,” Katara said with a shrug. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow, no matter who I play. I feel really good about my chances.”
The reporter raised a brow, looking slightly perturbed. “Of course, confidence is everything. But… you do know what you’re up against, right?”
Katara did. Vaguely. She’d heard rumblings about Azula and the Burnside dynasty, but she wasn’t all that concerned. She was young and arrogant and playing the best tennis of her life. She genuinely felt as if she might never lose a match again.
“My mom always used to tell me if I just focused on my side of the court and control what I could, I’d find my way. So, that’s what I’ll do. I know Azula Burnside's a great player, but yeah. Honestly, I’m not too worried about it.”
“Huh,” the reporter said, mostly to herself. She tapped her phone to stop recording and laughed to herself. “Well, there we go. Thanks for your time, Katara. I’ll be rooting for you tomorrow.”
Katara thanked her and began to walk away, then immediately turned heel. The reporter glanced up from her phone.
“Sorry, can I just ask something?”
“Of course, honey.” The reporter’s attention was back on her phone; she was absorbed by whatever she was doing and didn’t look up. “What’s up?”
“I’ll be honest, this was my first… thing with the media. I haven’t had any training yet. Did I say something wrong? You looked kind of surprised at what I said.”
The reporter laughed and slipped her phone in her pant pocket. “Ah, no, you did great. You’re going to be everyone’s favourite in the media scrum, let me tell you.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. Look at you. You’re an adorable kid from Alaska, and what’s your junior ranking?”
“Um… before this week, 536.”
“And you’re not too worried about Azula Burnside,” she chuckled. “And what the hell? Why should you be? It’s just a tennis match. So many kids get too caught up in the result. Go out there and have fun.”
Katara smiled and thanked her, eager to find her brother. First it was her opponent at the net, and now this reporter. She was beginning to feel a bit uneasy.
She knew she was playing the World Number One tomorrow. Okay, yes, it was going to be difficult. She knew Azula Burnside by reputation; at just fifteen years old, she was the undisputed junior World Number One, which included all players under the age of eighteen. She had won the Girl’s Australian Open in the winter, the Girl’s Wimbledon in the summer, and the Girl’s U.S. Open in the fall. That was an impressive resume, obviously.
But Katara was no slouch. The girl she beat today won the French Open a few months ago, which was on clay, the surface they were playing on. Clay was Katara’s best surface, and presumably, Azula’s worst, considering it was the only surface she’d never won a slam on.
Sure, she would still be underdog against Azula, but she had been the underdog all tournament. Being the underdog was working out very well for her so far.
So why was everyone acting like she was being put to pasture tomorrow?
***
Sokka was waiting a few courts down, the racket bag brushing against a chainlink fence. He immediately noticed Katara’s troubled expression. “What’s wrong?”
“That Russian girl I just beat and that reporter… I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into things too much, but they’re treating me like I’m a Make-A-Wish kid or something. It’s kind of ticking me off a bit.”
“What are you talking about?”
Before Katara could really get into, a group of American players that Katara was acquainted with – all boys – were passing by.
“Oh, shit! That’s Waters!” one of them shouted.
“Hi, guys.” Katara waved.
Then something very bizarre started happening. The boys started to bark, howl, growl at her. Or in her direction. She wasn’t really sure.
Katara stood there in shock. She had been catcalled before, but being barked at was new.
Sokka was also confused, but immediately on the offensive. He marched up to them, righteously angry. “Stop barking at my sister!”
“It’s the highest form of compliment, dude!” one of them shouted.
“Yeah! It means she’s got that dog in her!” another one agreed. “Down two-love in the second set after dropping the first against the World Number Three, and she fucking won?! That’s some Rocky, eye of the tiger shit right there! Are you kidding me?”
The boys all howled in agreement, all but Aang, the youngest of the group and by far the most talented tennis player. He and Katara had played mixed doubles a few times before – he didn’t look much, but the kid could play. “Hey guys, cut it out. You’re being super weird.”
“It’s okay, Aang,” Katara said. “I… I’m pretty sure it’s a compliment.”
“Of course it is!” another boy said with a laugh. “You’re a fucking American hero, Waters, you know that?”
Katara blushed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that…”
“No, no, you are!” The boy turned to his friends. “She is American, yeah? Alaska’s in the U.S., right?”
“Ever look at a fucking map, dumbass?” The first guy shoved the boy so hard he nearly toppled over. “Waters, ignore that idiot. I was wondering if you wanted to go for a hit later?”
“Ooooh, did you just ask her to hit?!”
Sokka had enough. “Okay, clear out! All of you! Get going!”
The gaggle of boys left without protest, whooping and howling and laughing the whole way. All of them but Aang.
“What is it?” Sokka asked.
“I didn’t bark. Can I stay?” he asked hopefully.
Before Sokka could make his judgment, Katara said, “Sure, Aang. What’s up?”
“Those guys aren’t really my friends,” he said immediately.
“I know. It’s slim pickings with the American guys.”
“It is!” He looked up at her with those big, puppy-dog eyes. “You’re not interested in any of them, are you?”
“Interested?”
“No! I didn’t mean – Like, practicing with them. Or playing doubles with them.”
“Those guys?” Katara laughed. “No, definitely not. I prefer hitting with you.”
Aang looked visibly relieved. “You know, speaking of American guys, I might be playing Azula’s brother in the quarterfinals, if we both get that far. We could be both playing Burnsides this week. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
Katara nodded. “Right. He’s supposed to be pretty good, too. What’s his name, again?”
“Zuko Burnside,” Sokka said in a haughty voice, then scoffed. “God, what a dick. I hope you beat his ass badly, Aang. That guy needs a good ass-kicking.”
“Well, he is kind of a jerk,” he admitted. “I mean, maybe he’s okay off the court. I don’t know-know him, but…”
“He’s got serious anger issues,” Sokka said plainly. “I don’t know how he doesn’t get ejected from every match. Probably ‘cause of his dad and uncle.”
Aang nodded. “I feel bad for his rackets. They never long last before he smashes them.”
“A thankless job,” Sokka agreed.
Aang turned his attention squarely back to Katara. “But hey! I’m sure his sister’s way nicer. She doesn’t smash her rackets, at least. So, can’t be any worse than him. Have you ever played her?”
“No. I don’t know much about her, other than that she’s supposed to be the best. I have to be ready,” she said. “You’re still down to hit later, right?”
Aang’s eyes widened. “Am I? Of course! When? Today? I thought you might not want to because your match ran so long! But I’m free now!”
Katara chuckled at his enthusiasm. “How about in an hour? Not for too long, I don’t want to overdo it, but my serve could use some attention. I also wouldn’t mind hitting some returns, if you’re up for it.”
“I’ll serve for you, and I’ll return to you! Whatever you need, Katara!”
“Great. I’ll text you, okay?”
“Great!”
They stood there for a moment, grinning at each other. Katara was waiting for Aang to take the hint that the conversation was over.
He was not taking it. At last, Sokka coughed conspicuously to dismiss Aang, who finally said goodbye and scampered off in a nervous huff.
“I swear I can see his tail wagging,” Sokka said as they watched him go.
“Sokka…”
“That kid is in love with you.”
“No, he’s not,” Katara said, unconvincingly. He was, but she didn’t have the time or emotional maturity to deal with that right now. “He’s just nice, and respectful towards women. Imagine that.”
“I’m just sayin’, you gotta stop leading him on before it gets out of hand.”
“I am not leading him on. He’s a great hitting partner, and I like practicing with him. There’s nothing else to it.”
“Aang and Katara sittin’ in a tree…”
“Oh, stop it!”
“H – I – T – T – I – N – G!”
***
Finally, they made it to the central clubhouse, which was bustling with activity. Now that Katara knew who her opponent was the next round, she thought she might as well finally take a look at the bracket.
The tournament bracket was enormous and took up the better part of the back wall of the clubhouse. There had been 64 players at the dawn of the tournament. After three rounds, there were 16 remaining.
Katara recognized a few names that were left. Azula, of course, everybody knew her. Mai Ukano, another American in the top ten, was still alive on the opposite side of the draw. If they were to play this week, it wouldn’t be until the finals. She was 6’1” and had a serve that Katara knew would give her fits. Hopefully someone else would take care of her.
Besides that, there wasn’t much to be gleaned. Katara had been grinding it out at lower-level tournaments all year, so she hadn’t crossed paths with most of the top players, who largely stuck to Slams and other major tournaments.
As Katara studied the girl’s section, Sokka was taking pictures and pointing excitedly to her name on the board, which was now slated to play in the fourth round.
“K. Waters! You know that’s my sister,” Sokka exclaimed to the volunteer who was updating the tournament bracket.
“Sokka, stop that,” Katara hissed. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Before he could offer a witty retort, Katara heard her name from across the room.
“Missus Waters!” They turned to see the tournament coordinator, a gregarious fat little man in a Hawaiian shirt, trotting towards them. “Hey, kiddo! What a match, huh? Congrats! You must be feeling on top of the world!”
“Oh! Yes… sir.” Katara could not remember the man’s name for the life of her. She had met so many people this week. “I feel great. Thanks.”
“Now you’re in the Sweet 16! The big leagues.” The coordinator lifted his baseball cap to wipe the sweat off his shiny bald head, before fastening it back on. “We sure as hell ain’t in Alaska anymore, are we, kiddo?”
“No sir, we are not,” Katara said pleasantly.
For example, nobody in Alaska needed to constantly point out that Katara was indeed, an Alaskan. Everybody on the mainland seemed to find this fact endlessly novel.
“Must be cold as hell up there right about now. Can’t be wearing these here tennis skirts up there, can ya, kiddo?”
“No, sir, you can’t,” Katara said.
“For what’s it worth, sir, I think you could pull it off,” Sokka added.
The coordinator let out a deep belly laugh and threw an arm over Sokka. “Ha! Love this guy! Such a riot! Ain’t got nothing to do but tell jokes up there all day and sharpen that wit, huh, son?”
“That is all he’s good for, sir,” Katara said with a chuckle.
“That’s not true!” Sokka said, his voice high. “I’m Katara’s coach, manager, publicist, emotional support, hitting partner. The list goes on. Comic relief is just one of many hats I wear.”
“He’s your hitting partner?” he asked Katara. “I didn’t know you played, son.”
“He doesn’t, but he’s very good at operating ball machines,” Katara said.
“Ha! Love that!” He smacked Sokka on the back, launching him several steps forward. “Now, officially, I can’t be cheering for one kid over the other, but I sure would like to keep y’all a few days longer. What a delight that would be for us, to have some new blood in the mix for the trophy.”
He looked at Katara, who was still nodding and smiling vacantly. “And the way you’re playing right now, kiddo, wouldn’t be a terrible surprise if you still kickin’ around here come finals day.”
“Oh. Wow, that’s very kind, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“So, who you up against tomorrow in the fourth round?”
“Azula Burnside, apparently.”
The coordinator’s face immediately dropped. “Already?! Shit, that can’t be right!”
He waddled over to the giant tournament bracket, frantically searching for K. Waters on the U18 girl’s side.
And there was the match-up for tomorrow, plainly listed on the board. Round Four: K. Waters v. A. Burnside [1]. When he saw it, he let out a great, big sigh. “Well, I’ll be.”
Katara and Sokka exchanged a puzzled look. Finally, Katara spoke. “Is something wrong?”
He turned back to face the kids. The jolly coordinator suddenly seemed like a defeated man. “No, no. It makes sense, actually. You being unseeded and all, of course you’re gonna get some tough matches. But Azula in the fourth round.” He tutted. “Damn shame. But keep your head up and your form higher, and I’d bet my bottom dollar you’ll be seeded this time next year and have a better draw in the next Orange Bowl.”
Katara frowned. This again? “I want to be back here next year, but right now, I’m focused on this year. And on my match tomorrow.”
“Of course you are! You’ll go out there and give it your all, but just know you’ve already had a hell of a run, kid!” The coordinator clapped his hands together. “You got any notion what you’ve accomplished to get here? No coach, no sponsors, no fancy academy behind you, barely any funding, coming down here from Timbuktu with your sweet old nan and your goofy brother!”
Sokka raised an indignant finger. “Hey, I’m not–”
“And you’ve beaten some of the top girls in the entire world!”
Katara was starting to get agitated. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was being condescended to.
“You really think I’m only capable of beating some? I just beat the number 3 seed. Why is everyone acting like I have no chance?”
Sokka shot her a desperate look. “Katara….”
They both ignored him. The coordinator asked, “You ever seen Azula play, kiddo?”
“Look, I know she’s the Number One and she won two years in a row, but I’m not some random 4.0 from down the road,” Katara said heatedly. “I’m not afraid of her just because she’s won a lot of matches and has a famous dad or whatever.”
“Ah. I get it. You definitely ain’t seen her play then.” The coordinator belly laughed again. Katara wanted to whack his jiggling potbelly that was poking out from under his shirt with her racket, but Sokka had a firm hand on her shoulder, anchoring her.
“Listen Missus Waters, I like you and your style a whole lot. I see you got that fire burning in you. I’ve seen parents drain hundreds of thousands into their little girl’s tennis, only to find out you can’t buy the sort of drive you already got. You’re a fine tennis player, and I ain’t got no doubts you’re gonna be one for a damn long time.”
“And what about Azula? What is she?”
“Shit. Well, I’ll tell you what. When you play her tomorrow, you can be the judge of that.”
“But you think she’s better than me? How? I’ve never even played her.”
He chuckled, as if Katara were asking absurd questions. That was all the confirmation Katara needed. Nobody believed she had a shot tomorrow. That pissed her off like few things could. Her nostrils flared.
All these compliments, just to insult me, she thought.
“Don’t feel too bad, kiddo. I’ve been running this tournament a long time, and there ain’t be a player of Azula’s level to play here since her daddy was her age and passed through here, all those years ago.”
Sokka’s grip on her shoulder tightened, reminding Katara of what she already knew. As young and prideful as she was, she knew better than to start a verbal altercation with a high-ranking tennis official. She needed allies, not enemies, and she had already been too testy with him.
She calmed herself down and nodded. “Thank you, sir. And I’m sorry if I got a bit… defensive.”
“Ha! No need for all that, little lady. I didn’t mean no offense, but taking issue to a slight like that – it’s the mark of a champion. They're a prickly bunch, let me tell you! I would know, I’ve met many of them.” He stretched out a hand to Katara, which Katara forced herself to shake. “Hell of a tournament, kiddo. Congratulations, seriously. Have a Merry Christmas, too. Y’all heading back home for the holidays?”
“That’s the plan,” Katara said.
“Good. I bet you’re in for a white, white Christmas all the way up there. Alaska, of all damn places to be from!”
Neither Katara nor Sokka had any clue what to say to that.
“Take it easy, you hear? My advice is keep up your fitness, but don’t even think about pickin’ up a racket for a week or more. God knows you deserve the rest.”
“Right. Good idea.” Get the hell out of my face, she wanted to add, as she smiled profusely.
“Happy holidays!” Sokka shouted as he walked away.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Katara turned to her brother. “What the hell was that?! How dare he talk like I’ve already lost? Merry Christmas?” Under her breath, she whisper-yelled, “who does he think he is?! Who does he think I am?”
“I know, I know. He was a dick.”
“Does he think I just hopped on a plane from Anchorage and showed up two weeks ago for qualifying?! That I’m just happy to be here?”
“Well, I mean–”
“I earned my spot here! I’m not here by accident. Did you hear him?! Acting like I should be thankful for the opportunity to lose to Azula.”
“Yeah, but Azula is–”
“Azula is a tennis player! That’s all she is. And tennis players lose all the time, Sokka!”
Katara was more yelling than whispering by now. People were beginning to take notice.
“Katara, listen, you gotta chill–”
“How dare you tell me to chill? I am so chill. I am perfectly chill!” She jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest. “Why don’t you chill?”
Before he could respond, Katara had her phone out, and was typing furiously.
“Katara. What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I’m texting Aang. We’re going to hit.”
“You just played a two-hour match, and you haven’t eaten since–”
“I’m not tired. And I’m not hungry,” she said stubbornly. “What I am is sick.”
“Sick? With what? Did you eat something bad?”
“Sick of people not taking me seriously!” she snapped. “Now give me my racket bag.”
“Katara…”
“Give. Me. My. Bag.”
“Okay. Just chill–” Wisely, he stopped himself from finishing his sentence when he saw her expression. He slid off the bag without further comment.
The moment Katara had it fastened to her back, she was off, and promised she’d text him later. Aang was finding them a practice court, and she didn’t have a second to lose.
***
Two hours later, Katara was still on the tournament grounds, this time in the locker room. She was hunched over in a shower stall, her muscles aching in agony as the water coursed down her body. She had been in here for in an inappropriately long amount of time for a public shower, not even washing, but just standing.
There was a shower back at the motel she was staying at, but the water pressure here was so much better. And Katara was so beat she thought she might fall asleep standing up.
She wondered, not for the first time, if she pushed herself too hard. She was fit, even relative to other tennis players, but she was playing the World Number One tomorrow.
She had only meant to practice serves and returns with Aang, but she was so full of energy and adrenaline and anger that they had wound up playing a practice set.
It was tight, but ultimately, Aang won 7-5, and Katara had run herself ragged keeping pace with Aang. Their bouts were usually close, and occasionally Katara won, but overall Aang was a better player than her.
And perhaps Azula was, as well. She was more experienced than Katara; that much was undeniable. But the better, more experienced player didn’t always win. Katara had the element of surprise. Azula probably had no clue who she was or what she played like.
Meanwhile, everybody knew Azula, and what her deal was. She played the exact same way her brother, father, and uncle played. A Burnside hit the ball very hard – that was basically it. Katara knew she couldn’t outhit Azula – she couldn’t outhit most of the top players, really – but she could outsmart them, outrun them, outwork them. Those were her strengths.
Katara’s game was fluid and free-flowing, and she knew how to ride the waves her opponent set. That was who she was. That was how she won today, and it would be how she would win tomorrow.
Finally, Katara emerged from the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. Drying her hair always took forever; it was so thick and her arm always got sore from having to hold the blow-dryer up for so long.
After ten or so minutes, Katara had her hair blow-dried and had just finishing wrapping it in a towel, when she heard the locker room’s door swing open and the sound of chatter. Katara frowned. There were no more singles matches today, but perhaps it was some doubles players?
Katara peered out of the bathroom to see who was talking and was startled to catch a glimpse of Mai Ukano’s jet-black hair. Mai was one of the singles players still alive in the tournament, and a top ten junior player. Katara vaguely recognized the girl she was with, even though they had never spoke. It was Mai’s doubles partner, Ty Lee.
Katara had walked by one of their doubles matches in a previous round. She guessed they must’ve still been in, which wasn’t surprising when she gave it some thought. Ty Lee was supposed to be one of the best junior doubles players in the country. She had won a junior doubles slam with Mai. Or perhaps it was with Azula? They were all friends, she was pretty sure. The rich, pretty, popular American girls of the junior circuit. Girls like that tended to flock together.
Katara hurried to get out of sight, and sat on the shower bench. She wondered if she should go up to them, or at least do something to let them know that she was here, within earshot. The acoustics in the locker room were such that it was basically impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when there was only one source of noise in the room.
But Katara was also wrapped in a towel with her hair tied up, and she was playing Azula tomorrow. And she might play Mai on Sunday, if they both made it to the finals. She didn’t want them to think she was weird, coming out of the shower half-naked to introduce herself.
She sat on the bench, paralyzed with indecision but at least safely out of sight. She half-listened to the conversation, which meandered from topic to topic. Mostly Ty Lee talked at Mai, who occasionally offered a dry injection. The topics ranged from boys they knew to the academy they attended to all the teachers and coaches they wanted to stick it to it. Little of it was of interest to Katara.
That was, until the topic shifted to Azula.
“Who’s Azula playing tomorrow again?”
“Katara Waters has that honor,” Mai responded dryly.
Katara perked up at the mention of her own name. She had permission to eavesdrop if she were talking about her, right? She left the shower stall and crept closer to the lockers to hear better.
“Ooooh! That’s the Alaska girl with the cute brother and grandma, right? I’ve seen her around!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are we going to watch?”
“What’s the point? Azula’s going to wipe the floor with her in less than half an hour. I have to prepare for my match, and you’re hitting with me.”
Katara’s blood boiled. She was so sick of being underestimated. How sweet it would be, to best Azula enroute to beating Mai in the finals.
“Oh, come on! You’re obviously gonna win anyway, and I wanna watch them play! I’ve never seen Katara up close, but like, she’s sooo pretty, don’t you think?”
Katara blushed and bit her lip.
“I guess.”
“I bet she’s super chill, too. Isn’t she like, an Eskimo or something?”
“No,” Mai said flatly. “And you can’t that word anymore. It’s derogatory.”
“Chill is derogatory?”
There was a beat of silence before Ty Lee spoke again.
“What? Seriously?!” The slam of a locker being shut. “I didn’t know! Gosh, that’s so embarrassing! Imagine if she heard me calling her that.”
Yeah, imagine that, Katara thought.
“Thanks for telling me, Mai-Mai. You’re so smart.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Her and her family really are cute, though. I bet Azula thinks so too, even if she wouldn’t say it.”
“I promise you Azula doesn’t think about how cute her opponents are.”
“It’s so sad they have to play each other. She’s never gonna want to hang out with us after that.”
“What? You’re trying to recruit her?”
“Why not? She’s pretty. We’re pretty. She’s good at tennis. We’re good at tennis. She’s me and Azula’s age. It seems like a match to me!” Ty Lee exclaimed. “Ooh, we could do doubles! It’ll be better than one of us having to play with Zuko.”
“Azula doesn’t do doubles anymore. It’s beneath her, remember?”
“That’s just a phase. I hope. Is it just me or has she been such a sour puss lately?”
“Lately?” Mai snickered. “Do you mean birth to present?”
“You’re one to talk! And she has gotten worse lately.”
“I don’t know, Ty Lee. She’s the Junior Number One. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, I guess.”
“Huh?”
“She’s probably just stressed out,” Mai said, translating the proverb into words her friend would understand.
“Oh. I guess you’re right.” Another locker slammed shut. “Okay! I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Finally.”
They were still chatting as they walked out of the locker room, the sound of their voices and footsteps gradually receding. Katara moved closer, straining to hear.
“You think I can get ‘Zula will go easy on her? If I say pretty please? Give her a game or something, just to be nice?”
“Is that a joke? Azula couldn’t if she tried.”
“Azula could do anything if she really wanted to.”
“Go easy? Nah. Can’t do it. She doesn’t know how.”
And then the door swung open, and their voices mingled with the dozens of others from the hallway.
And then, echoing silence.