Jomar woke up the next day with sore arms, sunburned ears, and a vague memory of Coach Tonton yelling, "FOLLOW THROUGH LIKE YOU FOLLOW LOVE!" while Mira served him into oblivion.
He still wasn't sure if yesterday counted as a tryout or an initiation ritual. Either way, he'd been told to come back at 4 PM "if he wanted to become a true wielder of the racket."
So there he was again, standing awkwardly at the edge of the court, the only first-year boy surrounded by chaos—and coconut husks.
"Look who survived," Mira said, tossing him a sweat towel. "Didn't think your soul would come back."
"It barely did," he replied, rubbing his shoulder. "I feel like my bones are trying to divorce each other."
Mira smirked. "You'll get used to it. Or break. One or the other."
"Reassuring."
She pointed at the far bench. "Come on. Time to meet the disaster cast."
The tennis team of Gubat Coastal High was made up of eight members—plus Coach Tonton, who counted as three personalities by himself.
🟢 Singles A – Alfonzo "Fonz" del Rosario
A fourth-year with shaggy hair, mirrored shades, and a love for indie rock and slow-motion entrances. He believed tennis was 90% attitude, 10% skill. Known for serving while dramatically quoting sad song lyrics.
"Yo," Fonz said, raising his racket like a salute. "Welcome to the court of lost causes."
"Uh. Thanks?" Jomar replied.
"You'll fit in. You've got confused energy."
🟢 Singles B – Tara Yu
Short. Sharp. Sarcastic. Always wore black wristbands and carried two rackets "just in case one of them needs revenge." No one knew why she played Singles B when she could probably crush Fonz, Mira, and Coach Tonton at once.
"You're the new guy," she said, eyes scanning Jomar like a barcode. "Don't step on my side of the court. Ever."
"Got it."
"Ever."
He nodded vigorously.
🟢 Doubles – Dom and Derek
Twin brothers, fourth-years, identical in every way except Dom always wore yellow socks and Derek always whistled anime intros.
They finished each other's sentences, moved like mirror images, and somehow played better when they argued.
"You play doubles?" Dom asked.
"Or are you the—" Derek continued.
"'Wacky mix-doubles romance subplot' kind of guy?" they said in unison, both grinning at Mira.
Mira rolled her eyes. "You two have watched too much anime."
"Guilty!" they chimed.
🟢 Mixed Doubles – Mira and (now) Jomar
Mira wasn't exactly warm, but she didn't ignore him either. She corrected his grip, gave him tips between drills, and occasionally smirked when he tripped over the court lines.
It was something.
Practice began with Coach Tonton blowing his whistle like a ceremonial war horn.
"Alright, my little Wimbledon warriors! Warm-up laps! One round for each regret you carry!"
Dom groaned. "That's at least a semester's worth."
"Should we confess first?" Fonz asked.
"Confession happens after you lose regionals," Coach replied. "Now run!"
They jogged around the court while Coach Tonton shouted absurd motivational quotes like:
"Run like your crush is watching!"
"Stretch like your dignity depends on it!"
"Hydrate or perish!"
Mira, naturally, jogged effortlessly. Jomar gasped behind her, tripping slightly on a coconut shell someone had drawn a face on.
"Why is there a coconut with eyes?" he panted.
"Oh, that's Gary," Mira said. "Unofficial mascot."
Gary had googly eyes and wore a mini sweatband.
After warm-ups, they practiced serves, returns, and footwork. The fourth-years bantered, the twins bickered, and Coach Tonton occasionally interrupted drills to shout things like:
"Imagine the racket is your ex. Now hit it better!"
Despite the chaos—or maybe because of it—Jomar found himself smiling. He was still bad at everything, but no one mocked him. Instead, they shouted encouragement in their own weird ways.
"You looked almost stable that time!" Tara yelled.
"Your footwork is like jazz—confusing but passionate!" Fonz declared.
"You'll get better," Mira said softly, handing him another ball. "You're trying. That counts."
After practice, the sun was setting over the ocean horizon. The court glowed orange, and the air smelled like salt, sweat, and snacks from the nearby sari-sari store.
Coach Tonton gathered them all in a loose circle.
"Listen, my funky federers," he began, removing his sunglasses like he was in a soap opera. "You may not be champions. You may not even be competent. But you're a team. A strange, lovable, dramatic team. And this year…"
He paused.
"This year, we're going to go further than ever before."
The fourth-years clapped. Dom tried to start a slow chant. Derek harmonized.
Jomar blinked. "Further than what?"
"Districts," Mira said. "We usually lose there."
"But last year, we reached Provincials," Fonz added proudly. "And we still got annihilated."
"This year, we make Regionals," Coach said dramatically. "And we do it with our heads held high and our rackets intact!"
"You say that every year," Tara muttered.
Coach Tonton pointed at Jomar. "And with new blood like this guy, maybe we finally have a secret weapon."
Everyone stared at Jomar.
He gulped. "I don't even know how to score yet."
"Exactly," Coach said. "So raw. So unpredictable. Like a toddler with a katana."
As the sun dipped lower and practice ended, Mira walked beside Jomar.
"You did alright," she said.
"Thanks. You think I'll survive this team?"
"Survive?" She chuckled. "You'll either survive… or become one of us."
"I'm not sure which is scarier."
She smirked, then offered him a grape-flavored ice pop from her bag.
"No one gets out of here without an after-practice ice pop. Team rule."
He took it, smiling.
Maybe it was the sugar rush, or the sunset, or the way Mira didn't look away when their hands brushed—but Jomar knew one thing for sure:
He had joined a madhouse.
And maybe—just maybe—that was exactly where he belonged.