1998, Age 4, First Day at School

I crouch behind the bench, until I hear footsteps. Then I run, and turn back briefly, to see a face, a girl with brown curls, arm outstretched, five paces behind me. I keep running until my hands make contact with the wood of the bench. I’m safe.

"Non é giusto! Brava negli sports!" She shouts out. I catch Toni’s eyes as she stares at me from the place that the older girls hang out. She smiles at me and I smile back.

That’s not fair! She’s good at sports!

“Scusa! Sarò io a farlo ora. Come ti chiami?” I say, backing away from the bench.

Sorry. I’ll be it now. What’s your name?

“Graze. Olivia. Quello che è tuo?”

Thanks. Olivia. What’s yours?

“Lucia. Vuoi che siamo amici?”

Lucia. Wanna be friends?

“Sicuro!”

Sure!

And just like that, I'd made my first friend.

1999, Age 5, Moving to England

Mamma made me sit next to Toni, and she’s squishing me. There’s about 5 suitcases in the boot, and Papá is in the front. The taxi driver has a bobbly head in the front, and the car smells of candy. I feel sweat sticking the back of my sweatshirt to me, but Mamma says I have to wear it for when we get to England.

E N G L A N D.

The word feels funny, but Birmingham feels funnier. Burning Ham. Who would name a place after a gross smell. I feel Olivia’s bracelet on my skin, pressing into my wrist, as I sit on my hands. I’m going to miss Olivia, but she says we can send letters. The sky outside is really dark, and I want to sleep. I should be in bed, but I want to see everything. I want to see England, where the Queen lives.

My fingers curl around the racket, knuckles whitening just a little as the ball leaves her hand and slices through the air toward me. Four, five steps back. Two, three seconds to raise my racket. The thud of the ball, the swish of air as I swing. And it comes hurtling back at her.

A green blur, another thud, another swing. The rhythm takes over, instinct and muscle memory as I flick my eyes upward, tracking the ball against the washed-out summer sky. I flick my eyes upwards, shuffle left, arm back. I channel everything into this one. Everything. Adrenaline seems to lift it for me, and I swing it.

The soft sound of the ball hitting the strings, vibrating, sending energy all the way up into my arm, my soul, a rush of serotonin washes over me as I watch the ball fly in a perfect arc. I hit so hard that I clip my ear when it comes up. Sweat drips down my back, soaking into the collar of my shirt, but the heat barely registers. The world has narrowed to the court, the ball, the breath in my lungs. She lunges for it a second too late. The ball kisses the line and skids away

Toni cheers from behind the chainlink.