Prologue- Acceptance

"Ace," My father groaned loudly, looking squarely at me. "You need to take out the trash and get the mail."

"But Daddy," I whined in a high girlish voice that sounded pathetic to me. "I have tennis practice."

My father sighed, ruffling my short orange hair. "My daughter only cares about tennis these days." With a second defeated sigh, Dad returned to his easy chair lifting up the paper. "Whatever happened with the Royal Tennis Academy?" He inquired, more to himself than to me.

Apprehension flooded me as I remembered what the date was- August 31. Today was the day all students who applied to the Royal Tennis Academy would get notification on whether or not they had been accepted. I crossed my fingers almost unconsciously. I wanted more than anything to get accepted.

Tennis was my life, and always will be. Ever since I was old enough to hold my own racket, I was out at the Brookefield Court, smacking the green ball to anybody who would play against me. The Royal Tennis Academy only accepted the best, and although everyone reassured me that I would make it, I was still nervous. More like a nervous wreck, to be honest.

"Ace, dear, get the mail!" My mother called from the kitchen, washing lunch's dishes.

"Fine, fine," I grumbled. My entire family knew how anxious I was for this day. Now, I almost wished it hadn't come.

The Royal Tennis Academy is a sleep away school only for those talented enough to get in. It would take the place of my regular school if I made it. Famous tennis players from everywhere came from this prestige tennis academy.

Swallowing, I made my way towards the mailbox. In my mind, I could see the letter, written on the soft green stationary, sorrowfully proclaiming that I had not been accepted. I stopped, almost ready to run inside and never get the mail. But the hope that I had been accepted pushed me forward, and I kept going, one step at a time.

I reached forward and opened the rusty green mailbox. As expected, the soft yellow-green envelope sat invitingly on top. Below it were my brother's skateboarding magazine, and some bills. Breathing deeply, I took the small stack of mail into the house.

"Was that so bad, dear?" Mom asked me gently, patting my shoulder, accepting the stack of mail. I shook my head no, almost too nervous to choke out a response.

"I'll be outside if anyone needs me." I managed, and before anyone could stop me, I bolted outside and into the tree fort in my backyard.

Sitting on the rough wood, I stared down at the envelope. I had trained so hard to get this far, but would it be enough? Instead of running ten miles a day should I have ran fifteen? Instead of practicing my strokes for three hours should I have practiced for five?

Back in June, the Royal Tennis Academy had sent an examiner to watch me practice for a day. I thought I did fairly well, but I knew the Academy had a reputation for being tough, and that brought my doubts down on me.

My hand shaking slightly, I lifted the envelope up and tore gently, almost weakly, at the seal. It tore quietly, and I took the folded piece of stationary out.

Licking my lips stubbornly, I unfolded the paper, and read the results aloud, to myself.

"Dear Marie "Ace" Brown- In response to the test results taken by Coach Mark, and the written exam taken, the Royal Tennis Academy is proud to accept you." I couldn't read anymore. Tears clung to my eyes.

I had made it. All of my stubborn training had paid off. I was in the Royal Tennis Academy. I could follow my dreams after all.

Smiling, I continued to read. "The first day is September 3, and train tickets are enclosed. Please be at the school gates by nine A.M. sharp. Bring all materials need, for the Academy is a sleep-away school, and you will have no other opportunity to do so. I hope to see you soon." The letter was signed by the headmaster, Steve Washings.

My afternoon of torturously waiting had passed. Excitement flooding through me, I ran into the house. "I did it! I got accepted!" I waved the letter around frantically.

My father sat up. "I knew my Ace had it in 'er."

My mother hugged me, and I frowned. "Oh Ace, congratulations! That's wonderful. You should pack now, dear. I'll make sure you don't forget anything."

"First, I have tennis practice." I reminded her. "I can't wait to tell my coach. He'll be so excited." I punched the air. I headed towards the garage. "I'm just going to grab my racket, and-" My father silenced me.

"Ace, we bought you something to congratulate this achievement." My father started, and Mom brought out a brand new racket. It was sleek, long, and sliver with a blue crest emblem on it.

"Congratulations," Dad said quietly as I fingered the racket.

"Thanks, Mom, Dad, for letting me get this far," I muttered, the knowledge that my parents were totally against my attending the Academy from the start, and I had had my work cut out for me to change their minds. But, they aren't nearly as stubborn as me.

With my new racket in hand, and a water bottle in the other, I set off towards tennis practice, and to a new chapter in the life of me, Ace Brown.