One Breath, Then Tennis! a personalized book with your child as the hero

Ava liked the pocket-sized sounds of mini-tennis. A soft ball made a little pop against the strings. Trainers squeaked. The low net gave a shivery rustle when a ball brushed it. Ava liked everything except the rustle. That meant the ball had not gone over. On Tuesday, it happened three times. At the third rustle, Ava's cheeks grew hot.

“Go OVER!” Ava shouted. The racket left Ava's hand and landed flat on an empty patch of court. Coach stopped play immediately. Nobody was in its path, but the sudden clatter made the whole afternoon feel different. Ava stared at the racket. It had not fixed the ball. Now there was another problem on the ground.

Coach came closer, leaving plenty of space. “You feel very cross,” Coach said. Ava nodded without looking up. “Feeling cross is allowed. Throwing a racket isn't safe. We stop when that happens.” The words were firm, not loud. Ava looked around. “I'm sorry.” When Coach said the space was clear, Ava crouched and picked up the racket by its handle.

“What can my hands do instead?” Ava asked. Coach sat on the sideline bench. “Keep hold of the racket. Between points, try a little pause.” Ava stood with both feet still. “One comfortable deep breath. Look at your strings. Think: next point.” Ava breathed out and studied the tiny squares. There was room inside each one. There was a little more room inside Ava's chest, too.

The missed ball was still missed. Ava's cheeks were still warm. But the shoulders that had climbed towards Ava's ears began to come down. “Next point,” Ava whispered. Coach smiled. “You don't have to make the feeling vanish. You can give yourself time to choose.” They finished with a few gentle taps, leaving clear space around each racket swing.

That evening, Ava told Grandpa about the clatter. Grandpa listened all the way through. “Would you like some company on the mini-court tomorrow?” There was no lecture hidden in the invitation. Ava nodded. They packed the short plum racket, a water bottle and the soft red-and-yellow balls that travelled more slowly than grown-up tennis balls.

After a warm-up, Grandpa stood across the low net. Ava waited with knees soft and racket in front. Bounce, then tap. The first ball sailed sideways. The second cleared the net. Grandpa shuffled towards it, made a careful swing and missed completely. The ball wandered towards the sideline. Grandpa looked at the empty racket. “That ball had somewhere else to be.”

A laugh escaped Ava before there was time to stop it. Grandpa laughed too. No cross face. No racket clatter. “Don't you mind missing?” Ava asked. “Sometimes I do. But I still want to play the next ball.” Grandpa took a breath, glanced at the strings and waited. Ava recognised the pause. It belonged on both sides of the net.

Over several short visits, they played again. Ava took small steps to meet the ball after one bounce, guided the racket gently forwards and upwards, then returned to ready position. Trying to hit harder often sent the ball away. Leaving some room above the net helped more. When either player grew tired, they rested and drank water. Sometimes they counted a rally. Sometimes they counted the funny misses.

Before Saturday's friendly mini-tennis event, Ava packed the bottle without being asked. “Will the pause make me win?” Grandpa shook his head. “It can help you pay attention. The other player gets a turn at playing well, too.” Ava thought about that while sliding the racket into the bag. “I'll take it anyway. The pause, I mean.”

Coach explained the short match: a tiebreak to seven points, with a lead of two to finish. They practised the serving turns and when to change ends. Ava's opponent, Kit, wore coral and had a wonderful backhand. Ava liked the sound of Kit's returns. For a while, points went first one way, then the other. Four each. Even.

Then Ava's return struck the net. Rustle. Kit led five-four. Heat rushed into Ava's cheeks. The hand around the racket tightened. For a moment, the old clatter seemed very close. But the racket stayed down, safely held. Nobody called out a reminder. Ava stood still, took one breath and looked at the little squares of string.

“Next point.” A small smile came. Kit was waiting. Ava looked up, softened the knees and got ready. A gentle return cleared the net. Five each. In the next rally, Ava took two small steps instead of one wild reach. Six-five. There was still a point to play, and still a person across the net trying hard.

The ball bounced. Ava watched, stepped and sent it back with room to spare above the tape. Kit tried, but the ball bounced twice before the return. Seven-five. Ava had won! At the net's end, Ava moved the racket to the left hand and shook Kit's right. “Thank you. Your backhand was brilliant.” Kit grinned. “Good game.”

Coach praised the safe hands and the pause Ava had chosen without help. Grandpa's smile stretched under the silver moustache. Ava still loved the little pop of tennis. Even the rustle did not seem quite so enormous now. It could be disappointing. It could make the cheeks hot. And after one breath, there could be another point.