The Under Review - Issue 4 | Summer 2021

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I remembered this incident just before serving, and my anger seemed to have the opposite effect on me
than it did on my brother. It traveled from my heart into my arm, giving me the strength to pound the
shuttlecock far over Richie’s head, but not too far as to be out of bounds. He didn’t stand a chance. 14-18.
“You dick!”
I scored three more points: Richie returned one into the net, hit one out of bounds, and whiffed one. On
my next serve, he barely returned it, but the birdie hit the top of the net and tumbled over. 19-18, Richie.
He was just two points away from winning.
“Now,” he said, grabbing the birdie off the ground and fixing me with a mad stare, “you die.”
I couldn’t believe I’d almost caught up. But if I lost the next point, I’d have to win the following two just to
stay alive. (You must win by two points in badminton, a stupid rule.)
Richie backed up to the edge of the brick patio and stared at me for a moment. I had come to know that
stare lately. It said, Do not cross me.
He held out the shuttlecock, dropped it, and swung. Thunk. He caught it at the edge of the racquet and the
birdie wobbled out of bounds. 19-19, my serve.
Richie went to pound his racquet on the ground but thought better of it. Without saying a word, he picked
up the birdie and whacked it toward me. He then positioned himself and waited for my serve.
“Come on, ya little turd,” he said.
My heart felt too large as it pushed up against my ribs. I wished my parents would come out to the back
porch—not so they could witness my potential victory, but so they could protect me if I managed to win.
My serve sailed over the net, Richie returned it easily, and we volleyed for what felt like an hour, back and
forth, almost lazily at first, with no attempt to make each other run too far, and then Richie slapped one
deep to my left. Somehow I reached it and popped it just over the net, and he barely managed to get under
it and launch it high into the air before scrambling back to better handle my inevitable slam. I raised my
racquet for the power shot, but when the birdie finally dropped, I barely tapped the thing so that it inched
over the net and fell like a dead sparrow. 20-19.
THE UNDER REVIEW