A Rolling Match

Spotting an abandoned tennis ball wedged against the shoe rack, I couldn't resist a direct contest. I dropped from the low coffee table, sprinted across the polished floorboards, and leapt straight onto the fuzzy neon sphere. It spun wildly beneath my boots, trying to throw me off. Balancing on one foot, arms crossed, I rode the rolling curve right into the entryway before driving a heel flick into its felt seam to park it neatly against a pair of sneakers. Flawless control.