“This is a being out story, not a coming out story.” That’s how debut author Edward Schmit describes his gay tennis romance novel, The Open Era, which publishes on June 2, 2026.
We’re right in it with the protagonist, 20-year-old out and proud Austin Hardy, as he steps onto the tennis court at the US Open to play against world number two, Diego Cruz. The opening chapter drops us into the MLM novel’s climax, where the crowd goes wild, but a juicier scandal lies beneath.
“They don’t know Diego Cruz has hung out with me almost every day since we met,” Austin declares. “They don’t know he kissed me two nights ago. They don’t know he hasn’t spoken to me since, and that it’s crushing me. And they don’t know I’m about to crush him back.”
“He is up against the fiercest competition of his life in the biggest tennis tournament in the world,” Schmit tells Teen Vogue of Austin’s story. “The pressure is on, and I wanted to give him one more thing that he was up against, and that happens to be a very handsome rival across the net. I wanted to explore what it would be like to have a crush on the person who directly stands in the way of what you want.”
Austin is prime media headline bait. He’s the first openly gay player to compete in a Grand Slam tournament, and nobody will let him forget it; Austin even corrects a reporter that he’s actually the first gay male player, invoking lesbian icon Billie Jean King. He stands on business, with shades of Andy Murray giving props to Venus and Serena Williams—when it comes to firsts, female athletes also hold those distinctions.
Schmit’s writing summons vivid characters with rich interior lives—Austin’s therapist Helen and his sister Charlotte included—the kind you can’t help but root for, friends that you’ll miss once the final chapter ends.
He’s exceptional at capturing the transitional period of young adulthood, when you’re not a teenager anymore, but you’re also not yet the adult that everybody is looking at you to be. “There is a uniqueness to being in your early 20s where you can take on more of these big issues, and you can do it confidently, but there's a risk that the world can still crush you,” Schmit says.
Schmit’s debut novel is an expression of romantic tension on opposing sides of the tennis court, but it’s all wrapped in an unpredictable, necessary therapy journey. He captures this tumultuous time in Austin’s life, at odds with himself as his inner voice cuts right to his insecurities. But healing isn’t linear, Schmit says. “I want people to walk away from this novel knowing that it’s okay. It's brave to ask for help. It's brave to put in the work to get better. It is not easy, it is messy, but all of that is extremely worth it.”
Schmit calls the book a “sports romance that cares a lot about the sport,” while welcoming those who are new to the game. His own interest in tennis started as a way to stay active, breathe fresh air, and keep his mental health in check. But he soon found himself at the US Open, falling in love with the athleticism of the game. He would catch matches on TV whenever he could. He found a tennis coach, and pored over autobiographies, imbued with this newfound personality. A question riddled him; what was it about tennis, uniquely, that kept male tennis players from coming out? “I couldn’t get that out of my head, and I turned my obsession into this story.”
The author promises the story is “a little bit more sweet than spicy,” but it’s dripping with tension throughout, teetering on that precarious line between needing friendship and wanting something more. If sports and gay people are having their story moment in the sun, then The Open Era is a glittering triumph.
Below, Teen Vogue has an exclusive text and audiobook excerpt of an early chapter in the novel.
The Open Era by Edward Schmit
I open my eyes to an electric blue sky and a blurry face moving toward me. A second later, it’s in front of me, blocking the blinding rays—and the first thing I notice are his big brown eyes gazing down, locked on mine. The stubble above his plush lips. The orange sunlight glowing through his ears.
He says my name, and a warmth rushes over me.
The second time he says it—“Austin”—my brain fully catches up and reality snaps back. I blink.
Diego Cruz is kneeling beside me.
Actually, more than fucking that. His palm is pressed to my cheek, his fingertips resting just below my eye, so softly that they almost tickle.
Color floods back to my face and a thousand thoughts storm my mind in no particular order.
Holy shit, Diego Cruz knows my name. Holy shit, he’s touching my face. Holy shit, why am I still on the ground? Holy shit, everyone is looking at me. Holy shit, how do I recover from this? Please stop thinking, and do something. Holy shit.
Robbie appears on the other side of me—or was he there the whole time? “Are you okay?” he asks with urgency.
“Yeah, yeah, good,” I say, sitting up slightly. “Just took a little tumble.”
Took a little tumble. Excellent talking. Suddenly I’m an old British woman who slipped in the kitchen.
Diego stands, and I stare at his outstretched hand a second longer than I should before I take it. I wince as he muscles me up, a dull pain shooting through my elbow.
“Does anything hurt?” Robbie says, touching my shoulder.
I swing my arms around, stretch out my legs, do my absolute best to play this off like it was nothing. And, except for a scrape across my arm where I landed, I feel all right. The adrenaline racing through my body is working wonders, and the anxiety symptoms have almost lifted.
“Feel great. Just lost my balance. Went down pretty easy, though.”
“It didn’t look easy. I think you were out a sec,” Robbie says.
“I think he was,” Diego agrees.
“Rob, I’m good,” I snap back. I feel the eyes on me—Diego’s mostly, but also from the stands, the players, their teams. Practice on the courts near us has politely paused, and everyone is standing around to make sure I’m okay. I give them a small wave, so they carry on, and the crowd claps as I confirm that I’m alive and well. Nothing to see here, folks. Nothing to see here except World Number Two still hanging out on our court. I flash him a sheepish smile, not sure what to say here.
“I’m Diego,” he says.
My head tilts. Yes, that is very obvious. Handsome and humble. What a combo.
“Austin,” I say, and for the second time, our sweaty palms meet. His grip is as firm as I’d expect based on those biceps, his handshake the kind you feel through your entire body—almost like he forgot that the hand he’s squeezing is attached to the arm I just landed on. But Diego Cruz is touching me, and the tiny pain is worth the price of entry. “Thanks for checking in. And nice to, uh, meet you . . . as they say.”
Oh my god, no. Please stop talking now.
Diego’s coach shouts something that my four years of Spanish classes didn’t quite prepare me to translate, and with a quick goodbye grin he doubles back to practice. I watch him jog away, still in disbelief of everything that just went down—me being the main thing that went down.
And then I clock the commentators in their booth, their necks and cameras craned toward us. Shit. I think I just made the news.
From THE OPEN ERA published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2026 by Edward Schmit
