Chapter 28 #2
“Just, like, talk or something, please, quickly, like we’re normal fucking people.”
“Looks like that big storm is heading our way—”
“That’s all you got? The weather?” I glance toward Diego as we pass, but he’s in the mess of his team, and he keeps his eyes glued ahead. Snubbed again.
Robbie stops for a handshake with Emiliano, because he can’t help himself.
Please, please, just keep walking, Rob. Just move your fucking feet.
I can’t stand to be in this hallway anymore.
Fighting the urge to continue down the hallway and get out of here, I hold back and wait for him.
And I take one last peek at Diego—or, specifically, Diego’s left foot.
An ankle brace peeks above his shoe.
I don’t remember him having issues with his foot before. This must be a new development.
Robbie finally pulls away from his exchange with Emiliano and starts walking again. “Did you see his ankle?” he asks, voice low.
“I did.”
“Did Emiliano say something?”
“No. Just ‘Good luck on the rematch.’ ”
“The rematch? The fuck does that mean?”
“He meant the rematch between me and him. The last time we played, I beat him.”
“Like a hundred years ago?”
“I beat him pretty bad, enough to remember.”
So it’s personal for everyone involved tonight. Excellent, let’s add one more thing to stress about.
The warm-up room is the last stop before the match. It’s fairly small, has a few bikes, weights, an area to stretch. We’ve been stretching all day, so we head straight to a bike to warm up my legs.
“The ankle is an interesting twist,” Rob says, a glint in his eye.
“Are you proud of that pun?”
“Just saying…”
I throw my leg over the bike seat and start to pedal. “What do we do about it?”
“Run the fucker out, just like Volt.” That exchange with Emiliano must have really pumped him up. He’s boasting about his matches, plotting to exploit injuries…It’s a brand-new Robbie, and I’m not mad about it. “Sorry. I know he’s your friend.”
Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I pedal harder.
I glance up to the televisions on the wall, currently showing the women’s match on Ashe. Reika, the number one women’s player, is up 5–2, and it looks like she’ll take it in straight sets. That means Diego will be back down here any minute.
“I don’t want to talk to him when they get in here,” I say to Robbie quietly. There are extra eyes on us from here on out, and I don’t want to stir up drama.
“Can you tell me why?”
“Not really. Not right now. Can you just help me with that?”
“That’s gonna be tough. This room isn’t huge.”
“I have a feeling he’ll stick to his side too.”
“Do you want your headphones?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
He unzips my bag and hands them to me on the bike. I pause before putting them on. “Any last words?”
“Last words, hmm,” Robbie says, scrunching his forehead. He’s quiet for a moment, and I brace for an inspiring monologue—something about having fun, and going for broke, and how I’ve made it this far and I’ve got nothing left to lose.
“Drag me down,” he says, finally.
“What?”
“Wasn’t that the one you and Charlotte kept asking for in the car, driving to that tournament in Ojai?”
“Oh my god, ‘Drag Me Down’? You’re giving me a One Direction recommendation? How do you remember that song? I was like ten.”
“It was a two-hour drive, and that was the only thing you let us listen to.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Eh, I liked the lyrics. And you won the tournament. Must have done the trick,” he says. “Let’s try it again.”
I can’t deny that it’s a solid choice.
I put on my headphones, and the foam against my ears calms the pressure in my head. The spinning of the bike, the chatter of the room…all of it fades away, making space for the bass line of my childhood summer anthem.
Continuing to pedal, my legs race with the beat, and right on cue, as if he had timed it with the chorus—Diego enters. He and his team camp out on the far end of the room, a healthy distance away from us. I was right.
I sneak another look Diego’s way. Most of him is blocked by Robbie, who’s strategically moved in front of him. I can see only his feet, sprawled out in a prematch stretch.
His ankle brace is gone.
Is he healed or is he hiding?
Ditching the brace seems right on-brand for him. He doesn’t want to show any sign of weakness. But I spotted it from a mile away. I know all your secrets, Cruz. You’re human, just like the rest of us.
An official approaches Rob and me, says something to us that I can’t hear through the music, but I know what it means.
It’s time.
Robbie taps his ear, and I lift my headphones up.
“I’m gonna go out there now,” he says, and leans in closer to me on the bike. “Nothing can prepare you for walking out there, nothing I can say. Yes, it’s a ton of people. Yes, you’re gonna be nervous. And you’ll probably take a whole set to get comfortable. Give yourself time.”
“Okay,” I say after a deep breath, the exhale rattling through the hollows of my chest. He picks his bag up from the floor as a desperate question catches in my throat.
Can you stay a little longer? Just for a second?
I swallow it back down. There’s no time for weakness.
“And one more thing. Don’t walk out wearing those,” he says, pointing to my headphones.
“Why not?”
“You should hear them announce your name,” he says. “Don’t block it out. Feel it. You worked hard for this, and you deserve to experience that moment.” He smiles through watering eyes. “There’s nothing like it.”
I nod. That’s the best I can do right now, as the anxiety rushes through my arms, my legs, my stomach, like white water. Robbie passes Diego and walks out the door.
I’m on my own now.
Diego’s racket bag is on his back, and he’s angled slightly away from me, allowing no opportunity for interaction.
I hop off the bike, approach my bag, and unzip a few pockets, pretending to look for something. I’d do anything to fill this awkward silence.
I know how this will go. I’ve seen it play out hundreds of times on TV.
Any minute now, an escort will take me out of the warm-up room.
Diego will follow. I’ll stand in front of him, waiting in pin-drop silence for a cue.
And then a cameraperson will track me through the tunnel, with its dim lights and tennis histories, Diego steps behind.
The tunnel will lead us like the current of a river, strong, steady, destined to the ocean of Arthur Ashe Stadium and its sea of fans.
And to the match that awaits.