Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Leo makes his way down the tunnel that leads onto Rod Laver Arena, the biggest of the courts at the Australian Open, named after the Aussie tennis legend.
It’s opening night of the “Happy Slam,” as it’s been nicknamed, and, while he may not be seeded (or happy, exactly), Leo has the privilege of playing on center court tonight because his opponent is the number one Australian player and eighteenth seed, Jack Hughes, a mustachioed and tattooed guy who’s equally at home on a skateboard as he is on a tennis court.
Glowing with blue and white lights, the tunnel is known as the Walk of Champions, lined with the names of each Australian Open winner over the past several decades.
As Leo walks through the tunnel, trying to stay focused, he repeats a text he got from his dad earlier today like a mantra.
He hasn’t heard from his dad as much as he expected over the past few weeks, so he was relieved to get a message from him today.
Keep that elbow up. Remember to attack the Hughes backhand, his weakest shot, the text said. Inexplicably, there was a middle finger emoji at the end. Another text came through: Sorry, meant to send bicep emoji.
No “Good luck”? No “Break a leg”?? No “Wish I could be there”??? Leo was peeved at first—until another text came through, a reminder: Hold your own.
And he does.
Dressed in white shorts and a shirt with asymmetrical lines and patterns in teal and peach, he plays lights-out tennis in the first set, swinging freely and hitting winners that even get the Australian crowd oohing and ahhing—not to mention the American expats sprinkled throughout the stadium who make themselves known every time Leo wins a game, whooping it up with their beers lifted high in the air.
But the crowd still tries to lift their countryman to victory, chanting, “AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE, OI, OI, OI” during each changeover and cheering at full volume whenever Hughes steps up to the line to serve.
But their efforts are silenced as soon as Leo sweeps another backhand down the line, his body moving as smoothly as the orange and pink swirls above.
With the roof open, a brilliant sherbet sunset presides over the match, and the Melbourne skyline peeks in to watch the action.
At set point, Leo crushes a serve out wide at 135 mph, acing Hughes and capturing the second set 6–3.
“Game and second set: Chambers,” the ump announces from her high-tech chair, a half-moon that rises and falls with the push of a button. “Chambers leads two sets to love.”
Brian is on his feet clapping and saying, “Let’s go, LC!
” as Leo looks over to him with a clenched fist. The crowd continues applauding politely, despite their hometown hero falling behind significantly now, and the hero himself is less than pleased with the current scoreline.
After that ace, Hughes slams his racket on the ground on his way to his bench, outraged that he’s down 6–2, 6–3 in what feels like the blink of an eye—a set away from being knocked out in the first round by a player who hasn’t been on tour in months.
“Code violation, racket abuse: Hughes,” the ump says into her mic, prompting some boos and whistles from around the stands.
Hughes rolls his eyes and tells the ump he’s taking a bathroom break to change his kit and walks off court.
Leo’s not surprised he’s changing—a fresh set of clothes is always what players think will shift their mindset and help them start anew in the next set.
Leo, on the other hand, isn’t going anywhere.
He takes a few sips from his water bottle and from one of his protein pouches, staring straight ahead in his sweaty clothes.
There’s no way he’s leaving the court to change them.
Altering any detail right now could break his concentration, and he wants to stay in this zone—a zone that has put him a set away from round two.
He knows that most people, including Hughes, clearly, have low expectations for him after taking a few months off.
At a presser ahead of the Australian Open, plenty of reporters asked him if he was feeling prepared for the first Slam of the year, if he thought he could even get past the first round, if he’s in the right place mentally to do so.
“I didn’t come all this way to fly right home,” he replied.
Some muffled laughter spread across the press room.
He smiled sheepishly. He hadn’t meant to sass them; it just kind of slipped out. That needs to stop happening.
Maybe it’s everyone’s lack of faith in his ability to bounce back.
Maybe it’s the match wins he was able to put together in Sydney and Adelaide.
Maybe it’s that practice with Gabe. Maybe it’s—and he feels guilty even thinking this—that it feels like a breath of fresh air playing without his dad watching from his player’s box.
Maybe it’s that he’s ecstatic just to be playing again.
Whatever it is, Leo feels unstoppable tonight.
He runs his hand through his damp hair and jogs to his side of the net, ready to claim this match.
It’s a yo-yo of a third set, he and Hughes both holding their serve each time, racking up another game, back and forth, back and forth.
The change of clothes might have given Hughes the little boost he was looking for, because he manages to take Leo to a tiebreak.
There’s still nothing between them by the time the tiebreak reaches 5–5.
In the middle of an intense rally, the two players smacking the ball like it owes them money, Leo knows he needs to pull the trigger if he’s going to earn this point.
So, he readies himself, disguises his next shot as a forehand, puts his legs and hips into it, and hits a sneaky little drop shot.
It curves over the net and cuts to the right, bouncing just out of reach as Hughes dashes up to it.
“Let’s go!” Leo roars to himself. He finds that, without his dad there, he doesn’t need to look to his box for approval as often, cheering himself on point by point, his own biggest fan.
“6–5: Chambers,” the ump announces, setting off a chorus of cheering and whistling from every corner of the stadium.
It’s here. Match point. Whether the crowd is for him or against him, Leo doesn’t care in this moment.
He pushes everything in his periphery away, focusing only on the ball.
He steps up to the line, bounces it five times, and tosses it into the air. He smacks it.
“FAULT,” the system calls as the serve lands long. A few more whistles from the crowd, who are hoping for a double fault that will keep Hughes alive in this match. The ump asks them to please remain quiet between serves.
A deep breath out. Leo tosses the ball up again, a yellow dot against a pink and orange backdrop, and with a huge kick, it bounces high off the service box.
Hughes has to stretch for it, forcing him to hit a weak return that lands short on Leo’s side.
He shuffles his feet up to the ball, waits for a split second to keep Hughes guessing about which direction he’s about to pick—and sends it screaming back behind Hughes, who darted the opposite way.
“Come on!” Leo shouts to his box, where Brian and the rest of his team have jumped up, shaking their fists in victory.
“Game, set, and match: Chambers,” the ump says. “6–2, 6–3, 7–6.”
And with that, Leo books his ticket to the second round. The two players shake hands at the net and, despite a look of total misery, Hughes wishes him luck.
During a short on-court interview afterward, Leo shares how happy he is to be back on tour and back in Australia.
“I love being here so much. The fans are so friendly, you always make the atmosphere amazing. I know I probably wasn’t who everyone was rooting for tonight, but, um, if it helps, one of your koalas did pee all over me the other day,” he says, and laughter rises from around the stadium.
With a wave to the crowd, he approaches the cameraman and, as the winning player always does, grabs a dry-erase marker to write a message on the camera. Leo leans in close to the screen, writes, “Miss you, Dad” and draws a small koala, which he hopes looks better than his brontosauruses.
Over the next twenty-four hours, Leo is flying high.
Brian’s pumped about his win, he has another solid practice session (without Gabe, but, for whatever reason, he has a nagging urge to tell him about how successfully he threw in that drop shot), and he’s getting ready to go out to dinner with Ollie and Tess in Melbourne.
Having all played on day one, they’re free after practice today to meet up and take advantage of the city’s stellar food scene.
Without his dad there advising that he stay in, that they go over notes, that he just have a quick dinner at the hotel, Leo is more than eager to actually have a night on the town with his best friends.
“LC, you’re twenty-nine, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Brian had said, looking somewhat confused after Leo asked whether he could go out tonight. “Just don’t overdo it.”
Unless Brian means don’t overdo it on the vegetable samosas, Leo will be just fine, given that all he cares about tonight is gorging on the sensational Indian food at this trendy restaurant Tess knew about.
“Cheers, boys!” she says, holding up her glass of red wine. They all put their glasses in the center and Tess whips out her phone. “I know, I know, I’m such a mom, but put your glasses in again, I want to take a boomerang for Instagram.”
“A boomerang! Get it?” Ollie says. “We’re in Australia.”
“Booooo,” Tess and Leo moan in unison.
The three of them are sitting at a corner table in the brick-walled restaurant, a warm and friendly spot with Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling at varying lengths and bright botanical prints framed on the walls. In a rare occurrence, none of them are wearing athleisure.