Chapter 28 #2
So I step up to the baseline, and after Anya finishes throwing a fit, receiving a warning from the chair umpire that only serves to make her more angry, I bounce the ball four times and hit my prettiest ace yet, right up the T.
Anya screams, this time in anger, stomping to the other side of the court.
Each time we’ve played over the last few years, I’ve allowed her to get into my head.
It’s no wonder I’ve struggled to beat her.
The crowd, too, I’ve allowed into these matches, but when I tune back in, I realize the loudest chant is my own name.
Our roles at Indian Wells have been reversed. Finally I understand what it’s like to have a crowd rooting for me to win a major title. And it comes as a blinding realization that I don’t care.
This is for me. For the love of the game.
Four bounces, a toss, a smack of my racket, and her return slides into the net.
I’m one point away. My hands shake, my knees too, and if the buzzing in my head weren’t deafening enough, the crowd is.
One more glance at my box gives me everything I need.
Six people rooting for me. In every way that counts, these people are my family.
More so than my parents, who couldn’t be bothered to come watch me play.
I’ve spent so long trying not to let the great Carmen Aguirre down, trying not to let the people who used to love me down, that I’ve failed to focus on the people who matter.
The people who have been by my side through all my lashing out, through all my anger, through my good and (admittedly more common) bad moods.
Tennis may not be a team sport, but I’d be nowhere without my team and friends.
I step into the court, swinging my braid over my shoulder and adjusting my strings, slapping my racket against both heels before getting low.
Because not only am I doing this for me, I’m doing this for them and all the hard work and long nights and time away from their families they’ve poured into me.
Anya serves down the T, and I hit it back, cross court.
She smacks the ball down the line, and I slide over to hit another cross-court shot, forcing her to run as much as she’s forcing me to.
We’re both immensely tired. We’re both breathing heavily.
And when she hits another ball down the line, I power my way to the ad side, setting my racket as I move and hitting the world’s prettiest backhand despite the way it makes my back spasm.
“Jeu, set, et match, Vassilakis,” the umpire says into the mic. The crowd bursts.
I did it.
I’m too floored, in absolute disbelief. My racket drops out of my hand as tears fill my eyes. I don’t know when, but I fell to my knees, and now I slide so I’m lying on the red clay that I love so much, staring at the roof of the stadium, tears streaming down my face.
It’s everything I’ve wanted and more. It’s where I triumphed so many years ago as a junior, and where I was growing concerned I would never win again. It’s the biggest tournament on my favorite surface, and I’ve done the thing so many people have accused me of being unable to do.
I closed. I didn’t let Anya into my head. I played my game, and I beat the world number two. If I thought the crowd was deafening before, this is…
Absolutely insane.
I can barely see through the tears, but I stand and walk to the net, shaking Anya’s hand. I’m too happy to care that she squeezes too hard, too overjoyed to notice that she says something under her breath. I shake the umpire’s hand as well, thanking her.
Some people dedicate thousands of hours to the pursuit of this feeling, and after years of believing I was a failure, believing I peaked at seventeen, I’ve done it.
When I glance at my box, Aleks is the first person I see.
He’s screaming into cupped hands, waiting for me to look over at him.
Our eyes meet, and it’s clear how proud of me he is.
It reminds me that I’m allowed to go to my team. With the help of staff and security, I race up the stands to my box and throw myself into Karolína’s arms.
“My beautiful girl,” she says into my hair. “My determined, beautiful girl. You did it. Of course you did it.” She’s choked up, tears leaving trails on her face too.
“Sorry,” I say as we pull apart, realizing I’m covered in clay from lying on the court. “I got sweat and clay all over you.”
“Get over here,” she answers, pulling me back in. When she finally lets me go, I enter into a group hug with Delilah, Matteo, and Austin, their overlapping congratulations overwhelming enough that I have to step away, thanking them.
Pen is next and stops screaming and jumping long enough to hug me, though her phone is still recording. Always working on my content.
Aleks is last, and for a moment, I just stare at him. Then, without thinking, I launch myself into his body and kiss him. It doesn’t last more than five seconds, his arms wrapping around me, his head dipping against mine.
“If this is to get back at my sister for the way she behaved in this match, I’m going to have to protest a little.”
Delilah snickers behind me, and I shove at his chest. “Can you not ruin this moment please?”
“Nothing could ruin this moment, solnyshko.” He takes my hands in his, where they sit on his chest, squeezing. “You’re fucking incredible.”
“A group picture!” Pen yells. “Quickly, before she has to go back for the ceremony.”
I smile my widest, happiest smile, tears dried along my cheeks, and when Aleks wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him, I realize how right he was.
I was looking for love in all the wrong places. No need to search it out, wish for it, or bust my ass on the court for it.
It’s right here, and it was already mine.