Love and Other Scores by Abra Pressler

Author:Abra Pressler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia
Published: 2023-10-18T01:38:47+00:00

20

Gabriel

We’re deep in the second set. I’m down a set, but up three games to love in this one. The American, Bailey Reid, is on the other side of the net. He’s focused and fit and hungry for it. He just knocked off Indiana Rakefield, his thirty-one-year-old friend and countryman, in a five-set thriller.

It’s the third round. Tonight, we’re prime time. Rod Laver Arena. The crowd is loud and messy, and most of them are on Reid’s side. I’m not one to worry about who the crowd supports or doesn’t, but I can’t lie: when they chanted his name as he stepped onto the court, a shiver ran down my spine.

I’ve only played against Bailey Reid three times in my entire career—and I’ve lost every time.

Glancing up at my box, Papa gives me a tight smile. Tonight, Phoebe’s sitting beside him, and my stomach flutters at seeing her in my player’s box.

It’s a cool night. Dry. The ball is light off the racquet. A gentle breeze blows through the open roof and down through the arena.

I take a breath and gather my thoughts, preparing for my service game. The audience goes silent. Bouncing once, twice, I get a feel for the ball before serving. It lands in the top corner of Reid’s service box. He returns it with a strong forehand, but I meet it easily, sending the ball flying across the net. He runs for it, but it’s not enough. The crowd applauds.

In the next serve, I ace him.

Somehow, I close the service game quickly, and then I’m up four–love. Across the court, Reid shakes his head and swears. I have to keep this pressure on him, I have to wear him down. If I can snatch this set six games to love, it’ll shake him.

Reid sets up for his service game, and I soften my knees, let my spine curve and prepare to receive. His serve is intense, fast and precise. In our last match, two years ago, he destroyed me with this serve: 6–1, 6–2, 6–0. But this time, I’m ready for it. I return the ball with just as much force as he served it with.

Every play I make, Reid’s there. Every ball is returned. Every time I think I’ve run him off his feet, he makes the shot. The crowd applauds as he claws back a game.

Four–one.

It’s my service game again. I let out a long breath and calm my thumping heart. Reid stares at me across the net. I serve, hard. He returns. The set descends into a flurry of volleys, of hard-earned points, and me falling flat on my face as I run to return a ball. I don’t even get a point for my effort, either.

I close out the third set when, on the set point, Reid’s ball hits the net. We’re a set all, and I’ve just won six games to one.

I head to my bench and grab my towel. There’s a five-minute break between sets, and I use it to refuel, to recentre and, most importantly, to towel the sweat off my body.

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