Carrie Soto Is Back(96)

4–4. 5–5.

My dad was right. The third set is when Nicki plays her hardest.

When she slams another groundstroke past me, I return it just in time, only to see her setting up for another. I am in awe of the firepower of her arm. The way it crushes the ball when it makes contact. I’ve never seen power like this. Certainly not with this much intuition about where the ball is going, what the ball will do.

My left knee is twinging, my right knee not far behind. I’m breathing harder than when I was running on sand all those months ago. Sweat is pouring off my face. The sky is getting darker. But I’m not letting up. And neither is she. I can tell by the way her eyes have lost their brightness, her shoulders have tightened. Even her gait seems angry as she limps away from the net after every point.

Nicki Chan is a great player. But not great enough to destroy me as quickly as she wanted.



* * *



—

On her next service game, Nicki starts serving so fast it feels like a blitz.

I can feel the fatigue in my legs. They are starting to give out, my thighs quivering when I squat. My knees are screaming. She shuts me out of the game.

I can barely hold her off on my service game. But I do.

It’s now 6–6 in the third set. We’re going to another tiebreak.

And then lightning cracks, and the sky roars. I look up at the clouds, and rain starts falling.



* * *



—

Gwen, Bowe, and Ali all rush into the locker room during the delay.

“Guys,” I say. “I’m fine. I’ve got this.”

“You are dominating!” Gwen says. It is the most intense I’ve ever seen her. “Raining sheer motherfucking terror!”

I laugh. “Thank you.”

Bowe smiles. “She’s right.”

I lock eyes with him and smile. “I have to stay focused on winning the tiebreak. Do we know how long the delay will be?”

Ali speaks up. “The storm is passing already. They don’t think more than twenty minutes.”

“In that case, everyone get out of here,” I say. And then I add, “Please.”

Bowe grabs my shoulder and squeezes it, then escorts the two of them out. He turns back to me at the last second.

“This is a beautiful match,” he says. “An absolutely beautiful match.”

He doesn’t wait for my response. He just taps the doorframe and leaves.

Suddenly, it is so quiet around me that I can hear the churn of the pipes in the walls.

I try to think of what my father would say to me right now. I open my locker and look through the notebook. I read his notes again. He says nothing about a tiebreak for the third set. I flip through the pages, searching for something—anything—but there’s nothing I haven’t already read.

What would he say if he were here? What would he have written in this book if he’d had more time? There are still things I need to know; there is still advice I need to get from him. There is more to do together.

I run through strategies—start slow, let her get tired; come out fast, don’t let her get a foothold; go for the big serves; now’s not the time for big serves—desperately trying to assess which one sounds the most like him.

But…I don’t know. I don’t know what he would say.

I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me. From this moment forward, I do not have him with me. I do not know what he would be thinking. I do not know any more of his strategy, his plan. His logic. His advice. Because he is gone. And he will never be back. I have come to the end.

Suddenly, I feel as if the pain is enough to level me.

I pick up the notebook and put it back in the locker. If I win this tiebreak, it will be because I know how to beat her on my own. And if I don’t, it will be because she is the better player. This is the test I asked for.

The door opens, and Nicki comes in.

“I was waiting in the training room,” she says. “I didn’t want to see you.”

“Oh.”

“But now it’s gonna be at least another ten.”

“Okay.”

She sits down next to me on the bench. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. And neither do I. I just sit next to her with my eyes closed, trying to control my breathing, trying to ignore the pain in my knees.

“This should be mine already,” Nicki says, finally.

I open my eyes and look at her. “Well, it’s not, sunshine.”

Nicki shakes her head. “You are the best player I have ever played, then and now,” she says. “You bitch.”

I laugh.

“I’m trying to be funny to hide how much I hate you with every atom in my body,” she says. I check her face, and she’s not smiling.

“Don’t hate me,” I say. “It is a waste of your time.”

Nicki huffs.

“You’re playing some of the best tennis I’ve ever seen you play,” I tell her. “Thanks to me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Soto.”

I add, “You deserve every single place you claim in history.”

Nicki looks me in the eye. “I am going to beat you.”

“No,” I tell her. “You are not.”

Nicki laughs, despite herself. A coordinator comes in and tells us they are preparing for us to head back out. We both stand up, and Nicki puts her hand on my shoulder.