Page 17 of Long Shot

Babs held open the door to the player entrance and led Mac inside. Instead of heading down the warm, wood hallwaytoward the courts, Babs took Mac upstairs to the training room. Every piece of workout equipment imaginable sat inside. There were a few people training there, but most of the competition was spread out across multiple courts and warmup spaces. The first round started today, which meant about half of the current competitors would have a match today.

“On the floor, give me 50 crunches.” Babs wasted no time getting started. Mac dropped down obediently, moving quickly through her reps. She squeezed her tight abs with each lift, careful to protect her neck.

Satisfied with her mentee’s form, Babs crossed her arms and let her eyes wander to the TV mounted to the wall, where pundits took turns speculating on the upcoming matches.

With her back on the ground, Mac couldn’t see much. But that didn’t stop her from perking up and straining to see a corner of the screen when she heard what they were debating.

“Taylor Young is facing off in the first round today against German pro, Ida Klein. What do we think on this one?” A man in a blue blazer turned to the rest of the table. There was one woman at the table of five.

Immediately, another male anchor jumped in. “I think she’s got this entire competition in the bag. She’s got some experience winning Grand Slams now, and with Kim on her team, it’s all wrapped up.”

From the end of the table, the woman jumped in. “I think that’s an oversimplification. I mean, why else was Taylor Young watching quali’s this year? She and her team are worried about these up-and-coming players.”

Babs turned back to Mac, whose workout had slowed. “Pick up the pace.”

Mac nodded, taking a deep breath as she pushed herself. With each movement, her core burned. The fabric of her shirt clung to her tensing muscles, the definition of her light sixpack peeking through. She couldn’t stop herself from groaning on each crunch. By the time they moved onto standing calf stretches, Mac and Babs were glued to the screen.

Another male pundit laughed. “Look, you go to enough of these events and you’re going to get a little bored.”

“It’s not boredom.” The woman shook her head. “Some of the players that qualified this year, like Mackenzie Bennett, have some of the best games I’ve seen in years.”

Babs smirked. “Hey, that’s you.”

Of course, Mac knew that the anchor was an old friend of Babs’s: someone who probably hated Kimberly Young just as much as Barbara did. But nonetheless, it was a privilege to get mentioned.

More and more eyes were on Mac by the day. All she could do was try not to disappoint them all.

Mac jumped in place as she looked down the long hallway, a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

“Keep your eye on the ball. I know she’s a big name, but she’s close to retirement. Run her across the court and wear her out.” Babs muttered.

Nodding, Mac tried to ignore the crowd's enthused cheers for her opponent, Ava Martine.

Staring blankly forward, Mac swallowed. “I grew up watching Martine.”

Babs shrugged. “So you know her moves well. It’s the first round; a lot of these players haven’t been warmed up. You played a week already. Your muscles are ready.”

That’s a generous way of looking at it. Mac knew her body was more exhausted than any opponent’s – she could see it inthe way they moved. But she tried to believe that Babs was right, that there was an advantage in it. Once the crowd calmed down, Babs gave Mac a light shove to move her down the hallway.

With her racket bag on her shoulder, Mac strode forward. The light at the end grew brighter with each step forward, making it hard for Mac to see where she was heading. But after a moment, the light fanned out to reveal the bright, orange court and a packed arena. Gentle applause sounded from the stands as she walked in.

Through the crowd, Mac could hear her mom cheering. She followed the sound to the family box, where Piper waved and hollered with no regard for decorum. Just then, Babs entered the box, taking the seat next to Piper with a wink to Mac. A smile crept onto Mac’s face.

Setting her bag down at her bench, Mac laid out the black towel that was folded next to her seat. She placed it with the Eiffel Tower side up. It was a nice bonus for players: two complimentary towels per match. Mac would get to add the Roland Garros branded fabric to her very small collection.

After the players got settled, the umpire called them to the center. Smiling down at them in a white polo and dark trousers, he explained, “Miss Martine, as the senior player, you may call the coin toss.”

Ava nodded. “Tails, please.” The crowd applauded as the umpire pulled the custom Lacoste coin from his pocket. With a simple flick, the silver flew through the air, catching the French sun with each flip.

It landed with a soft thud on the clay floor. Leaning over his stand, the umpire called out. “Tails! Miss Martine, you may choose who serves first.”

Ava nodded. “I’d like to serve.” Turning to Mac, Ava held out her hand. “Good luck.”

“Good luck.” Mac shook Ava’s hand, grabbed her racket, and headed to her side of the court. With each step, Mac felt her new shoes wearing in. Despite Babs’s trick and Mac’s attempts to wear them in during training, they still had a stiff quality to them. But when Mac got to her baseline, she shook off the stiffness in her foot.

Standing just left of center court, Mac leaned forward with her knees bent.Just return one serve.She swallowed her anxiety as Ava examined the tennis balls in her hands. Once she selected a ball, Ava nodded toward Mac.

Mac tightened her grip on the racket, its worn edges definitely visible on camera. Her muscles felt cold despite warming up, and the hair on her arms rose as a light breeze swept through the stadium.

---