Page 57 of Long Shot

When the pair switched sides, Mac caught her gaze and nodded.

Debra smiled, nodding back.

With the ball in her hands, Debra launched the first serve of the second set easily. Her small frame made it easy for Debra to get a lot of height. Mac raced for the serve but just missed it.

Even after one point, the match was still out of Debra’s reach. Mac swept her way through the second set, securing the matchin her favor with just one point left to score. Debra served with as much vigor as she had the first time.

Mac gripped her racket firmly, planted her feet in the grass, and put all of her force into shuttling the ball into the opposite court. A loudsmackechoed off the walls of the Centre Court, a light gasp came from the crowd as the ball landed squarely in the back corner.

It was almost too close to call. But the umpire gave the point to Mac.

“Match, Miss Bennett.” As soon as the words came out of the speaker, the stands erupted in applause.

Mac stuttered for words, all of the air leaving her lungs.I just made the fucking Wimbledon finals.Covering her mouth, Mac tried to push the tear welling in her eyes down. Now wasn’t the time to show weakness.

Instead, she approached the net and gave her young competitor a sturdy handshake, pulling her in for a hug. “You play magnificently. You’ll be a joy to watch in the coming seasons.”

“Thank you, congratulations.” Debra smiled.

Mac hardly noticed when she left the court, instead surrounded by the applause of a fanbase she had no idea waited in the wings for her.

After she wiped her face, an anchor in a simple blue dress approached her bench.

“Miss Bennett, congratulations on your victory. How does it feel to make it to your first Grand Slam Final?” The woman smiled as she held the anchor to Mac.

Mac shook her head. “It’s unreal. I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a child. This is for Barbara McConnell and my mom, Piper.”

The crowd cheered as the anchor spoke over their roars. “And how are you feeling about the final just under twenty-four hours from now?”

Looking to the ground, Mac smirked. “I’m ready to take this home to Queens.”

At noon the next day, Mac was standing in the same spot on Centre Court. Dressed in a fresh outfit from her sponsor, Mac took a deep breath as she stretched out her back.

Everything about this game felt surreal. As her eyes wandered the stands, Mac’s gaze fell on the Royals in their private box. They wore their Sunday best, wearing neutral faces as they prepared for the players to walk on to the court.

Before Mac knew it, the umpire was calling the players forward. After the coin toss, Mac shook the hand of her opponent – a Canadian player named Rina Singh. She had flown through the previous rounds, having won a few Grand Slams over the past few years.

They wished each other luck and headed to their respective sides.

Once Mac reached the baseline, she closed her eyes and stretched her neck. She dug her feet into the grass. It was clear from the dead grass and streaks of mud that two weeks of intense tennis had played out on Centre Court.

And now, Mac was a part of it.

The ball boy bounced three balls toward her. She balanced each of them on her racket, searching for the smoothest ball.

A memory flashed in her mind. Taylor’s soft hands, over a decade prior, pointing to the tiny hairs dangling off the tennisballs. “If you look closely, the hairs lay flatter on the new ball. Once you’ve used it a bit, the hairs start to stand up.”

It was a wonder Mac even remembered the words because she hadn’t taken her eyes off of Taylor’s face the entire time.

But as Mac stood on the courts at Wimbledon, she selected a smooth ball.Smoother ball, faster serve.

She bounced the other two back to the ball boy behind her. Showing the ball to Rina, Mac rocked on her back foot as she prepared to serve. With a long inhale, Mac tossed the ball up. Time slowed as she lifted her racket hand up and brought it down on the yellow felt.

It zipped to Rina’s court, landing on the back line of the service box. With a scream, Rina smacked the ball right back. She pushed just as hard as Mac did.

Even after Mac managed to get the upper hand, sending the ball just past the net, she knew it wasn’t going to be an easy victory. Rina would make her fight for every last point.

The first set felt like a war, the two of them screaming across the court – using only the primal language of grotesque tennis grunts. But when the first set was nearly up at 6 - 6, 30 - 40, Mac ran to meet a slower ball, thinking she had more time to reach it. But as it bounced off the soft grass, a curve sent it just out of arm's reach.

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