Page 144 of Carrie Soto Is Back

“Set is Soto’s,” I hear over the loudspeaker as the crowd jumps out of their seats. Everyone begins to scream.

I smile at Nicki, expecting a smile back. But she looks pissed, on the verge of throwing her racket. I don’t blame her. I’ve been there. She thought the match would be hers by now.

But I’m stealing it out of her hands.

This is fun,I think.How did I forget this is so fucking fun?

—

I sit down on the chair and wipe my face dry. I take a drink of water. I look over at Nicki, who will not look at me, her jaw clenched. She unscrews the top of a Gatorade and takes a big swig. If I had to guess, her ankle is swelling. Clouds have started to settle in over the arena. It cools the air, and I am grateful.

Gwen catches my eye. She points at me, right at my chest.

I tap my flat palm to my heart and point back at her.

—

The deciding set. Nicki’s serves get faster, harder. They come at me with a whistle. It is startling. But I don’t worry myself with trying to outdo her. My serves are accurate down to the inch. They are sniper shots.

Nicki’s playing at full capacity right now. She’s fast and watching my tosses. I have to keep my serves unpredictable and sharp.

1–1 to 2–2, 2–2 to 3–3. When I take the ball low, she gets under it. When she goes deep, I get there. When I go short, she pulls up.

She is breathing heavily. I am sweating.

The crowd is going wild with every rally, screaming at every winner.

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.”

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