Page 99 of Backhanded Compliments

If luca kacic has millions of fans i am one of them. if luca has ten fans i am one of them. if luca has only one fan, that is me. if luca has no fans, that means i am no longer on the earth. if world against luca, i am against the world.

And even if Twitter sees this newer side to Luca, Juliette sees how she’s still guarding herself. She’s keeping everyone at a racket’s length and Juliette longs to see her true smile, the one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corner. She wants, despite herself, to hear Luca’s honking laugh. Juliette doesn’t know if she’s just projecting but Luca doesn’tseem happy either.And Juliette feels ripped to shreds, left in tatters.

“Onto the next tournament,” Juliette says finally, tracing water rings into the table from her glass’s condensation. She lost in the first round of Miami, and then in the second round of Cincinnati to a random player. Maybe she’s cursed to never play well again.

At least in Miami, Luca lost in the semifinals to Remi, setting up the strangest final in the history of tennis, between Remi and Xinya. It was the first time that confirmed soulmates had ever played against each other. And it wasfunto watch. It was clear that they knew each other’s games inside and out. Remi always plays high risk, never backing down from trying to clip the line with every stroke. Her serve almost always bailed her out with blistering speed and accurate placement. Xinya, on the other hand, relied on her athleticism, variety of shots, and never missing to win. And with both of them playing their best, it came down to a few points toward the end of each set.

Xinya won in the third set tiebreaker, falling to her knees as she did. Then the camera had flipped to Remi. If Juliette hadn’t beenwatching the match, she would’ve thought Remi won. The glow of pure joy and pride on her face made Juliette’s throat burn. When Remi reached Xinya, she hugged her and spun her around. In their speeches, they thanked each other for making each other better. After, they held up their interlocked hands instead of their trophies, because they mattered more to each other.

Juliette had wanted to turn the channel, but Claudia had the remote and wouldn’t stop cooing over how cute they were. Her stomach clenches at the memory, and she worries she’ll spew falafel and eggplant all over the table.

“Are you still going to the match tomorrow?” Antony asks, yanking Juliette out of her thoughts. The lighting is low, casting deep shadows over the crags of Antony’s face, making him look even more stern as he frowns.

“It’s Octavia’s final. I have to,” Juliette says, even though she feels nauseated at the thought.

“I know that isn’t all of it,” Antony says. He pauses, for dramatic effect, then adds, “Your head is still wrapped up in Kacic.”

The sound of Luca’s name strikes the still-raw nerves in Juliette. She can’t even lie and tell her father that this isn’t about Luca, because it is. Even though she broke up with her, Juliette is haunted by the decision. She may not be playing as horribly as she did the day after her panic attack, but she is far from her best. “Come on, Juliette, tell me what’s going on.” Antony reaches across the table and takes her hand, stopping the incessant circles.

Juliette shakes her head, the back of her throat tightening again. God, when did she get so weepy? “We were trying to make a relationship work between us.” She lays her cheek against her other hand, looking out into the restaurant to avoid Antony’s gaze.

“Why?” Antony asks.

Juliette barks out a humorless laugh. “Why?” She slams her hand onto the table, making her father startle. She flips her arm over, the strip of black circled tightly around Luca’s name hiding it. “Take a wild fucking guess.”

Antony looks chagrined, and he frowns. “There is no need to usethat language,” he says primly, if only to regain control of the conversation.

Juliette rolls her eyes, not even caring to restrain it. “Oh, I’msosorry. I’ll do better to answer your dumb questions respectfully,” Juliette says, letting sarcasm drip as heavy as sap.

Antony’s eyes narrow, and a muscle in his jaw flicks. “Luca Kacic has no right to your feelings. Especially if it jeopardizes your tennis.”

“I know!” Juliette snaps, the embers of anger sparking into flames. “Why do you think I broke up with her?”

“That was a mature decision, Juliette,” Antony says, giving her a loaded look. He pities Juliette for ever believing a relationship with Luca was worth it. “You shouldn’t go to the match tomorrow regardless. It won’t be good to watch Kacic. Not so close to the US Open. Not after your failure in this tournament.”

It’s such a slap in the face that Juliette rips her hand out of Antony’s. “Don’t quit your day job as my coach, okay? I don’t need your judgment on my life.” She slides out of the booth.

“Juliette!” Antony calls, but Juliette is already weaving through the restaurant, and she bursts out the door into the evening air. The sun slinks below the horizon, a bleached wash of soft oranges and baby pinks aglow on puffy clouds. The Ohio wind ruffles her curls and caresses her cheeks, surprisingly refreshing.

She looks up at the sky, slowly deepening to indigos and twinkling with stars. She thought the pain of pushing Luca away would fade with time, but if anything, it’s worse. Juliette walks aimlessly until it’s fully dark and the moon is somewhere behind the clouds, hiding her face like Juliette is hiding her own.

By the time she realizes she’s hopelessly lost, she is in the middle of nowhere with only the glittering sea of stars above her, an expanse of tall, waving corn threatening to engulf her to her right, and a long empty road to her left.

She pulls out her phone and sees she has a couple of missed texts from her father about her schedule.

Typical. No apologies.

There are a few messages from Octavia about the match tomorrow.Usually, it would be Livia, but she’s been pissed since the party. She had come to Claudia and Xinya’s doubles match but sat in the back row, stiff and frowning with her sunglasses on the entire time.

Livia is still the content manager for all three of them, so she’s continued to do her job and book them flights and hotels, and post on their social media. All her texts have been impersonal, including the one sitting unopened about Juliette’s approval of a T-shirt post.

Juliette considers launching her phone into the corn.

However, she does the mature thing and turns it off before she begins the long trek back to the hotel. It’s late when she returns, swiping in with her key card. She nods at reception before her eye is caught by a lanky figure moving through the lobby.

For a moment, her heartbeat skips, and she thinks…

But no, it’s simply a janitor with a mop on his shoulder.

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