Page 44 of Game Point
You’re late!
Pick up your phone!
???
I was late for the final.
I launched myself from the bed to the door of the room, checking the spyhole to find a hotel employee onthe other side. I opened the door on the latch, peering out through the gap. The man took a moment, peering through as he spoke in English.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but we were asked to perform a welfare check on you. I believe it’s your coach Brooke Turner who was enquiring.’
‘Sorry.’ Dread flooded my system. ‘I’m running late. I’ll let her know I’m okay.’
The attendant looked unsure but relented anyway, stepping away. I slammed the door, immediately running back, pulling together an outfit as quickly as possible.
No more than five minutes later, I stumbled out of my room, running down the hall, a hastily packed bag on my shoulder. As I made it to the elevator, my phone buzzed again, Brooke’s name appearing on the screen.
I answered. ‘I’m sorry. I slept in.’
‘Where are you?’ she demanded. Anxiety spun my nervous system into a crazed frenzy. My chest felt tight as I struggled to swallow down a full breath.
‘I’m on my way, I’m in the elevator.’
‘You are late,’ she snipped. ‘This is unprofessional, Dylan. You’re making me look like an idiot. This is my reputation too.’
Closing my eyes, I tried my best to catch my breath. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be as fast as I can.’
Be faster. Get here now.’ And the phone beeped. She had hung up on me. I sighed.How did I manage to sleep late?
The elevator door slid open, revealing a chaotic hotel reception. I stormed through, battling the busy crowd to escape, some fans shouting my name as they recognized me.
‘Dylan Bailey?’ A man dressed in a black suit caught my elbow and I turned, finding my driver who’d been with me since I arrived in Beijing.
I nodded, allowing him to guide me towards the car. Practically throwing myself into the backseat, he pulled out into the street. Panicked, I looked forward to the sea of red lights ahead of the car, mid-morning traffic jamming the roads up.
‘I’m running very late,’ I said, ‘Is there a quicker route we can take?’
The driver looked back at me, ‘I can only go as fast as the car in front.’
‘I know.’ I bit my lip, my hands going to my bag, counting the money I had in my purse. ‘But if you get me there in ten minutes, there’s an extra $200 in it for you.’
He turned round to look at me, almost as if he was trying to work out if I had that much cash on me or not.
He turned ahead, nodding as he said, ‘Make it $250 and I’ll get you there in eight.’
The car instantly moved forward, pulling out into another lane, my driver obviously finding the accelerator as we raced ahead.
The next few minutes were terrifying. The car jolting to a dead stop at countless red lights, and speeding off before they had a chance to change from amber. He certainly was earning his money. My foot tapped incessantly on the floor. My fingers wringing and stretching and drumming, anything to keep the building anxiety at bay.
My eyes darted to the clock on the dashboard. Trying to do the calculation in my head of how long I’d have to prepare. I could do this. I could pull myself together. Iwas running late, but I’d still be able to reach the court with enough time to warm up. Surely I’d be able to fit in five minutes for another nag from Brooke. Another five for a panic attack in the bathroom.
I took my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through all the notifications, mostly from Brooke, eyes landing on a single message from Avery, immediately regretting it.
AVERY
Good luck in your final today! I’m sure you’ll do great. Remember to keep your temper in check on the court. Give it your best shot for the both of us.
My stomach lurched as I pushed my phone into my pocket, vowing not to touch it again, her words already fused into my brain, the guilt twisting me up. The driver, undeterred by the busy road, veered into a side street, the narrow lane barely wide enough for the car. The buildings seemed to close in on us.
