Page 98 of A Follow-Through in Faking
I won’t give up until the match is truly lost.
Which it isn’t.
Not yet.
Dig deep,mi amor. Find the strength.
Mamá’s words stay with me, too, the ones she told me countless times. I almost wish she was here with me in my head, but that would mean she isn’t already, which isn’t true. Part ofher lives on in me. In Samuel. In Hernanda. In Ori. In Dad. She’s here. I can feel it.
The first serve of my next game goes straight down the middle of the line, and Frederica barely returns it. Her shot lands near the service line, so I approach it, then attack it, sending it cross-court at the highest speed I can muster.
“Fifteen-love,” the umpire says.
I roll out my shoulders, ignoring the slight pinch in my back.
My next serve is an ace.
“Thirty-love.”
I nod to myself several times.
Frederica and I battle over the next point. Forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand. She does a drop shot that has me sprinting toward the net, but I manage to get it before the second bounce, hitting it back to her a little awkwardly. I have no time to see where it’s going because I’m making my way to the center line, preparing to volley the ball back to her.
It doesn’t get to me again.
“Forty-love,” the umpire says, sending a wave of confidence I desperately need through my system.
I win my game with another ace.
The crowd explodes into cheers so loud, my heart overfills with love until it’s spilling onto my face in the form of a smile.
It’s a small victory to win my own service game, but it’s one I needed after losing so many.
It’s four games to one for Frederica, but maybe there is still a chance for me.
After the break between an uneven number of games, it’s time to go back to battling against Frederica, and battling is exactly what I’ll have to do to get back the two breaks and even out the score before taking the set for myself.
The next game is the longest one out of the entire match so far, but I win it. I win the game, making the score four games to two.
“Vamos, Cata,” Santi calls out, and I place my finger to my temple, letting him know I’m locked in.
No one can stop me anymore.
Not even myself.
My next service game is as easily won as the previous one. More determination courses through me.
“Un juego más,” Santi says when I get back to the side of the court where they’re sitting.
One more game until I’ve evened out the set enough to take at least a small breath. One more game, and she won’t have an advantage over me anymore. One more game, and I can win the set.
I stand at the baseline, lowering myself enough to get in position. I spin my racket several times as I wait for Frederica, who looks truly rattled. It gives me an advantage.
My first return is a winner that has the crowd exploding into cheers.
“Love-fifteen,” the umpire calls out, but I don’t celebrate. I simply move to the other side of my half of the court to prepare.
The next point is difficult, and I end up losing it by hitting the ball into the net. I don’t let that get me down or demotivate me. I still have a chance.
