Page 105 of Match Point

My pre-match routine flew by in a blur. Suddenly I blinked, and I was walking out onto the court at Arthur Ashe Stadium to a roar of applause.

This is it. Everything I have worked for my entire life.

As I walked to the baseline to prepare to serve to begin the match, I saw Miranda sitting in the front row along the side. The sight of her made me smile… until I realized Dominic deGrom and Tristan Carfrae were sitting next to her, one on either side. I quickly looked away. Why was she doing this? Were they playing mind games with me?

I will not allow it to get into my head,I thought stubbornly.Their presence means they will have a front-row seat to the greatest day of my life.

I turned my attention to my opponent on the other end of the court. Novak Djokovic was one of the all-time greats, if nottheall-time greatest, with 23 championships to his name—more than Rafael Nadal or Roger Federer. He was seven years older than me, but he moved with as much agility and spryness as a man ten years younger. Today’s match wouldnotbe an easy one.

One point at a time, I told myself as I made my first serve. I hit my location perfectly, and although it wasn’t an ace, Djokovic wasn’t able to return it.

“Fifteen love,” the chair umpire announced.

I fell into a groove for that first set, tuning out all the other noises and distractions while focusing on the ball. Djokovic looked rusty, and I won the first set 6 - 3.

But he came out strong in the next set, reacting faster and hitting the ball harder with every point. He broke my serve late in the set to win it, 7 - 5.

The third was very evenly matched. Both of us were at the top of our game, like two heavyweight boxers who could not be knocked out. We tied 6 - 6, and went into a ten-point tiebreaker. And when I was switching sides, I glanced at the booth.

Tristan and Dominic were watching me with unflappable gazes. Why were they here? They had to play in the men’s doubles final this afternoon; they should have been resting. There was no reason for their presence here. Seeing them with Miranda annoyed me.

They must have gotten to me, because I lost the first six points of the tiebreaker. And despite a late rally, I lost the tiebreaker, 10 - 8.

Now I was down 2 sets to 1.

The fourth set started poorly. Djokovic won his serve, and then it was my turn. I placed a perfect serve down the middle, but Djokovic stepped into it and crushed a backhand winner down the line against me. The next point, he hit another winner off my second serve.

“Let’s go, Gabriel!” Dominic suddenly shouted.

His teasing comment stung, but I ignored it. All of the momentum of the match had swung in Djokovic’s favor. He was playing clean, with no unforced errors. I needed to win this set to force a fifth set. In fact, I needed to win thisgameto maintain any chance of defeating him. If my serve was broken early, I could not recover.

My next serve missed. I hit a second serve, and we had a very long rally, hitting the ball back and forth. Djokovic chased down every shot I made, no matter how perfectly placed. I alternated my targets, hitting to his backhand, then forehand, then backhand again, forcing him to sprint around the court. I expected to wear him down, to see him slow with every shot, but he showed no signs of exhaustion.

Eventually, he changed directions on me, and I wasn’t ready for it. His shot landed on the line to my backhand, just out of reach of my racket.

“Love forty,” the chair umpire announced.

I felt my chances falling apart. Was this my fate, to come so close to tennis immortality only to crumble under the pressure at the last moment? I was going to lose my serve, and then I would need a miracle to come back. On the other side of the court, Djokovic stood tall and confident, ready to drive the dagger into my heart.

I glanced at Miranda. She was smiling hopefully at me, trying to give me unspoken encouragement. It would have worked if not for the two men sitting next to her. Their mere existence turned her smile into a sneer.

“Come on, Gabriel!” Dominic said, clapping his hands. “Get back in it!”

I frowned at the man. He wasn’t teasing or taunting me. His cheer sounded…genuine.

“Let’s go!” Tristan shouted. “One point at a time!”

They’re cheering me on? My two biggest rivals?

Was this some sort of mind game? It had to be. I accepted two tennis balls from the ball boy, stepped up to the line, and made my serve.

It was an ace that Djokovic didn’t come close to returning. “Fifteen forty,” the chair umpire said over a rush of crowd noise. Miranda, Tristan, and Gabriel were clapping loudly, now. Miranda cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled something, but I couldn’t hear it over the rest of the fans cheering.

If this is a mind game, it is a complex one.

I felt vulnerable in that moment, as if I were standing in the middle of the court naked. I was not used to having such support in my life—if it was, in fact, true support rather than sarcasm. I took a moment to gaze up at the stadium seats towering over me, filled with fans who were cheering. And for a few heartbeats, without even thinking about it, I allowed my armor to come off. The walls I had kept up around me all my life, tall and strong, were gone. There was only my open soul, exposed before twenty thousand fans.

And itinvigoratedme.

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