Page 106 of Match Point

I stepped up to the line to serve. My body moved automatically and without thought, my muscles passing through the perfect lines in space to complete the motion of my serve. Without looking at the result, I knew it was an ace.

“Thirty forty,” the chair umpire announced.

I won the next point, and then the point after that to hold my serve and keep the fourth set even at 1 - 1. The roar from the crowd increased with every point, culminating in a huge cheer when I won the game.

I had always felt an immense amount of pressure in my life. Some was self-imposed, but so much of it was external. Pressure from my family and friends. Pressure from the Academy instructors. Pressure from my agent, my publicist, my coach. I had spent my career trying to live up to their impossible expectations, and to prove them wrong.

But now, as I prepared to receive Djokovic’s serve and heard Miranda, Dominic, and Tristan cheering loudly, I realized I was playing with something better: support. My driving emotion wasn’t fear of failure. It was eagerness to succeed for Miranda. Excitement to accomplish something extraordinary. With that in my mind, allowing me to focus, I was no longer afraid of losing.

And the sensation was more freeing than anything I had ever experienced in my life.

I felt light on my feet as I chased down every shot, fighting for each point. All other distractions faded away. The only things in the world, in theuniverse, were me, and the yellow ball, and the racket in my hand. I barely even saw my opponent; his presence didn’t matter. I was hitting my shots by feeling, rather than trying to logically decide where to aim.

I wasn’t sure if I was wearing Djokovic down, or if it was the fact that he was older than me, but he seemed to grow sluggish on the court as we battled for every point. I won the fourth set in dominant fashion, 6 - 2, which sent the crowd into a frenzy of excitement.

As the fifth set began, I did not slow down. I maintained this pace, safe in a cocoon of warmth and love provided by Miranda’s presence. My opponent found a second wind and fought me with everything he had, scrambling around the court and hitting incredible winning shots that would have destroyed my motivation in another time. But I was a different Gabriel Moreau today, a stronger one, and the only thing that mattered was the ball and my racket.

I sprinted. I dove. I grunted with every shot, and gritted my teeth between points.

Then, without warning, I glanced up at the scoreboard. I was winning 5 - 3. It was Djokovic’s serve, and I was winning, forty - fifteen. I was one point away from winning the game.

And the set.

And thematch.

I didn’t allow the moment to overwhelm me, although it came close. The crowd was whipped up into a chaotic fervor, sensing that we were on the edge of something incredible. Dominic and Tristan were on their feet in the booth, high-fiving and pumping their fists. The cheers went on so long that the chair umpire had to ask for quiet, and only then did my two rivals sit back down.

Match point, I thought while taking my place at the baseline to receive the serve. A sense of peace fell over me as silence descended on the crowd. I realized that I didn’t need to win. If I lost, everything was still going to be okay. That’s what Miranda’s presence meant—and the presence of Dominic and Tristan.

Djokovic served the ball. It landed on my forehand side, and I made two quick steps and hit a weak return. Djokovic charged forward, striking his own return as he prepared to volley.

But his return shot hit the net and landed on his side.

It took my brain a few seconds to comprehend what had happened. It finally clicked as the crowd screamed as one, and Djokovic hung his head in defeat.

I had won the match.

I had won the US Open.

I had won all four major tournaments in the same year.

The peace that had fallen over me dimmed enough to allow me to celebrate. I fell to my knees. Tears poured out of my eyes against my will, and I didn’t try to stop them. I got up and met Djokovic at the net, who was smiling and congratulating me on the accomplishment.

Then I was jogging away from the net, over to the front row seats where my support was sitting. They were all smiling from ear to ear, their happiness for me too pure to fake. I kissed them all on the cheeks—even Dominic and Tristan, who laughed and clapped me on the back.

“I’m so proud of you,” Miranda said. “You did it, Gabriel. You did it!”

I’ve done it.

Yet as sweet as this victory was, it felt like I had gained something far more valuable today.

52

Miranda

I didn’t need to convince Tristan and Dominic to root for Gabriel. All I had to do was put them in the right position and let it happen naturally.

It began slowly. The two of them watched me cheering Gabriel on, but sat quietly in the seats. When he made an ace in the second set, Tristan gave a little clap. Not really a cheer, but an appreciation of a well-hit serve.

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