Page 50 of Match Point

Me: You up?

Her response came ten minutes later.

Miranda: Yeah. Sorry, I was in the other room and missed the text. Can’t sleep?

Me: Nope. I’m wired

Miranda: I know the feeling. Have you tried the 4-7-8 technique?

Me: I have no idea what that is.

Miranda: It’s a breathing technique to calm your mind and body. Breathe in your mouth for four seconds. Hold your breath for seven seconds. Then breathe out your nose for eight seconds. Repeat as many times as you need until you’re asleep.

Me: Does it work?

Miranda: Probably not! But it always takes my mind off things, which is just as good.

Me: I’ll try that. Got any plans once the tournament is over?

Miranda: Flying back to New Jersey, actually.

Me: What a coincidence. I’m doing the same. I’ll be there for 10 days before flying to London for Wimbledon.

Miranda: We should get dinner when we’re both back.

Me: I’d like that. You can help me celebrate my win, or console me after a terrible loss.

Miranda: Hopefully the former, not the latter :-)

Miranda: Sweet dreams

I did have sweet dreams, ones with Miranda featured prominently in them. I found myself thinking about her a lot these days. If I didn’t have such a grueling tennis schedule, I would have made her my primary focus. A woman like Miranda wasn’t someone you could pursue half-heartedly.

There will be time for that later, I told myself while eating breakfast the next morning.For now, I have a match to win.

I had played in plenty of grand slam finals before, but today felt like it held extra significance. I didn’t really understand why. But as I took a cab to the arena and prepared in the locker room, there was a nervous energy in my feet.

When the locker room attendant retrieved me, I followed him out to the court. The crowd cheered when I was announced, and I waved politely… but it was quickly drowned out by the enormous roar for the hometown boy. Gabriel Moreau blew kisses to the crowd and walked to his bench like he was ten feet tall.

In general, I was a well-liked player in the tennis world. I got along with most of my competitors, and the fans seemed to like me. Everywhere I went, most of the crowd was on my side.

But not here. Not today. I was facing Gabriel Moreau in his home city, home tournament, and home surface. Roland Garros was the only one of the grand slam tournaments to be played on soft clay, and Moreau was flawless on the surface. On top of all of that, a lot was on the line. It was a rematch of our Australian Open final, except this time the winner would become the #1 ranked player in the world. The stakes were higher. I knew the crowd would be against me.

I glanced over to Gabriel’s bench. He opened his tennis bag and removed a racket, testing the strings against his palm. He put the racket down and took a sip of his sports drink, then stared at the ground in front of him. For a few seconds, he looked like a normal guy. Quiet, pensive, worried. Like he felt the pressure of the entire city on his shoulders.

Then he got up and the cocky guy I knew took over. He smirked at me like a cat grinning at a mouse.

I want to wipe that smile off his face.

We did some quick warm-ups and began the match. Gabriel got to serve first, which I didn’t mind. I took my position at the baseline as the crowd noise diminished to complete silence. I glanced up at the broadcaster booth, where I knew Miranda was watching.

Moreau tossed the ball into the air and struck his first serve. It was a blur of a shot right down the center line, and I couldn’t get my racket on it.

“Fifteen love, Moreau,” the chair umpire announced to a roar from the crowd.

The next serve was in the same spot, but this time I was ready for it. I took a step to my left and crushed a backhanded return to Moreau’s weak side, catching him off guard. The best he could do was hit a weak return that barely made it across, but I was already rushing to the net to hit a volley to win the point.

The crowd cheered, though nowhere near as loud as they had for Moreau’s ace. I glanced up at the broadcast booth and imagined that Miranda was smiling down at me.

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