Page 99 of Match Point

Focus on tennis,I told myself while walking out onto the court for my quarterfinals match.This is my career. Personal feelings can wait until later.

The drills Miranda had hammered into me helped during my match; my footwork was seamless, without me needing to think about it. I won my match in straight sets: 6 - 4, 7 - 5, 6 - 3.

But I didn’t have much time to celebrate. Because the next player on my schedule was Gabriel Moreau.

“Don’t overthink this,” my coach told me down in the locker room before the match. “You’re a good match for Moreau. If you can overpower him with your serves and volleys, you can keep him on the defensive.”

“He’s going to hammer your backhand,” Miranda suddenly said, walking into the locker room unexpectedly. I got up and embraced her; she clung to me fiercely.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you down here. Aren’t you broadcasting the match?”

“Which is why it was easy for me to sneak away,” she replied. “Now, focus. Gabriel is going to try to take advantage of what he thinks is your weakness: your backhand. Be prepared for it. Don’t let it get in your head. Just return your shots, preferably to his backhand. Keep pounding him on that side, and wait for an opening to hit a winner.”

“Got it.”

She wrapped her arms around me again, this time stepping up on her tip-toes to kiss me. For several heartbeats, I forgot all about the match.

“Does this mean you’re rooting for me?” I asked.

“I’m rooting for a good match between you two,” she said diplomatically. “Remind them who Tristan Carfrae is.”

Miranda’s visit and pep talk succeeded in firing me up. I walked out into the exit tunnel with my tennis bag ready to fight.

Gabriel came out of his locker room and stopped next to me. “To a good match,” he said, extending his hand.

It felt like a trap, but I accepted it. “To a good match.”

Something mischievous sparkled in Gabriel’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything more. The lack of a taunt surprised me more than I expected as we walked out onto the court, but I forgot all about it as the roar of the crowd washed over me.

We did some quick warm-ups, and then it was time to play. I tried not to glance up at the booth where Miranda was watching—and commentating. It must have been killing her to have to watch while also appearing totally calm and collected. Compared to that, I had an easy job.

Right, just an easy job,I thought while stepping up to the baseline.Knock off Gabriel Moreau, the world number one. And then advance to the finals, where I’ll probably face my doubles partner, Dominic.

I knew I was outmatched against Gabriel. The entire world knew it. But I had a good strategy, and that allowed me to focus.

On the other side of the net, Gabriel tossed the ball over his head. His body contorted, then exploded like a spring. His serve whizzed across the net and landed inside the box. It was to my left, my backhand side, but I couldn’t get my racket around in time to return it.

“Fifteen love,” the chair umpire announced while the fans clapped.

I held my own in the first set. Miranda was right: Gabriel pounded my backhand side, probing for weaknesses. It even looked like he was becoming frustrated that my returns were all solid. He must have expected me to be weaker on that side than I was.

Yet despite my efforts, he broke my serve and won the first set, 7 - 5.

The wheels began falling off in the second set. He broke me early, and then I held on for a while before he broke me a second time to win the set, 6 - 2.

The third set started off poorly. Gabriel won his serve, then immediately broke my serve to go up 2 - 0. I could feel my US Open hopes slipping away with every point. As we switched sides, I began rationalizing it in my mind. I never expected to win this tournament; it was only supposed to be a stepping stone for the Australian Open. I was lucky to have gotten all the way to the semifinals. It was just a shame to lose to Gabriel.

It doesn’t matter who I lose to,I thought.This was a good run regardless.

Now that we had switched sides, I was closer to the booth where Miranda was broadcasting. I wasn’t expecting to see anything when I glanced up, but there she was, her raven hair flowing around her head as she leaned forward to look down at me.

She didn’t make any gestures. Coaching was illegal in the middle of a match, and the slightest gestures could be construed as help. But she gave me a long look. The kind of look that said:harden the fuck up.

It was what I needed to hear at that moment, and ignited something deep within my chest. “It’s not over,” I whispered to myself while turning to face my opponent. “Don’t have a fucking cry about it ‘til it’s over.”

Gabriel hit an ace to start the next game. But the next serve I absolutely teed off on, stepping into the swing and crushing a winner down the line. I did the same on the next point, then won two scrambling points in a row that left us both sweaty and exhausted.

But I had broken his serve. Now I was only down 2 - 1.

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