Page 2 of Ace My Heart

Why had I been worried? This wasmyhome crowd! As my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, I gazed around the court, waving at the fans.

“Marry me, Mel!” someone screamed. I laughed, blowing a kiss in that direction.

‘Black’ll Smack Ya!’signs were held aloft all over the place. But one banner caught my eye, and I had to chuckle to myself when I saw it. ‘Smash ‘em Smellie!’

There were only two people in this world who called me Smellie, and while I’d known they were going to be in this crowd, seeing the banner gave me a boost of confidence that I hadn’t known I needed. I blew a kiss in that direction too, hoping that Brad and Amanda would know it was for them.

Smellie was my high school nickname. Not because I reeked or anything; some dickhead kid back when we were thirteen called me Smellanie once as a joke, and it just kind of stuck. I figured owning it was better than acting all hurt by it, and even though I’d been out of school for four years now, Brad and Amanda still used it as a sort of badge of honour, for being the friends who’d stuck with me the longest.

And now they were about to watch me in my first ever Australian Open quarter-final. Ihadto win this one.

Slavonisovich was serving first. I got into position as the crowd quieted to watch the match.

I knew I was a better player than Gordana. I just had to pretend that this wasn’t a quarter, or convince my brain that there was no such thing as a curse. Not easy when you’ve been raised by a highly superstitious Catholic.

I took a few deep breaths and I was in the zone. Nothing existed for me at that moment except for the court and Gordana Slavonisovich.

The sun was murderously hot as Gordana served to me, and I smashed it back over the net into the far corner of the court. She didn’t make it in time and the ball bounced away. The crowd applauded as the umpire called, “Love fifteen!”

Well, that was a good start. But it was far too soon to discount the curse. I had to keep my head in the game.

It wasn’t long before the sweat was dripping into my eyes, and I wiped it hurriedly away with the sweatband on my wrist. I was up three games to one, and I was settling into my groove.

Gordana was up to serve. She tightened her white-blonde ponytail and bounced the ball in front of her a few times. Just before she served, I heard a voice in the crowd, “You can do it Smell!”

Thanks Brad, I thought as I rallied Gordana. His shout had stoked the fire inside me. I just hoped they didn’t kick him out for it.

The sun continued to pound down on us as Gordana and I fought with each other across the court. She began to flag a little as the first set was called: I won six-four. A lot of the northern European players had difficulty handling the Australian heat.

But I wasn’t about to start relaxing any time soon. I still had to win another set. And I was feeling the heat too, although as an Aussie I was better acclimatised. I towelled off and adjusted the strings on my racquet. The Martel XIV Pro had been working really well for me so far.

“Just keep working,” I told it under my breath as I swapped ends with Gordana. She shot me a look of hatred as we passed each other. I flinched. Sure, we were competitors, but that was a look you’d give your mortal enemy. I glanced up to the coach’s box to seeSteve shaking his head minutely out of the corner of my eye. Don’t get riled by the Russian, that look said. I smiled grimly at him to let him know that I wasn’t biting. Well, notliterallybiting, anyway.

If she wanted an enemy, I would give her one. I would pound her right into the Plexicushion.

I rallied and volleyed and served like my life depended on it, concentrating only on smashing the ball at Gordana with enough force to break her bones if it hit her.

It took me a couple of seconds to register when the umpire called the match – I’d won in straight sets!

As my surroundings slowly came back into focus, the roar of the crowd increased in volume. I walked towards the net in a daze and clasped Gordana’s hand over the net.

“Congratulations,” she said in her matter-of-fact Russian accent. There was no trace of the hatred I had seen earlier as I thanked her with a tired smile.

And then it sunk in. I’d broken the drought! I’d beaten the curse! I’d won my first Australian Open quarter-final!

I leapt into the air, punching at the sky. I probably looked like a massive tosser, but I didn’t really care. The crowd was screaming; they loved seeing an Aussie get up in Melbourne.

A bunch of dude-bros in the front row were wolf-whistling at me. “We’ll help you celebrate, Hot Stuff!” one of them shouted drunkenly as they all thrust their hips in my direction. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help my grin. I’d won a quarter-final, even drunk jerks couldn’t ruin my high.

I did on-court interviews with Wolf Sports and Channel Four. I spouted something about working on my focus and keeping my cool, before escaping to the change rooms for an ice bath.

Steve was waiting for me, grabbing me and swinging me around before returning me to the ground. “I told you there’s no such thing as a curse!” he laughed at me.

I smiled back wickedly. “Maybe it’s just that God finally answered my prayers,” I teased, not truly believing it.

Steve rolled his eyes and then got serious.

“Okay Mel, you’re into the semis, there’s no time for you to becomplacent now. You’re up against Norieva. We need to talk strategy later over dinner.”

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