Page 12 of Breakpoint
“What do you think about having to play your new doubles partner in the next round?” Sascha asked a bit too loudly. At this point, Dani couldn’t tell if Sascha’s eyes were even still open. Dani was definitely drunk, but Sascha looked ready to pass out. She needed to find a cab or call a ride share for them asap. She didn’t want to be stuck carrying all six feet of Sascha back to her hotel.
Dani scoffed as she stood up, trying to flag down a cab. “She’s only my partner for the Olympics, and I’m definitely not worried about it.”
“Maybe the heat will melt the ice maiden?” Sascha laughed drunkenly at her own joke.
“I doubt it, but I need her to win gold. So I’m doing what I need to do for our sponsors and the Olympic Committee.” The Paris streets were pretty deserted, so Dani was relieved when a cab finally stopped in front of them. Dani grabbed a drunken Sascha, her legs now wobbly, by the arm to help her walk over to the cab.
“She’s past her prime anyway and just a shrew,” Sascha slurred on shaky legs.
“Tell me about it. I don’t know who pissed in her corn flakes for her to be so bitchy to everyone. I tried to be nice and cordial, andshe just looked at me like I was something on the bottom of her shoe.”
“She needs to step over for the new guard. We are the future of women’s—” Sascha stopped and puffed her cheeks. Dani thought she was going to puke, but a nasty burp came out instead. “—tennis. I can’t wait for you to take her down.” Sascha spat as she slumped in the back of the cab and passed out.
“In forty-eight hours, I’ll have no problem putting her in place,” Dani declared confidently as they rode through the Paris streets.
They were living the dream, one Instagram post, one TikTok dance, one wild night at a time.
Even though she was still in the tunnel, Dani could almost feel the roar of the crowd all around her. Her grip on her tennis bag tightened, loosened, then tightened again. This was it. This would be her first time playing on Court Philippe-Chatrier, the largest and center court of the French Open.
She looked over at Jaz, who was doing some final stretches and warm-ups with Scott. She had her headphones on and just seemed to know what to do next without Scott even saying anything. She wondered what Jaz listened to in her headphones to stay in the zone and pump herself before walking out there.
Tom’s voice, usually a steadying baritone, sounded distant, echoing strangely in the confined space. His words of encouragement,strategy reminders, washed over her like a gentle tide, barely registering in the cacophony inside her own head.
“You got this, Dani.”
Tom’s words finally broke her from her reverie. He turned and left with Scott to head to their seats in the players' box in the stands. Now it was just her and Jaz. And the anticipation. She ran a hand through her damp hair, already slick with pre-match sweat. Every muscle in her body was coiled tight, a spring ready to unleash. She loved the adrenaline rush she got right before a match.
The announcer then gave them the cue. She walked forward onto the court, and the roar of the crowd crashed over her like a tidal wave. It almost overtook her as she walked to her seat to drop her bag. Thousands of people were watching her.
The on-court warm-up passed in a blur, and next thing Dani knew, she was on the court waiting to receive Jaz’s serve. Dani’s instincts kicked into gear the second the ball left Jaz’s racket. She knew automatically how she was going to play it. Dani made sure her footwork was on point, examined the angle, how high the ball bounced, its speed and spin, then cracked a one-handed backhand to the left corner of the box.
She had won the first point and felt her confidence rise. She could do this. The first set was back-and-forth shot-making. She finally broke through in the ninth game, breaking Jaz’s serve to go up 5-4. On set point, Jaz continued to play to Dani’s weaker forehand with a lot of topspin shots. On the fourth try, Dani hit a forehand down the line. Her eyes shot daggers at Jaz when the ball was called in.
“Game, set, Miss Kappas. 6-4,” the chair umpire stated over the speaker as twenty thousand people roared.
She had won the first set. She had taken down the machine. The crowd was so loud that she could hear it in her chest. A thrill, pure and exhilarating, shot through her. Dani let out a yell and clenched her fist at Tom and Chris in her player’s box. Chris was on his feet, giving her a fist pump back, and Tom, as she expected, was sitting down with his arms folded across his chest. Like she had accomplished nothing.
“Lets’ fucking go, Dani!” she said to herself in her chair during the changeover. A giddy thrill coursed through her, a feeling of invincibility. She sipped her water, her gaze sweeping across the stadium. The energy of the crowd was infectious, fueling her already soaring spirit. She looked over at Jaz, who was staring ahead in a zone.
She stood and bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get back on the court and finish what she’d started.
The second set began with the same fire, the same precision that had defined her play in the first. She moved with a lightness, her newfound confidence clear in every stroke. They were tied 2-2 as Dani arched her body back like a bow pulled taut and let out a ninety-five mph serve, her fastest of the tournament.
And with one crack of a forehand, Jaz sent the ball back like a rocket down the left baseline. Dani didn’t even have a chance to move, much less get a racket on the ball as it whirred past her.
HOLY SHIT!
The crowd stood on their feet at that amazing return and winning point. She looked across the net at Jaz, who was staring right back at her. Her face said, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’
A switch seemed to flip in Jaz, and the tide turned. Jaz started hitting faster and stronger. Almost like Jaz had been playing in first and was now revved up to fifth gear. Dani tried to impose herself and took every opportunity to be aggressive and dominate the rallies, but nothing was working. Jaz was running all over the court. Unforced errors crept into her game, shots that had been winners in the first set now sailing wide or clipping the net. She was going to puke. Dani was pretty fit, but she had never felt this tired.
She didn’t win another game in the second set, losing it 6-2. They were going to a third set. Dani hoped the changeover would give her an opportunity to get back in the moment and fight off the surge.
“Get it together, Dani! You got this,” she said as she sat down in her chair, trying to psych herself up. She was playing tight, and her body and muscles were overthinking every shot instead of playing loose and free.
But the third set was more like the second. A masterclass in experience. Jaz capitalized on the shift in momentum. She dictated the pace, and Dani was being played like a puppet on a string. Jaz moved her around the court, exploiting her growing fatigue. She anticipated Dani's every move, her returns landing with pinpoint accuracy just beyond her reach.
The sun beat down mercilessly on the clay court, a relentless adversary in its own right. Sweat dripped from Dani’s brow, stingingher eyes as she chased down a blistering crosscourt that she just couldn’t get to. The lightness in her steps vanished, replaced by a heavy fatigue, both physical and mental.
