Page 4 of Breakpoint
“The Committee thinks it will be great for ratings,” Kira explained, still fiddling with her phone. “The veteran and the rookie, passing the torch, all that jazz. No pun intended. But they think the public will eat it up.”
Jaz had no doubt they would. It was a classic narrative. And she was cast as the aging champion, about to be dethroned by the young upstart. The symbolism of this pairing wasn’t lost on her. It was a passing of the torch, whether she was ready for it or not.
She shook her head. “No fucking way.”
Brandon jumped in, “Hey, can you all give me and Jaz a second to chat?”
Everyone nodded and left the siblings to talk.
“Look, Jazzy, I know it’s not ideal,” Brandon declared, his voice turning serious. Only he and their dad could get away with calling her Jazzy. To everyone else, she was Jaz or Jazmine. “But this is the Olympics. It’s bigger than just you and Daniela. It’s about representing your country.”
“I know that, Brandon. But I’m not about a spectacle.”
Brandon met her gaze, his expression serious. “They want you to win, Jaz. But they also want you to... mentor her. Show her the ropes. The USOC, and particularly oursponsors, want Daniela tobe a success. Given her name and background, they need her to be the future of women’s tennis.”
“But that’s not me. Why would I help mentor someone to beat me? There are no friends on tour.”
Brandon cut in again, “Can you at least appear that you’ll work with her? You know practice together a few times. Besides, mixing things up could be exactly what you need right now. You’ve been stagnant for a bit.”
Again, only her brother could get away with saying that. And coming from him could she look inside herself and admit he was right, but it still stung. She wasn’t going to go out like that. “Why are you siding with them, Brandon? I thought you would be on my side? We’ve never gone out of our way to bow down to what others want us to do. And no one is going to believe that after all these years on the tour, I want to suddenly practice and play with other players.”
Jaz was well aware of how others on the pro tour saw her—the ice queen of women’s tennis.
“You can say you’re just prepping for the Olympics.” Brandon recommended, “Plus, we can’t have the sponsors believe you hate America’s new sweetheart, who happens to be white. We can read the headline now: angry black woman?” Brandon tossed out.
In other words, Jaz was supposed to partner and help the woman who was meant to replace her at the top. The irony was almost comical. “So what? You expect us to just magically become best friendsand win gold medals?”
“No one expects you to be best friends,” Brandon interjected. “But you’re both professionals. You can put your differences aside for a few matches. And some promotion leading up to the Olympics. Maybe do a few sponsorship events and be seen together hitting together.”
“Fine,” she said finally, her voice firm. “I’ll do it. But if she tries to pull any diva antics, I’m serving the ball straight at her.”
Chapter 2
The morning sun cast long shadows across the Paribas Open at Indian Wells, a sprawling oasis nestled in the heart of the California desert. The tournament, renowned for its prestige and substantial prize money, transformed the arid landscape into a vibrant hub of activity. As Dani jogged through the grounds, she spied visitors entering under the vibrant sign, emblazoned with the words “Welcome to Tennis Paradise” in cheerful pink and green. It set the tone for the electrifying atmosphere. This was a place where careers took off and fortunes were made, and the winner poised to claim a staggering $1.3 million.
It was here that Daniela Kappas, the tennis player, hoped to make her mark and win this 1000 series tournament like so many other pros before her. The air crackled with anticipation, fueled by the dreams of competition and the excitement of spectators who had flocked to this desert haven to witness tennis greatness. But at Dani at twenty-years-old, was just happy to make the draw. Thankfully, good results during the Asian swing of tournamentsin Singapore, Dubai, and Qatar following her showing at the Australian Open got her a qualifying spot here.
And she really needed the money. Though she had done well during the Asia swing, it was expensive traveling all over Asia with her entire team. She still had to pay them and pay for their travels regardless of how well she did. She never realized the strain that finances would have on her when she turned pro.
Dani slowed her jog, her muscles stiff and protesting. Each breath felt heavy, a mixture of stale champagne and regret. She needed to pick up the pace, pushing herself along the winding paths that crisscrossed the tournament grounds. It was only March, but sweat from the desert heat beaded on her forehead, stinging her eyes slightly. With each stride, she imagined the alcohol seeping out of her pores, leaving behind the focused, disciplined athlete she needed to be. She definitely regretted that trip to Palm Springs last night. But it was only a thirty-minute drive up the road and catnip for a queer and moderately famous female athlete.
The morning run around the grounds brought back the reality of where she was and what her career had ascended to. She passed other players, some stretching languidly, others engaged in intense practice drills. She always dreamed of playing Indian Wells and never thought she would be here, especially after less than a full year on the pro tour. But this was her dream, and she wasn’t going to let too much alcohol, nerves, or impostor syndrome stand in the way of it.
The moment Dani could walk, her parents said she had a tennis racket in her hand. As the only child of two professional tennisplayers, Georgios Kappas, still revered as a tennis great in his home country of Greece, and all-American Bittany Stevens, now Kappas, tennis was in Dani’s blood. She remembered as a kid watching her mom on the biggest stages, and for a while, people considered Brittany Kappas, with eighteen Grand Slam titles, one of the greatest of all time.
And after her mother retired when she was six, tennis was something they had in common. They would play together on the tennis courts on their estates. It was a bond they shared, and she never felt closer to her than when they played tennis together. Although Dani was forced to take an untraditional route, going to college to hone her game, she still succeeded. After winning two national championships, she went pro.
She shot up the rankings like a rocket. At six feet one inch, she was tall, athletic, with supermodel good looks inherited from her athletic parents. She was a towering figure on the court with a striking combination of olive skin, captivating green eyes, and a cascade of thick brown hair. Hailed as a once-in-a-generation talent, she possessed a rare blend of athleticism and pure skill. Dani was lightning-fast but incredibly agile for someone her size, moving with an effortless grace that belied her powerful frame. She was, in essence, the blueprint for the perfect female tennis player, embodying every desired dimension: power, speed, precision, and an innate understanding of the game. Every tool necessary for dominance on the court was at her disposal.
Soon as she turned pro, sponsors came calling. She had enough self-awareness to understand at her ranking they were plentiful compared to others because of her face, her body, andbegrudgingly her name. Most people, mainly the trolls online, thought she was just skating by on those things instead of her talent because her sponsorship and social media attention exceeded her accomplishments.
She gritted her teeth and pushed her legs harder, her breathing becoming ragged. Sweat plastered Dani’s brow as she entered the large training facility from her run, or more like an alcohol-infused jog. There was commotion all around her, ball kids getting instructions, officials looking over the courts, everyone prepping for one of the biggest tennis events in California.
The pounding in her head slowly receded, replaced by the satisfying ache of exertion. Her coach, Tom, and her agent, Chris, were waiting for her in the tented cool-down area. Something must be up if they were in the same room with each other. They hated each other. Moreover, Tom hated Chris.
Tom was an old-school coach. Gruff with his arms always crossed over his chest, no matter if he was sitting or standing. Even when she won, his scowl only seemed to change to a sneer. He was a man of few words, saying what he needed to say, then told her to go fix it. He wanted Dani to focus on her training, her game, and minimize the outside distractions. Chris, with his fast-talking Boston accent, was always signing Dani up for more promotions and photo shoots that took her away from training. He wanted to use her family name and model looks to sign bigger deals.
“Hey, guys, how is my dream team?” Dani smiled at both of them as she plopped down on a chair and unlaced her shoes,hoping to ease the tension that always abounded when they were in the room together.
