Page 69 of A Follow-Through in Faking
Today, Catalina and I are playing in the finals of theIndian Wells Open.
We made it here by pretty much bulldozing through all of our opponents, never needing more than two sets to defeat them.
I don’t want today to be different, but we’re playing against Noah Volic and Bernadette Jowls, and they’re the best doubles players in the game right now. Well, before Cata and I started, that is, and I don’t care if it makes me sound full of myself—us, I guess—because wearethat good.
We’re warming up, Cata rallying with Bernadette, and Noah and I doing the same. They’re both incredibly strong players, but before the match, Cata and I spent an hour studying their game.
“Noah’s forehand isn’t all there today. He’s making a lot of mistakes,” I tell Cata as soon as she approaches me after the warm-up. Noah and Bernadette are getting ready to start serving for this match.
“I suggest we aim our balls his way. He’s a bit less consistent than she is in general. He tries shots that always go too far or in the net,” she says, and I smile at her because watching her strategize and analyze is one of my favorite things about playing doubles with her.
“Yeah, he hits the balls really flat,” I agree, taking a step closer to her to make sure no one can hear our words. Bernadette and Noah are huddled together, Noah covering his mouth with a ball as he speaks to his partner, a common tactic in doubles.
“We can do this,” she says, encouraging us, and I lift her hand to my mouth to place a kiss to the back of it.
“We got this,” I echo, watching a shy smile curl up the corners of her lips. She’s blushing because the crowd always whistles, screams, or cheers for us when we show any kind of affection, but I think she’s getting used to it.
Or maybe she’s simply getting more comfortable with me so that she doesn’t mind the attention being on her because she knows it’s divided between us, and I will always have her back.
The first game is uneventful. Bernadette and Noah manage to bring it home somewhat easily because Noah’s serve is flawless and incredibly fast. There is barely any fighting at all because even when Cata and I are on the ball, we don’t manage to hit it well enough to take control of the rally.
The second game goes to us just as easily. I started serving, as I’ve done in every match, to give Cata more time to warm up and get ready to serve. If she knew that’s what I was doing, she’d probably gut me like a fish, so I simply say I prefer serving first. It’s not entirely a lie, even if it’s not the full truth either. I’m worried about her, and I want her to get better as soon as possible so she can finally win her first Grand Slam.
She deserves it.
It’s long overdue.
Bernadette serves next, and Cata and I are struggling to find ways to outplay them as well as outsmart them. They’re both playing well at the moment, their shots are consistent and well-placed, but there has to be a way to take a service game from them.
“Santi,” Cata says after we lose another point. I move toward her, lowering my head so she can whisper in my ear. “Go far left, then I’ll go down the middle,” she says, and I give her an agreeing nod. She offers me one last firm, determined look before moving to the net.
It’s my turn to return the serve, which is why Cata told me to go left. To my benefit, Bernadette serves in the right corner of the box, and I easily hit the ball cross-court where my doubles partner told me to go. Bernadette manages to get the ball, but Catalina moves toward the center line and puts it away, straight down the middle of the court, where Noah can’t reach it while Bernadette recovers.
“Vamos, cariño!” I call out, a bright smile taking over my face when she turns to me to show off her smug expression. She has every right to wear it after such a beautiful point.
“You see, you have to listen to me,” she says, wiggling her brows at me.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll obey without question,” I reply as she comes closer, and she whispers another plan into my ear.
A minute later, we get another point, making it thirty all for the score.
“You’re unstoppable,” I say, high-fiving her when she walks back toward me. “What’s next?”
It's one set to one.
Cata and I won the first set, but Bernadette and Noah destroyed us in the second one.
Now it’s five games to four.
We have had one break this set, taking a service game from Noah, and Cata and I are exhausted. The last few rallies have been a minimum of twenty shots, which is a lot. It’s her turn to serve now, and I step toward her, concern slipping into my throat. I barely swallow past it to speak.
“How is your back?” I ask, placing a hand on it as if I could feel the answer there for myself.
“It’s fine. Tired,” she admits as she raises her hand to the bicep of the arm that’s around her, so my fingers can trail over her back.
“We’re almost there. All we have to do is get your game,” I say while she wipes her face with her towel.
“You say it as if it’s so simple. We’ve been struggling to get mine through the whole match,” she replies with a tired laugh, her shoulders dropping as she takes a deep breath. “But you’re right. We can do it. This is our match,” she whispers, her determination one of my favorite sights in the world.
