Page 179 of Break Point
15–30.
We trade heavy shots in the next rally. I start looping high, changing the rhythm. Her frustration is evident.
That’s right. Do the work.
She’s an aggressive player, we get it. I consider myself one, too. But if I’ve learned anything from Henry, it’s knowing when to be patient. When to buy time. When to mix it up.
She takes the bait and goes for too much, sending it long.
30–30.
She goes big on the next one, but the serve clips the tape and hangs in the air just long enough. I pounce, step in, and crush it down the line.
40–30.
Match point.
My legs feel heavier than they did a minute ago. My grip falters.
I’m not getting out of bed for the rest of the month after this.
Wait …
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
My toe curls, my body’s way of demanding a break it knows I won’t allow.
Not yet.
I plant my feet and wince through my teeth as Zoya readies herself to serve on championship point.
Mychampionship point.
But the burn radiates up my sole, threatening to paralyze me if it moves up my calf, a path it usually favors.
Zoya doesn’t miss a beat. Her eyes flash with the cruel alertness predators are born with.
She sees me falter and bares her teeth like she smells blood.
I bend over slightly, pretending to fix my laces.
“Shhhit…” I mutter, stretching my toe inside my shoe, silently begging it to yield.
It seems like it will pass, but Zoya’s seconds away from serving if I’m lucky, and I might need a minute to recover. A minute I don’t have.
Murmurs roll through the stands until I hear the unmistakable chorus carried by dozens of voices. It’s faint at first, but the audience quickly injects itself into the match.
¡Ay, ay, ay, ay … canta y no llores!
¡Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones!
Chad clicks his mic off without a word and a little more force than necessary. He gives me a tight look that reeks ofdon’t ride this too far, and adjusts in his seat, muttering to himself.
The song tells me to sing and not cry, but I break the second I spot Mom, who probably orchestrated this when she saw I was struggling. She’s swaying from side to side with the rest of my people. With a stadium full of strangers waving their flags like a house banner and singing for me like a war cry.
A warning.
¡Ay, ay, ay, ay … canta y no llores!
