Page 80 of It’s All in How You Fall
I can do this.
Just get on the board. That’s it.
I sneak a glance at Alex. He’s sitting with his dad and the semi-familiar man, but his focus is completely on me. Alex nods and claps, and that’s when, at his back, I spy the face of someone else I definitely know. Dr. Kennedy. He’s squeezing in behind Dad and Olga. Most likely with a crack or two about my back. That old Kepler stubbornness ignites inside of me. I’m no longer “Flip,” but I can still have the same calling card.
Watch this.
I launch into my serve, aiming as best I can for something that will go right into Marina’s body. Her scowl seems to slow down her footwork (too much energy involved, I think), and predictably, she’s terrible at getting out of the way. She gets a piece of the ball only by blocking it rather than hitting it. The ball pings off the racket strings guarding her midsection and dribbles to a rolling stop.
Fifteen–love.
My next serve is more of the same. Into the body. My fledgling aim fails me and it sails to her backhand side, but only just, and she has to scoot out of the way to avoid yet another block. This time, the ball angles wide, dumping into her side of the net.
Thirty–love.
Marina’s anger is starting to show through her brooding mask. She aggressively adjusts strings on her racket, muttering to herself.
Fine. She’s expecting that I’ll change it up. That would be a typical strategy. But I’m not a typical player. I line up my shot.
Straight at the body.
This time, she doesn’t even get her racket head on it, the ball bouncing off the Y between the head and handle.
Forty–love.
We switch, and I’m going to go for her forehand. She won’t expect it. And with as far over as she is in the box, if I hit, she’ll have to lunge to get it.
I wind up a serve… and dump it into the net.
Damn.
I grab a new ball from my pocket, my tennis skirt working perfectly.
Okay, I can do this.I toss the ball up and hit it with all my might.
The ball doesn’t go anywhere I want it to go. Instead of angling toward her forehand, the ball barely catches the service line right near the tape dividing the two boxes. It bounces and skids out, almost in the dead center of the court.
Ace.
I hit an ace.
Claimed a game.
The score is now 5–1.
Dad, Nat, and Olga are on their feet like I’ve just won the whole thing. Alex and his dad hop up too. Even Dr. Kennedy and the semi-familiar guy clap.
This isn’t a title, isn’t a match, isn’t even a set. But it’s a huge step in the right direction.
And it’s exactly what I need.
I lost the match. As I knew I would. But I put up a better fight than my opponent or I bargained for.
Six–one, six–three.
Yes, I won three whole games in the second set.
I am exuberant as I meet Marina at the net for a shake before each of us thanks the chair. I’m drenched in sweat but energized even in my exhaustion. Alex comes in like a jet plane.
