Page 84 of It’s All in How You Fall
“It’ll be a challenge, for sure.”
38
“Challenge” turns out to be an understatement to the tune ofBarrington Backwards Hat going out like a bat out of hell, taking the first set 1–6 from Alex.
I literally had no words other than “no” when Sunny leaned over and asked, “Um, is he okay?” Because I had no explanation.
I’d never seen this Alex. This utterly human Alex, who, at least for a set, looked like he had taken a year off from tennis.
Shots that would normally catch lines went wide.
He double faulted (more than once).
Drop shots fell into the net or caught the tape and dumped back onto his side.
It was… not Alex-esque.
More than once I caught the sour scowl of Coach Bev as she tapped her temple, eyes on Alex, imploring him to think of other ways to win because what he was doing was not working.
At 4 all in the second set, Alex grabbed his towel, wiped his brow, and began a run that had him winning the set 6–4, pushing it to a third.
I was hoping the momentum would keep going, but that chip on Barrington’s shoulder was not going to let him relent.
Instead, it’s even closer than the second set, and every game is played to deuce, though somehow both of them have stayed on serve, not a single break.
By the time they’re at 6 all and 4 all in the third set, I’ve gone from breathlessly explaining tiebreak rules to Sunny and Peregrine—I had no idea they used them in the deciding set here, a la the French Open—to squeezing my empty water bottle like a stress ball. Mr. Zavala has made more than one awkward joke about making a visit to the champagne tent to survive the tiebreak.
Movement catches my eye at the end of the row as both players wipe off their faces and arms with towels. “I’m bad luck. I should leave,” Sunny whispers, one leg already reaching the long way down to the court concrete. She’s yanking down her dress with one hand to avoid any indecency.
“We’rebothbad luck,” Peregrine whispers back, “but we’re going to distract him and make it worse if we leave. It’s literally almost over no matter how it goes. Stay put.”
Sunny grimaces and returns her leg to the bleacher step. “If he loses, the dude should never want to talk to us again.” Her face is crumpled and braced at the same time, and I can see it all over her body language that the past two hours have only driven home the fact that adding a significant other to a serious sports career can have dire, dire consequences.
And honestly, I’m wondering the same thing. Because maybe it’s not Sunny and Peregrine throwing him off… maybe it’s me.
I know. I know.
Peregrine and I argued with Sunny that day at the lake that she shouldn’t worry about a relationship pulling focus from her dreams because no one should have that much power over the goals of someone like her, but she also eliminated everything else—regular school, extracurricular activities.
And I don’t think I have that sort of unhealthy power over Alex… but…
It isnota flaw to be well-rounded, I really do believe that, but what if Coach Bev is kind of right? Maybe Alex can handle soccer and basketball and a job and his friends and family but I send him over the edge? Not as adistraction, but… what if rather than having it all with me, he has too much to handle?
Gah.
I don’t know what’s right. I just know that in this moment I feel like I should seep straight into the earth.
Attempting to muscle my way out of this mental nose-dive, I grimace out a smile when I whisper back an answer that is as much for me as it is for them: “Should, but he will talk to you guys, because he’s Alex.”
Peregrine nods. “He’ll probably just want us to come to all his tournaments until his luck changes. Can’t lose them all.”
“Quiet, please,” the chair umpire says into her microphone as Alex steps back up to the service line.
Peregrine’s lips snap shut, cheeks pinking above the violet that’s still going strong on her mouth despite her love affair with crepe-y goodness. (Peregrine does not skimp on her makeup quality.) Sunny adds a second hand to her face, glittery nails the only cheery thing about her as she blocks out her view of the court entirely. And I can’t look anywhere but to Alex, who dribbles the ball in a well-practiced rhythm.
Come on, Alex. Come on. You do this every day.
He tosses the ball into the air, and at just the right moment, his racket crashes into it with a velocity I wish they measured here like they do on TV. The ball has so much speed and so much top spin that it catches Barrington Backwards Cap completely off guard and he has to backpedal just to get a piece of it. And that piece angles it wide.
