Page 79 of A Summer of Stars
Once that first serve was out of my grasp, it was the only moment I had no idea how to prepare for the next hit. I had to wait for her returning hit and watch the ball travel through a viscous liquid.
I always watched my opponent’s matches. This one, I studied how she leaned on her left foot too much and favored a forehand. But her strategy could change at any point, and I wouldn’t be able to curate my own tactics until she responded to my serve.
I watched as her sneakers slid against the clay court, kicking up the red dust. Thethwacking sound of her racket against the ball reached the sky and bounced off the seats. Suddenly, the viscosity fell away, and the ball was racing toward me at full speed.
You’re too talented to be doing this for anyone else but yourself.
I pushed out the voices, I let people’s expectations of me fall to the side, and I didn’t go in with the intention to win. Instead, I thought of the memories I shared with Kieran. I imagined my mother sittingfar behind me on the ground, her legs crossed and a pitcher of iced tea beside her. I pretended that I heard her charm bracelet clink as her hands flew above her head with encouraging shouts.
I hit the ball with all of the power radiating from my body, and I swear I heard her excitement.
7/18 Friday, Round 1 Winner: Aldridge
7/19 Saturday, Round 2 Winner: Aldridge
7/21 Monday, Round 3 Winner: Aldridge
7/23 Wednesday, Round 4 Winner: Aldridge
7/26 Saturday, Quarterfinal Winner: Aldridge
7/28 Monday, Semifinal Winner: Aldridge
7/31 Thursday, Final Winner: TBA
My knee was throbbing after the last six matches, but I feltalive. Every night, I’d condition and practice again. One hour of cardio, two hours on the court, followed by a night with Amir, Cecilia, Mary, and Willow. (I couldn’t face Deidra on non-business matters. Not yet.)
One night we watched the Seine together and got drinks at a bar overflowing with people. We sat on the curb outside, watching all the lit apartment windows above, taking cracks at people’s conversations.
“Bonjour, madame,” Mary lip-read with a thick (and horrible) interpretation of a French man, her martini glass flying in the air. The man in the window we had been watching was not nearly as passionate and definitely said more than two words.
“Je suis tellement amoureux de toi,” Willow narrated the woman standing across from him.
“Bonjour… madame,” Mary responded again, but with slow confusion.
“You suck at this game—you’re supposed to say something else!” Willow argued, pushing Mary, who had toppled onto my lap because she was laughing so hard.
Another night, we ordered room service and sat on the carpet of my hotel room playing Uno. The next was spent searching the local flea markets for fun clothes to wear in Cannes next week.
With the women’s final two days away, the Cannes Film Festival andSaving SeptemberParis premiere were right around the corner. Almost everyone in PR was rushing to make final arrangements, schedule content, and triple-check event timings and press releases. Meaning there would be no fun plans for tonight. Fortunately, Amir and Cecilia weren’t part of the PR team, so they were eager to at least go for breakfast.
The three of us sat at a corner café with a view of the Eiffel Tower in front of a blue sky.
“I have got to be the worst nutritionist in this business.” Amir shook his head in horror as I ate a second croissant.
“I had a protein-rich meal after my run this morning,” I reassured him while the buttery flakiness stuck to my lips. I wiped them away. “Now stop ignoring my question.”
Amir picked at the yogurt and fruit in front of him. He shrugged his shoulders. “Boats scare me,” he mumbled.
“Is this about renting the tiny boats?” Cecilia piped in, looking up from her journal.
“I really want to go,” I confirmed. “And everyone’s too scared to.”
“We should talk about what you’re wearing for Cannes instead! Or the last match! Or anything elsebut boats,” Amir complained.
“We miss the boat rentals every year. Just once—just for an hour—I want to—”
“Oh, shit,” Cecilia muttered.
