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It’s all sexy and remarkable at the same time.
“Fifteen-Love.”
Yesterday was her first match of the tournament. She won in the second set, having won them both in a row. I was clearly more ecstatic than her. One day, she will realize that the small wins are just as big as the trophy.
Now she’s playing against Jia Chen, ranked number twenty in the world, and giving Vio a run for her money. But I know Vio has this, even if Jia is up by one point.
The game is in the last set out of three. They’ve played two sets, each given to one of them. But out of the six games inside a single set, they are on game number six of the third and final set. Vio has won three games out of the six and Jia has two under her belt. This will either lead Vio into the third round against Letty or a tiebreaker between her and Jia.
Jia has the serve, bouncing the ball, trying to gauge the recoil. She waits, trying to psyche her out, or that’s what I assume.
Vio is crouched down, waiting for the ball to be hit in her direction. Once Jia is pleased with the bounce soon after the ball is launched in Vio’s direction, she returns it with the little force left inside her. The ball looks like it’s about to go out of bounds, but it lands right on the line. Jia doesn’t catch it in time. Usually when a ball is hit on the line, they have to watch the landing on camera. The crowd goes silent for a second until the ruling is decided.
The chair umpire nods and then says into the mic, “Fifteen-all.”
The crowd claps at the point scored by Vio.
I see her smile at the woman’s words. Sweat is glistening on her shoulders that aren’t covered by any sort of sleeve. Her pastel pink attire consists of a tennis skirt and a tank top. A sweatband is on her forehead and her long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail with a few small braids sitting with the rest of her wavy hair.
She’s fucking exhausted. I can’t blame her. It’s been two hours straight of cardio. I can understand her pain, but will never know what it’s like to play tennis at this level. Like most people, I could assume that Formula One is the hardest sport to exist in the twentieth century. Having to be in a tight space for an hour, the heat, G-force, and exhaustion take a toll. But how can I say something that I don’t know for sure? Vio has never been in my position, and I’ve never been in hers. So I’m not just going to stand here and say what I do is harder because it’s not. All athletes are on the same level because most people couldn’t abuse their bodies like we do at times.
Violetta is a warrior, on and off the court, even if she doesn’t see it.
I want to see her win. I want to see her thrive. I want to ask her about all her dreams and make every single one of them come true.
Jia serves again. This time their exhaustion becomes apparent as each return gets weaker and weaker until Vio scores another point.
“Yes.” I clench my fist in excitement.
“Fifteen-Thirty.” The monotone voice sounds around the stadium.
She only has to get two more points and she moves on to the third round.
Vio’s face lights up, and I smile at her understanding of knowing she might win this.
Because she will win this. I just know it.
“Come on, Vio.” I whisper to myself in encouragement. Even if she can’t hear me, the words can’t help but fall from my mouth.
Jia looks worried. I know she’s worried. I can’t help but let her reaction leave a satisfied grin on my face. I would never wish a loss for anyone, but when it comes to Vio, I want her to win every single time. Just so I can see her little smile when she wins a match. It’s even more gratifying than a win for myself.
The game starts. The ball lands in bounds. Vio runs toward it and gets the ball over the net. Her body is situated on the court in a way that provides her leverage to go to either side of the court. Jia lets out the loudest grunt I’ve heard of the tournament so far. It’s chilling and exciting all at the same time as she hits the ball, and it falls right into the net.
“Fifteen-Forty. Possible match point for Violetta Luna.”
Vio doesn’t let the point get to her as no celebration crosses her face, yet.
“Fuck!” Jia roars at her loss of a point. Her yell echoes through the crowd. She only has one more opportunity to regain a point. If she does, she has to win the next two games to win the match.
Jia’s face is exhausted. It seems as though she’s given up. But I won’t believe that until I see it. One thing about tennis players is that they don’t care about embarrassment or losing; they will fight until the very last serve.
Jia composes herself. I analyze her movements, trying to gauge as much as I can. I’m probably more nervous than Vio herself and she’s playing the game.
I cross my fingers, even though it’s cheesy.
Jia serves again. It lands out of bounds.
Her shoulders are slumped when she realizes she missed the serve. All tennis players are given the chance to reserve. Having seen Vio do it a few times, she always recuperates the second one.
