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I’m the first opponent she’s had who’s ever let her serve. She likes it. But I can only assume that it messes with her a bit.
Which is exactly what I want.
The decision is made, so I have to prepare myself mentally and physically for the challenge that lies ahead.
The umpire climbs up the chair that they will be seated on for the remainder of the match. With a firm grasp on the chair’s armrest, the umpire with blond locks speaks with a tone that demands attention, “Letty Davis has the serve. Please take your position at the baseline.”
Letty steps confidently toward the service line, racket in hand, her focus honed on the upcoming serve. The crowd hushes, the silence enveloping the stadium.
“And Ms. Luna, take your position at the baseline to receive the serve,” she continues, her voice carrying a sense of gravity that echoes through the arena.
I’m even more nervous now.
But I attempt to look as equally resolute as Letty as I position myself opposite her, trying to prepare myself for the imminent challenge ahead.
The tension is palpable. We both expel a hunger for victory. But at the same time, I know I’m hesitant. I’m scared that I’ll lose to her again and again, leading me to never winning a grand slam.
The chair umpire casts a final glance across the court, ensuring that both Letty and I are prepared.
The moment has arrived, and it’s time for the match to begin.
I’m not ready, but I have to play.
“Players, when ready, please begin the match,” she declares, her voice resounding with authority. With a swift motion of her arm, she signals the commencement of the match.
May God help me.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and an image of Xavier and Marrisa kissing flashes briefly. Pain shoots through me and then I hear the bounce of a tennis ball behind me.
The image made me fail to notice that Letty’s first serve was launched, hurtling toward me with an intimidating speed. A speed that I wasn’t focused on, so the ball bounces and immediately flies past me.
I missed the first serve.
The crowd cheers at my immediate loss.
Of course Letty got the first serve.
“Fifteen-Love.”
My whole game is off at this point and when Letty hits her first serve with no return, she wins. At this point, I don’t think I could win with the image of Xavier flashing every time I close my eyes.
I feel like I want to cry, but I refuse to give up.
I try to shake off my immediate loss. My eyes lock on the ball and I brace myself for another serve.
I react hesitantly, my reflexes kicking into gear soon after, but my return is fragile and lacks the precision that’s needed to challenge Letty.
She returns the ball; it lands far enough away so that I can’t hit it back.
The ball flies past me again, leaving me feeling utterly inadequate.
“Thirty-Love.”
I would really love to curse right now.
With each point that slips through my fingers, my frustration grows. My shots seem to betray me, lacking power and accuracy. I genuinely thought I was getting better, but that was until I played against Letty, again.
Every attempt to assert control is thwarted as if Letty has this uncanny ability to predict my every move.
