AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As we move through the first set, it’s clear Derbin’s not used to the relentless heat. On the sidelines, the audience cool themselves with Australian Open-branded fans but on the court, there’s no relief.
I wipe the sweat from my brow as Derbin prepares to serve, squinting as he raises the ball to the sky.
‘Fault,’ the linesman calls as Derbin’s ball hugs the centre service line.
He wipes the line of sweat from the top of his lip and prepares to serve again.
‘Fault!’
Across the net, Derbin shakes his head and makes for his water bottle and towel. I do the same, rinsing the cottony dryness from my mouth.
I’ve trained most of my life in this dry heat. My grandparents have a tennis court on the top of their building in Algeria, and my father and I spent more afternoons than I can count practising under the beating sun during my childhood, playing in the smoky dusks and warm mornings.
Derbin loses the next three games. I’m up 4–0, but he steals the fifth game back in a flurry of rallies that push us both to the edge. We’re panting by the end, sweating so profusely we drip onto the astroturf.
I feel the sweat travel down my spine and into my arse crack as Derbin prepares to serve. He raises his racquet into the air. I blink.
Derbin drops his racquet. And then his knees buckle.
‘Break, medical break!’ I manage to shout as I watch Derbin hit the ground, his body collapsing under him. The audience gasp, and someone jumps the fence to try to help.
‘I’m a nurse!’ she says to the umpire as she and I both hurry to Derbin’s side.
The ball boy douses Derbin’s towel with water from his drink bottle and presses it to his forehead as I help the nurse roll Derbin into the recovery position. Derbin coughs and vomits onto the court. Bile splashes onto my trainers.
Quickly, I grab Derbin’s other towel from the box and shield his body from the prying eyes of the crowd. A ball kid does the same as we wait for the medics to arrive.
‘This is so fucking embarrassing,’ he groans. ‘Fuck, did I vomit on you? I’m so sorry, Gabi.’
‘Don’t worry about it, it happens to everyone,’ I assure him. It happened to me in 2016.
When the medic arrives, the nurse helps Derbin into the sit-down stretcher. As he’s wheeled off the court, the crowd applauds, and Derbin gives them a weak wave.
While I don’t like the circumstances of the win, I’m into the second round. I take a deep breath as I quickly gather my towel and water bottles from my station. The pressure’s off, for now at least. Zipping up my tennis bag, I hoist it over my shoulder and plan a hasty exit—
—only to come face to face with Percy Jones, champion tennis player turned commentator. Wherever he goes, so does the camera.
‘Welcome back to Melbourne Park, Gabriel,’ Percy says in his thick Texan accent. ‘That’s your first round done and dusted; how do you feel?’
The most important thing about these wrap-up interviews is to stay diplomatic. Don’t badmouth your opponent. Win graciously. Be a little funny if you can.
I put down my tennis bag and push back my hair. ‘Um, well, it’s a hard one because we didn’t get to play the match all the way through, but Derbin is a skilled player, and it could have gone either way . . .’
Hungrygabriel73:Ifinished work earlier than expected. Can we move dinner to 6.30?
NoAgenda:Sure. Meet me at Flinders St Station. On the steps. Iknow the best place.
Hungrygabriel73:Ok??
NoAgenda:I’ll be the one wearing the avocado-print shirt.
Hungrygabriel73:Really?
NoAgenda:It’s the best—I got it for $2!
Hungrygabriel73:Maybe a reason for this price.
NoAgenda:You will regret those words when you see it!!
