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‘Well, good luck in the next round, Gabriel,’ says Percy. ‘We’ll all be watching.’
With murmured thanks, I pick up my bag, wave to the crowd, and make my way off the court.
As soon as I hit the air-conditioned hallways, my body relaxes. To my surprise, Victor’s waiting for me.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask in French as I drop my bag. ‘Where’s Noah?’
‘He went with your father,’ Victor says. ‘Come on, the media’s waiting.’
I pull on a fresh t-shirt and throw my frizzy hair under a cap before I follow Victor into the press gallery. Press is, without a doubt, my least favourite thing about this job. I’d play another match against O’Lachlan under the ferocious sun if it meant I didn’t need to front the media.
There are around a dozen journalists gathered in the press room when I step inside. Cameras turn on me, the red dots blazing, and the feeling of being watched by so many people makes me nervous. It’s one thing to play in front of a crowd and another thing tospeakto them.
I take a seat at a desk lined with microphones and smooth my hands over my shorts, wiping the sweat away.
‘Gabriel!’ A man raises his hand. ‘Nigel fromTheGuardian. This was a great result for you today; how do you feel you played?’
I lick my lips and lean into the microphone. ‘I think I played well but the court conditions were hard; it was very humid. The ball felt heavier.’
A woman speaks next. ‘Fiona from Fox. You got so close to the final at the US Open last year; do you think you’ve carried the same momentum into this tournament?’
Last year, I’d lost the semi-final. ‘The US Open was a good result for me; if I get as far as that this tournament, I will be happy.’
‘You’re twenty-five with no grand slam titles,’ a younger man pipes up. ‘As far as tennis is concerned, you are a mid-career player. Do you think this is the year you’ll get a grand slam, if not here, then elsewhere?’
Stupid question. I lean towards the microphone. ‘Every year is the year I might win a grand slam.’
‘Noah seems nice,’ Victor says as we walk back to the dressing-room after the press conference. ‘Though I’m afraid we were not the best company for him. I hope he wasn’t bored.’
After giving Noah a crash course in tennis while watching Lukas, he’d picked it up quickly. ‘I’m sure he followed along.’
‘I didn’t realise you had friends in Melbourne,’ Victor continues. ‘It’s good he came to see you play.’
He’s prying. ‘I have a life outside of tennis, you know.’ I don’t mean it to sound rude, but I feel like it comes off that way.
‘I know that, Gabriel.’ Victor says my full name to get his point across.
When we get back to the dressing-room, Papa’s packed up our gear and is talking to a member of staff to arrange a ride back to the hotel.
‘Where’s Noah?’ I ask as the staffer leaves.
‘He said he had to go back to the city,’ Papa replies. ‘Come on, they’re bringing a car around.’ He places a hand on my shoulder and steers me through the narrow hallway. ‘You played well today.’
‘Noah said he’d stay,’ I mumble, spinning around. Maybe I can catch him on his way out.
‘He seemed in quite a rush,’ Papa says.
Did he get a call to go to work? Maybe he felt unwell after being in the sun all morning. There must be a reason why he bailed before seeing me.
We walk to the players’ drop-off point and find the car waiting for us. As Papa loads our bags in the boot, I get into the back seat and pull out my phone.
Hungrygabriel73:Hey, Papa said you left? R u okay?
The car pulls away from the arena. Victor’s fingers thrum against the vinyl of the door. No one looks at me.
No one says anything.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
