Hi everyone. Please believe me when I say I'm terribly sorry for the delay in posting an update. I pride myself on sticking to a routine but it has been increasingly hard to have a new chapter ready to post on my preferred Thursday/Friday update schedule. In fact, I only seem to get time to actually write on Thursday nights and Sundays, so chances are that I will increasingly post on Monday's Australia time. Again, rest assured that I am committed to finishing this story, and making sure I update regularly.
As usual, thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited either myself or this story. A Perfect Match now has more than 250 followers, which is amazing. I'm glad that so many people, from so many different countries, seem to be enjoying this little figment of my imagination. I am pleased to say that I enjoy writing it just as much. Also, I extend my gratitude to everyone that has taken the time to write me a review, feedback or made an observation. I enjoy the interaction with my readers.
I did get a few comments about the Shelby-Jesse pairing, and as I have said in my replies to feedback, putting them together was a spur of the moment decision made as I was writing the scene. I did have a few people wanting me to go with a Sue-Shelby pairing, and while I did mull over the possibility, I opted not to go down that road. I want a Perfect Match to be realistic, and in my mind, having an entire universe of same-sex couples wouldn't be realistic. I am very glad that my readers seem to think the pairing makes sense in this story :)
And with that, I present Chapter 25. Happy reading, everyone!
Rachel walked past her opponent who was still sipping on her drink as she crossed the net to head over to the other side of the court. Her gaze fell to the scoreboard, and the brunette marveled at the figures – 6-all in the first set, with the tiebreaker poised just as evenly at 6-all. 'I guess that's what happens when you know someone's game so well', the American teen thought, turning when she reached the baseline and waiting patiently for her opponent, Brittany S. Pierce, to resume play.
Rachel's eyes darted upwards, and for the umpteenth time that night she was struck by how strange it was to see Whitney and Pierce not sitting next to her own father's, who were seated diagonally across the Pierce's in her box. The brunette had noticed that her best friend's parents weren't refraining from applauding for her, and she'd seen her own parents clapping for Brittany as well.
The teenager crouched as the tall blonde bounced a ball a couple of times before sending a serve out wide to her forehand. A linesman called out "Fault!"; neither woman had managed to get her nose ahead with a mini-break yet thanks to some excellent first serves, and Rachel suddenly sensed an opportunity here. Like a shark that had caught the scent of blood in the water, she took a small step inside the baseline. She kept her eyes on the ball as it was thrown in the air and was almost surprised when the Englishwoman landed her second serve in the exact same spot she'd sent the previous one to. Rachel ripped a return to Brittany's weaker forehand side and would have been in position to put an easy volley winner away if her opponent hadn't netted the return.
She walked back to the service line, listening to the chair umpire's voice rising above the cheers coming from the crowd gathered in the Louis Armstrong Stadium, "7-6, Berry."
'One point, and the set is yours,' Rachel thought. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the ball boy standing before her with his left arm raised above his head. He bounced one ball her way, then a second, then a third. Rachel placed all three on the strings of her racket and after perusing them for two seconds returned what, to her, appeared to be the fuzziest one to the waiting boy. She slipped one ball into her compression shorts as she turned around, and stepped up to the service line clutching the other bright orb.
Rachel glanced up at her opponent, her best friend, who looked utterly focused as she waited for the serve. Both girls had known this day was coming ever since they'd seen the draw for the tournament, but neither had stated the obvious. The closest they'd come to acknowledging the inevitable was last night.
Ever since they'd begun playing on the junior circuit, Rachel and Brittany had made it a habit to text the other the night before a match to ask how the other was feeling about the next day. They'd swap a few messages discussing strategies before the girl not playing the match wished the one playing the match good luck for the next day, and then they'd bid one another pleasant dreams. They only strayed from his routine four times - when they were scheduled to play one another the next day. The first time such a situation arose, a fifteen-year-old Rachel lay in bed the night before the match wondering what she should do. Her problem was solved when her phone buzzed with a message from her British friend, stating 'Good night Rach :)'. It was identical to the text Brittany had sent her last night, before their fourth round clash at the US Open.
Rachel bounced the ball, her mind going over serve choices as she did. The decision made, the brunette adjusted her grip and sent a kick serve to Brittany's forehand, opting to take some of the pace off the serve in return for a higher chance of landing a first serve. The move paid off when Brittany sent an easy return to Rachel's backhand, and simultaneously created a wide gap to her left. The American had a split second to make a decision – try and hit the winner, at the same time risking the possibility of Brittany getting back into position and hitting a great shot off her stronger backhand side, or get a rally going by hitting an easily retrievable shot to the Englishwoman's forehand side. Strangely enough, it was Brittany's own voice that popped into Rachel's head, uttering one of the Englishwoman's favourite lines, "No guts, no glory. Right?"
The teenager stepped forward with her right leg, bending her knees ever so slightly as her racket connected with the ball and springing up as she whipped a singlehanded crosscourt backhand. The ball left her racket with such ferocity that her opponent was barely able to get a racket to it. Rachel's gamble had paid off, and even Brittany applauded the shot by tapping the strings of her racket against the palm of her left hand.
"First set Berry, 7-6. Berry leads one set to love," the umpire stated as the player's walked to their seats.
Rachel hydrated herself before pulling a little notebook out of her kit bag and glancing at the notes she'd written in preparation for today's match. There were things she'd discussed with Shelby, like the importance of switching things up against an opponent who knew Rachel's game like the back of her palm. At the same time, her coach had counseled her to not constantly fight her natural instincts just to stay unpredictable. Shelby had said that even the most predictable shot can be impossible to return when executed well and wanted Rachel to have faith in the game that had made her a top twenty player in less than a year. Rachel reread the line in her book – Predictable precision trumps unpredictable errors. The brunette was pretty sure those words wouldn't make sense to anyone else but her.
Her eyes continued to skim over her notes, which were all written in blue ink save for the last line. Those bright green words had been written mere hours ago in the curvy handwriting of Quinn Fabray.
The World No. 1 had called Rachel the previous evening asking her what time she would be at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center to warm up for her Round of 16 match, and had offered to hit with Rachel before she went on court. The younger American had immediately agreed to the generous offer, and was surprised when Quinn had asked to look at Rachel's notes for the match before they'd actually begun to hit that morning. She watched as the blonde's hazel eyes wordlessly danced over the words on the paper before she nodded, passed the book back to Rachel and walked over to one end of the indoor practice court. For the next thirty minutes Quinn hit the ball more or less how Rachel's notes stated she expected Brittany to play, and the brunette was almost scared by how well the blonde could adapt to a style different from her own.
Rachel had stopped to take a few gulps of her drink between hits, needing to make sure she was properly hydrated before the match, and watched as Quinn jogged over to Shelby. The two women seemed to discuss something before her coached lifted her hand a few inches in the air and Quinn nodded. The blonde turned around, and instead of going back to the baseline she beckoned Rachel over to the net. "Brittany is about this tall," the blonde said, lifting her hand to approximately the same height Rachel had seen Shelby raise her hand to. "Which means," she continued, "her serves will come at you from about a meter-and-a-half higher, right?"
Rachel nodded; she had played against Brittany before, and always had to adapt to the higher bounce her friend managed to generate, especially on her serves. "Ok, so I figured I'd send you some serves from the service line. That way I can mimic the power of Brittany's serves, and also try and get you to play the ball at a steeper angle. Ok?"
The brunette nodded again, and reached out to rest a hand on Quinn's arm just as the blonde was turning to walk back to the service line, "Thank you Quinn. I know you don't have to do this, and I appreciate you being here."
The World No. 1 smiled and quickly patted Rachel's hand, "I get really stressed before I have to play Santana. Every single time. To the extent that I sometimes forget very obvious things about her game. I figured you might have the same problem with Brittany."
As promised, Quinn went on to send fast, bouncy serves Rachel's way. The blonde had once again asked for the notebook before they'd parted ways that morning and, using her own pen, wrote down 'Step forwards to cut down the angle on the serve and hit the return on the rise when possible.' Those were the words Rachel was staring at when the umpire called time.
Based on her previous encounters against Brittany, the American expected the second set to be just as closely contested as the first. In anything, she thought her friend would begin the new set with the gloves off, so to speak, now that she was trailing. She had seen her English friend pull herself out of worse situations in the past and believed she had a battle on her hands if she wanted to make it to the quarterfinals. That's why she was almost baffled when Brittany began making uncharacteristic errors while attempting shots Rachel had never seen the blonde try before, even in practice. It was like watching physical proof of why Shelby had advised her charge not go against her instincts just to be unpredictable. Brittany's new game plan was not working, and by the time the Englishwoman decided to go back to her natural game Rachel was already up two breaks of serve.
The two friends embraced at the next when Rachel won the second set six games to two. Rachel could see the disappointment in Brittany's eyes, but also knew the smile her English friend was aiming at her was genuine. "Round one, Berry" she said, an arm still placed around the short brunette's shoulders.
"And this is just the beginning, Brit. I think we'll be seeing a lot of each others ugly mugs across the net," Rachel grinned back, wrapping her own arm around Brittany's waist as the two friends walked towards the chair umpire.
Much later that evening, after post-match conferences, ice baths and massages, the Berry's ate dinner with the Pierce's at a restaurant in Greenwich Village with the day's winner picking up the tab for their meal. Good conversation and laughter flowed as the two families dug into their meals, and an exhausted Rachel found herself leaning her head on her tall blonde friend's shoulder as their plates were cleared away. She asked a passing waitress to take a picture of the six of them on her cell phone while they waited for dessert. The young woman was a good sport, and retook the picture thrice before everyone was happy with how they looked. Logging into Instagram, the American teenager tweaked the picture a little bit before posting it with the caption, Ohana means family.
Rachel took the last sip of her drink, turning the page of the well-worn August 2012 issue of the Australian Tennis Magazine. The American had gotten the copy off Asami Sato, who had beckoned the teenager over when she'd walked into the very full Player's Lounge carrying a takeaway cup full of steaming hot green tea that she'd just gotten at the Player's Cafeteria. Rachel had properly met the Japanese player at the pre-tournament party at Cheerio and had thoroughly enjoyed conversing with her before the teenager had politely excused herself when Quinn shot her a 'Please come save me' look from across the room. A few days later Asami's coach, Tenzin Aang, had contacted Shelby to set up a practice session between the two, after which the two players had grabbed a quick bite together at the Champions Bar & Grill near the Arthur Ashe Stadium. Rachel had quickly learned that Asami's intelligence outshone her physical beauty, which said a lot, which is why she didn't hesitate before joining the slightly older raven-haired woman at the little round table.
The duo had chatted for a little bit before Asami had taken off to warm-up for her Round of 16 match that was scheduled for later that afternoon, leaving Rachel with the magazine that she herself had gotten off Luna Lovegood, who in turn had borrowed it from Kitty Wilde, who had grabbed it off Sam Evans, and that was where Asami lost track of it's chain of ownership. The Japanese woman had laughingly pointed out that the magazine had most likely made its way to New York courtesy an Australian player, and had half-seriously made the teenager promise to pass it on to someone who would cherish it enough to not leave coffee stains on it's pages when she was done reading it.
Rachel was reading an article about how to execute the perfect overhead smash when her nose picked up the scent of coffee seconds before someone plopped themselves down in the chair that Asami had vacated more than half an hour earlier. "Don't mind me," Quinn Fabray said, not looking at the brunette as she placed a copy of Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban on the table before opening it to a page marked by a bookmark.
The teenager stared at the blonde's profile with a smile on her lips, happy with this unexpected surprise. Then a thought struck her, causing the space between her brows to crease with mild confusion. "Quinn?" she started, getting the World No. 1's attention. The blonde turned to look at her, curiosity on her own features. "Weren't you reading The Half-Blood Prince in Cincinnati?" The brunette was dead sure she'd seen a copy of the book in the apartment Quinn and Santana had shared when they were playing there a few weeks ago.
"Yeah?" Quinn said, before realization dawned on her own features. "Oh, I read the Harry Potter books during tournaments. In fact, I always travel with all seven."
"Is it a superstitious thing?" Rachel wondered aloud.
"No," Quinn replied, shaking her head, "Its more of a focus thing, really. I like to read, but sometimes a good book can really mess with your concentration when you haven't finished it yet. Well, at least with me it can. So I try to avoid starting a new book during tournaments, and I absolutely don't during the Slams. And I can now quote Harry Potter in my sleep."
Rachel giggled, earning a grin from her friend. "When's the last time you broke that rule?" she asked.
"Last year. Exactly around this time. I couldn't resist reading A Dance With Dragons. In fact, Sue insists its why I lost in the semis," Quinn shrugged.
"And what do you think?" Rachel asked, a smile still dancing upon her lips.
"I think Kitty Wilde blew me off the court. And it had nothing to do with me wondering how long Arya Stark would stay blind for," Quinn answered with a twinkle in her eye. The two women shared a quiet laugh and the blonde asked Rachel where she'd managed to get the obviously Australian magazine that she was reading. The top-ranked player sipped her coffee as the teenager retold the story she'd just heard from Asami, and Rachel promised to give her the magazine next after Quinn assured her that magazines didn't mess with her focus during matches.
The two players looked up when a large shadow loomed across their table, and Rachel's eyes widened when she saw Emma Pillsbury standing beside Shelby. The pair of newcomers sat down in the two remaining chairs at their table, and Rachel noticed that a few people in the Player's Lounge were throwing curious glances at their little party of four.
"Sorry I'm late," Emma said to Quinn, who shrugged and said it was no problem. "How long do you have?"
Rachel stared on with curiosity, wondering what was going on. The blonde glanced at her wristwatch, "I need to get going in about fifteen."
"It's my fault, really," Shelby said, and now Rachel was really lost. "Emma ran into me while I was waiting for Rachel's rackets to be restrung, and she said she'd wait for me because she knew I wanted to be here for this."
All three women turned to Rachel, who was feeling more and more like a deer in headlights. It was Emma who spoke, "How are you, Rachel?"
"Good, thanks Emma. And you?" Rachel answered automatically, the good manners her father's had instilled in her coming to the fore.
"I'm great," Emma smiled. "I'm sure you're confused about what's going on, so let me get straight to it. How do you feel about joining the Fed Cup team?"
Rachel blinked, her eyes darting over the faces of the three women. She absentmindedly noticed Quinn putting the bookmark back into the third book in the Harry Potter series before closing the hardcover copy and looking back at the brunette. Shelby was positively beaming, and Emma's gaze was intently fixed on her own. The brunette blinked again, "Uh, isn't this the part where I wake up?"
Quinn let out a short bark of laughter, "I should have filmed this!"
Shelby reached for her young charge's hand and gave it a quick, hard pinch, causing Rachel to let out a low yelp. "See, you're still awake," the coach pointed out unnecessarily, earning herself a glare in return.
"We aren't kidding, Rachel. The US is playing against the French on the third, fourth and fifth of November, and I know for a fact that the Fédération Française de Tennis is going to pick the red clay of Roland Garros as the venue. They're going to make an official announcement after the US Open concludes. I saw you play at the French Open earlier this year, and based on your other results on clay I know your quarterfinal run was no fluke. In fact, your results throughout the year have proven that you're a champion in the making. Everyone at the USTA agrees with me, which is why we'd like you on board," Emma finished.
"And you two knew about this?" Rachel asked, turning her attention to Quinn and Shelby, a slightly wild look in her eyes.
Emma spoke up again, "I called Shelby this morning to let her know that I planned to speak with you today. And Quinn and I have discussed you a few times over the past couple of months, and she's always vouched for you, both as a player and a potential teammate. So, what do you say?"
"Oh God, do you really need me to say it? Yes, yes, yes. I'd love to be on the squad!" Rachel laughed.
"Great," Emma smiled. "We've set up a conference here in New York for the day after the US Open ends, which will be the eleventh of September, where we'll announce the squad. You don't have to be there, but I just thought you should know." Rachel nodded, and Emma thrust her hand in her direction, "Congratulations, Rachel Berry."
The brunette reached out and shook the redhead's hand vigorously before Shelby, who was seated to her right, pulled the teenager into a one-armed hug. "Congrats, Rach. I'm so proud of you," the coach said, causing a rush of unexpected happy tears that the brunette quickly blinked back.
"Of us," Rachel stated after pulling back, "My game owes a lot to you, Shelby."
The teenager turned to her friend and fellow player who had been quietly observing the interaction between Rachel and her coach, "I didn't want to ruin the surprise," Quinn said in acknowledgement of the question she'd been asked earlier.
"I know" Rachel smiled, turning her body to fully face the blonde, "I would have done the same thing in your place. I think I was little bit overwhelmed, that's all."
A look of relief crossed Quinn's face, "That's understandable, Rach. I cried the first time I made the squad. Also, I asked Emma if I could be here when she broke the news. I hope you don't mind."
"I'm really glad you're here," Rachel said, reaching out to squeeze Quinn's forearm. And thank you for putting in a good word for me."
"Hey," Quinn said, raising her hands so her open palms faced Rachel, "I only speak the truth." The two women shared a smile, before Quinn added, "Like they said, congratulations. And welcome to the team."
The teenager laughed, realizing that the fact hadn't really sunk in yet. And she would be playing in the finals, no less! That is, if she was selected to play an actual match. Rachel could feel butterflies doing the Macarena in her belly at the very idea.
She looked back up at the blonde and saw her own joy mirrored in the hazel eyes looking back at her.