Hello faithful readers! Allow me to begin by apologising for not updating last week. My laptop died, and had to go to the good doctor's at the Apple Store for fixing. We were reunited yesterday, so this update comes to you as quickly as I could get it out! I have made this chapter extra long, as a thank you to everyone that wrote me, asking me if I was ok and telling me that they missed my story! Great for my writer's ego!
The match is inspired by actual incidents that have taken place in real life tennis. Some of you might even be able to pick the incident.
I will respond to feedback and reviews soon. As always, thank you to everyone that has dropped me a line, or followed/favourited either myself or my story. I should be back to my Thursday/Friday update schedule from next week. Oh, and please point out any grammatical/factual errors, and I'll fix them!
Now, on with the story!
6:30 a.m.
Rachel woke with a start, her heart pounding behind her ribcage. The last vestiges of her dream were slowly getting away from her, but some details were still starkly clear; She was on Center Court, but instead of the traditional white she was clad in a deep red dress that was better suited to a night out than Wimbledon's hallowed courts. Santana was standing across the net, yelling out sentences like "It's the capital of my country" and "Hurry up, time's running out", while tennis balls whizzed past Rachel in a blur of bright yellow. The analytical part of Rachel's mind knew that the Spaniard's seemingly random words were almost certainly brought on by the very excitable game of Articulate that had been played at Brittany's house the previous evening. But what really, really threw the still-groggy American was the appearance of Quinn Fabray. In the chair umpire's seat, of all places. The World No. 1 was seated in the lifeguard-esque high chair, a bouquet of flowers not unlike the one she'd had delivered to Rachel in Paris placed in her lap. Photographers and journalists seated courtside were calling out Quinn's name but dream-Quinn's intense gaze was focused on Rachel herself, an almost mysterious smile upon her pink lips.
The young brunette blinked slowly before glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table. The alarm hadn't gone off yet, so in all probability it was Rachel's body clock that was to blame for her conscious state. 'Or the strangeness of that dream…' she thought, yawning up at the ceiling.
Rachel's mind was almost completely defogged by this point. The New Yorker had always been an early riser and on any other day she would be out on the tennis court by 8:00 a.m. Today was different though.
Today Rachel was competing in her first Ladies Single's quarterfinal at The Wimbledon Championships. She would be competing against the World No. 2 Santana Lopez in a match that had been scheduled for 2 p.m. on No. 1 Court. Under any other circumstances Santana's ranking would have guaranteed her a spot on Wimbledon's premier court, but Brittany being a local had justified the Englishwoman's match against the World No. 4 Marley Rose being scheduled on Centre Court.
So while under normal circumstances Rachel would have probably been eating breakfast by now, today she lay in bed, willing her body to go back to sleep. Her alarm was set for 8:45 a.m., the extra hours of shuteye thrown in to make up for the nap that she almost always took right after lunch.
Rachel closed her eyes, making a conscious effort not to think about the uphill task that lay ahead of her that afternoon. She focused on her other senses, her ears straining to hear anything besides the pin-drop silence in the apartment. The brunette was unsurprised by the deathly silence, knowing that her father's slept in whenever they got the chance. The absence of any food smells from the kitchen was another indicator that her dad's were still tucked into their warm bed. She didn't blame them; Leroy and Hiram lived busy lives back home and, when it came down to it, this trip was a vacation for them. 'Even if they're here to witness the biggest moment of my career so far…'
Realizing that she had begun to restlessly wiggle her bog toes, Rachel took a deep, calming breath and pushed thoughts of the tournament from her mind again. She successfully managed to keep a blank-state-of-mind for about ten whole seconds before an image of dream-Quinn took front and center in her thoughts. Rachel's mind zoomed in and focused on the blonde's face, almost as if she were watching a movie, and the teenager absentmindedly acknowledged that the top-ranked tennis player looked absolutely stunning in this figment of her imagination. She was honestly quite surprised at the level of detail with which she recalled her friend's features, down to the specks of gold in her green, no, hazel eyes.
Quinn's secretive smile was the last thing Rachel recalled seeing as she drifted back to sleep.
9:30 a.m.
Rachel walked out of the bathroom after finishing her shower, and lifted her phone off the dresser. She had a few notifications, a couple of texts and a missed call alert. 'Gosh, I was hardly in there for ten minutes' she thought, clicking on her call logs and seeing that the call she had missed was from Quinn. The brunette felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, but was slightly pacified by the fact that the blonde had left her a voice mail message. Rachel brought the phone to her ear, and found herself smiling when Quinn's husky voice began to speak.
"Hey Rach. I was just calling to wish you luck today. So, uh, good luck! And, yeah… I'll speak to you later. Alright then, bye!"
Rachel smiled as the message finished playing and moved the phone away from her ear. Her mind briefly returned to her dream, the details of which were even sketchier now. Rachel, for the life of her, couldn't fathom what Quinn was doing sitting in the umpire's chair. She thought about it some more as she flicked through her other notifications, and the best theory she could come up with was that her subconscious was curious about whom the World No. 1 would be rooting for today. It was an open secret that Quinn and Santana were as thick as thieves, but Rachel wanted to believe that the blonde was also genuine in her support for her fellow American.
A knock on the door brought Rachel back to the present. "It's open" she called out, locking her phone screen and pocketing the device before picking up her hairbrush from the dresser.
Hiram walked in, "Hey sweetheart, your car should be here soon."
Rachel nodded, "Thanks Daddy. I'm good to go when it gets here."
"Are you sure you don't want us to come with? Your Papa and I can always do Madame Tussauds another day," Hiram said, sitting on her bed.
Rachel addressed his reflection in the mirror, "No thankyou, Daddy. Just make sure you're on time to the match! And don't forget to take that picture" she winked.
Hiram crossed his heart, a solemn look on his face "We'll head straight for Barbara Streisand the minute we get in. Scout's honour!"
The teenager giggled at her father's silliness and the corners of Hiram's eyes crinkled as he joined in his daughter's laughter. Their little moment was interrupted by the intercom ringing.
"That must be your ride" Hiram said, rising to get it.
11:30 a.m.
Rachel didn't quite know how to react when the gathered crowd began clapping when she stepped onto the practice court. The young brunette was used to people cheering at the sight of her coach, but this was the first time they were clapping for her. She turned to look at her celebrated mentor, who shrugged at Rachel as if to say 'This is your moment', before awkwardly raising her hand to acknowledge the applause. Her gesture only led to a fresh round of applause, and Rachel flushed as she began a brief warm-up under Shelby's watchful gaze.
Brittany and her coach Ken Tanaka joined the pair soon after, prompting the audience to break into a fresh round of applause. Rachel noticed that the ovation for the local favourite was positively deafening but she didn't rue her friend the adulation of the gathered crowd. If anything, Rachel felt her heart swell with pride at the knowledge that she and Brittany were actually playing at a level that they had both dreamed about for so long now. Over the years the two best friends had fantasized about one day competing against each another for the Wimbledon title, and Rachel could hardly believe that all they needed right now was two more wins each to make that dream a reality.
Brittany shared Rachel's ecstasy if the elated look in her eyes and her infectiously wide grin were anything to go by. The tall blonde also seemed to handle the attention better, practically doing a pirouette as she twirled around to wave in every direction. It was easy to see why she had turned into such a fan favourite over the course of these championships. The local press had even dubbed her 'The Brit', and Rachel thought the nickname that cheekily referenced both her name and her nationality was genius. In her opinion, it was definitely going to stick.
The tall Englishwoman approached Rachel who was almost done with her warm-up, and the two women's hands met in an arm wrestle handshake. "Sleep well?" Brittany asked, and smiled when Rachel just shrugged in response, "Yeah, me too."
Instead of beginning her warm-up, the blonde followed Rachel back to her chair where the American took a quick drink of water. "Ken wants me to work on my backhands down-the-line today. The game plan is to try and open up the court and go for winners when I get the chance" Brittany said, not too loudly.
Rachel nodded as she gulped her drink, and screwed the lid back onto the bottle. Marley Rose was one of the best movers in tennis and her game was at its optimum on grass, where her ability to quickly accelerate made drop shots a no-go zone for opponents. "You're going to try to hit through her" she stated, and Brittany nodded in agreement.
"How about you? Ready for Santana?" Brittany asked. Rachel noted that she'd refrained from calling the Latina by the sickly sweet nickname she'd come up with yesterday. The American wasn't surprised; While Brittany was all sunshine and daisies most of the time, the woman was as focused as they came when she was in the zone for a match.
"As prepared as I can be, I think. I'll be hitting to your forehand a lot today, you know, to try and get ready to attack Santana's backhand. Just let me know when you want to do your backhand's down-the-line block, and I'll hit it there" Rachel answered.
Brittany looked thoughtful, "Also remember to play her deep. It'll be very hard to beat her if you let her inside the baseline". Rachel bobbed her head, briefly thinking back to how Quinn, and later even Shelby, had given her the same advice. "Thanks Brit" she smiled, pleased in the knowledge that while her friend had an obvious romantic interest in the World No. 2, she was still in her corner.
"Ok, I'm gonna go stretch" Brittany said, her sunny disposition back in place as she bounced off to where Shelby and Ken were amiably chatting.
Rachel bent down to pull a racket out of her bag. Shelby approached her just as she'd taken the newly strung Babolat out of its clear poly racket bag and was testing its tension against the palm of her left hand. "I've asked Ken to have a quick hit with you near the end. No holds barred", the older brunette said. Her young charge took a deep breath, a look of determination crossing her features as she gave her coach a quick nod. Shelby smiled, "Alright Berry, it's a beautiful day to play tennis, so get your butt to the service line."
1:15 p.m.
The room was silent when Rachel returned from having her hair braided at the salon in the player's complex, a soft clacking sound the only thing to break the stillness. She turned the corner, and was met with the sight of Santana Lopez, head bowed, a collection of rackets placed on either side of her on the bench. The Latina was winding a grip around the racket in her hands, and didn't look up even as she acknowledged Rachel's presence with a quiet "Berry."
Rachel replied, "Lopez", realizing it was the racket head that was making the clacking sound every time it made light contact with the bench. Santana finished applying the grip to the racket, placed it on top of the pile to her left, and picked up a racket from the pile to her right to repeat the process. The American watched her for a few more beats, her eyes tracking the movements of one of Santana's famed pre-match rituals. The Spaniard's need to do things in a precise order, both before a match as well as on court, had been covered in great detail by the press, and her set ways were almost a thing of legend in the tennis world.
The American silently made her way over to her own locker, thinking that the stillness of the locker-room was a complete contrast to it's state just a week ago. Back then most of the one-hundred-and-twenty-eight women competing in the Ladies Singles tournament were still around, as were the competitors participating in the Ladies doubles, the Mixed Doubles, the Girls' singles and doubles, and the Wheelchair singles and doubles. And of course, many of the Legends were also around for their quasi-exhibition like matches that were a good way for tennis fan's to see some of the game's greats in action on Wimbledon's outer courts. The locker room was abuzz with conversation, music and random noises when the number of women frequenting it amounted to a few hundred. Now, it seemed more like a place of quiet meditation.
Rachel reached her locker, running a reverent hand over the plaque bearing her name before pulling it open. The first thing she saw was the newspaper that she had thrown in there after her second round win with an intention of reading the article about Russell Fabray later on. The brunette still hadn't gotten around to perusing the daily, and now was obviously not the time to fix that. She moved the newspaper to the side, and pulled out the neatly folded Adidas dress she intended to wear today, along with a pair of wristbands, compression shorts and shoes. After thinking about it for a moment Rachel added a white Adidas visor to the collection of things in her arms, figuring it would be best to have one on her if the sunny British weather bothered her at any point during the match.
Brittany was in the locker room when Rachel returned from getting changed, stretching in front of her locker. Besides practicing together the two had also eaten lunch with each other, and were joined by Hiram, Leroy, Whitney, Pierce and Ken in the Player's Dining Area while Shelby went off to play a Legend's Doubles match alongside Sue Sylvester. The Brit smiled at her shorter friend while stretching out her hamstring, but no words were exchanged between the pair. Santana had disappeared somewhere, and there was still no sign of Marley Rose as far as Rachel could tell.
The young American began her own pre-match warm-up and stretch, positioning herself in front of the wall of TV screens in the far end of the room. The match out on No. 1 Court seemed to be a cracker, with Asami Sato and Kitty Wilde locked at one set apiece. The third set was just about to begin, and Rachel calculated that it would be at least half-an-hour before the match between the Canadian star and the Japanese up-and-comer concluded. The third-seeded Frenchwoman Fleur Delacour seemed to be making easier work of Lily Chan out on Center Court, and was almost certain to be across the net from the winner of Rachel and Santana's match in the next round. Brittany's match was next on that court, and it looked like that match would begin as scheduled at 2 p.m.
Rachel looked up when Marley finally entered the locker room, seemingly fully changed and ready for her match. She came to a stop beside Rachel, her eyes on the screens before them. "Hey Rachel" she said, quickly glancing at her fellow Yank, "good luck today."
"You too Marley" Rachel smiled, doing quick rotations of her shoulder joints.
The TV coverage on Center Court cut to a mid shot of the French third-seed and a caption appeared on screen: 'Fleur Delacour - Serving for Match'. "That's probably my cue" Marley said, almost to herself, before marching off towards the lockers. As if on cue, a tournament handler entered the locker room and came to a halt near the first row of lockers. Rachel glanced at her, taking in the sight of the earpiece and the walkie-talkie in the woman's hand, before looking back at the screens and starting on her triceps stretches.
A few moments later, the tournament handler mouthed a quick "Copy that" into her walkie-talkie a couple of seconds before Fleur Delacour put an easy forehand volley away to win the match. 'Broadcast delay' Rachel observed, and listened in as the woman give Brittany and Marley a five-minute notice. The brunette turned her attention to the match on No. 1 Court, where Wilde and Sato were on serve at 2-1. 'Hurry up', she thought, silently willing the two women to play quicker. The nerves were starting to set in again.
3:13 p.m.
"Two minutes" the chair umpire stated.
Rachel raised her hand, letting Santana know she was done. The Latina didn't acknowledge the American's gesture, and simply got into position to serve as Rachel made her way to her chair and sat down. She took a big swig of water before screwing the lid back on to the bottle and taking a big drink of her Gatorade mix. She glanced at her box as she screwed the lid back on to the second bottle and locked gazes with Shelby, who nodded approvingly. Both Rachel and her coach expected today's match to be very physical, and Shelby had been insistent that Rachel stay hydrated from the beginning.
The young brunette's gaze flicked to the side, where her father's were seated. Hiram seemed to be engrossed in the official 2012 tournament guide while the lens of Leroy's DSLR was aimed at a point somewhere high above his daughter. Her parents had been there for all five of her matches at Wimbledon this year, and Rachel admittedly loved seeing them in her box. Her mind briefly wandered to Whitney Pierce, who had hoped to be in Rachel's box too until the tournament scheduler had thrown a spanner in the works by having Brittany play simultaneously on another court.
Rachel was brought back to the present when Santana entered her peripheral vision and took a seat in her own chair. The Latina had carefully lined up her drink bottles just so upon first entering the arena, spending extra seconds making sure they were perfectly aligned. In fact, Rachel and the chair umpire were made to wait for the toss, which had prompted a faceless member of the audience to shout out a rude "Oh, get on with it!", which in turn had led to an almost unanimous burst of laughter coming forth from the crowd. If Santana had heard the call, and no, it wasn't possible for her to have missed it, she didn't let it show. The Spaniard spent a few more seconds positioning the bottle before she'd come to the net. Not that Rachel was counting or anything.
"One minute" the chair umpire announced. Rachel peeled open a banana, and took a small bite. She glanced at Santana again, and this time the Spaniard was staring straight ahead, her legs bouncing up and down. 'Maybe I'm not the only one with jitters', Rachel thought.
3:41 p.m.
Santana let out a frustrated cry, her scream almost drowning out the linesman's call of "Out!" The Latina's outward display of annoyance prompted the audience to clap even louder, or so it seemed to Rachel, who reached out her hand for her towel as she walked to her seat.
"Game, Ms. Berry. Ms. Berry leads 4-1" the chair umpire stated for the record.
Rachel sat down, immediately reaching for her recovery drink. She had broken Santana in her last service game and consolidated the break by holding her own serve in the following game. Their rallies seemed to be taking exceptionally long, with both players going toe-to-toe on the big shots and not really allowing the other to approach the net, but right now it looked like Rachel's strategy of pushing Santana far back and attacking her backhand was yielding the desired results for the American. She glanced up at her box where Shelby pumped her fist when she caught Rachel looking. Yes, things were going to plan.
It took Rachel a second to pick what was different when she lined up to receive serve after the change of ends. 'She's put glasses on' she realized, her brow furrowing at the sight, 'why?'. The Latina had had obvious issues with her ball toss in her previous service game, but Rachel had thought her minor issues had more to do with the breeze than anything else.
The teenager crouched down to return serve, waiting patiently while Santana went through the motions of her pre-serve ritual that included a few hops, some brow wiping and almost a dozen ball bounces. And then Rachel realized why Santana had put the glasses on.
Her doubts were confirmed when the ball whizzed past her seconds later, giving Santana a free point.
"15-0" the chair umpire announced. The competitors shuffled over to the ad-court sides of the playing rectangle.
Rachel looked across the net again, trying to catch a glimpse of Santana's eyes behind her glasses. The Oakley lenses were made of a reflective surface, rendering the younger brunette's search pointless. The Spaniard sent another serve her way, this one straight at her body. Rachel managed to twist out of the way in time, and sent a cracking backhand return right to the Latina's feet as she attempted to come in to volley. The best the World No. 2 could manage was a half-volley that hit the middle of the net.
"15-all." Applause.
Santana beckoned for her towel, giving Rachel a moment to herself. The American was only just realizing how much she'd been subconsciously depending on being able to read the Latina's serve before it actually came her way. Almost every tennis player has a service "tell"; some toss the ball a particular way before certain serves, some angle their bodies just so to be able to meet the ball at the desired incline. Santana, Rachel had noticed while training with her last week, glanced at the spot where she intended to serve right before she tossed the ball up. The giveaway was a God-sent, especially considering the power Santana generated when her racket met the ball. Now the tell was gone and Rachel would have to rely on good old guesswork and gut instincts.
Rachel felt like a spectator as Santana sent a monstrous flat serve down the T. "30-15."
Two points later, Santana ended the game with her third ace in the space of three minutes. "Game, Ms. Lopez. Ms. Berry leads, 4-2."
Rachel turned around, resisting the urge to look up at her box. She took a deep, calming breath, adjusting the strings of her racket as the applause around her died down. 'Ok, all you need to do is hold your serve. Hold your serve two more times, win this set, and we'll cross the next bridge when we get to it. Hold your serve. Focus on your own strengths. Hold your serve.'
Looking up, the brunette nodded at the young ball girl who was patiently waiting with her arm raised. Two balls bounced her way.
4:52 p.m.
The crowd booed, reminding Rachel of just how volatile tennis audiences could be sometimes. The same people that were jeering at Santana for taking too long between points were now catcalling the umpire for giving the Latina a time violation warning. The Spaniard hadn't been docked an actual point yet, but would be if she continued to take longer than twenty seconds between points on her serve.
Even Rachel had to admit that the umpire's own timing couldn't have been worse. Santana had been serving more or less this slowly from the very beginning of the match so why wait till the second set tiebreaker to give her a warning? The American glanced at the Latina, who appeared to be fuming. 'Don't let this distract you' Rachel thought, trying to refocus her thoughts on the task at hand. She quickly scanned the scoreboard, taking comfort in the physical reminder that that she was a set ahead with the second set tie-breaker balanced at 5-5.
Santana tossed the ball up and sent a powerful serve Rachel's way. It made a loud thwack as it met the net, prompting a linesman to call out "Fault!" The young brunette watched as her opponent took a moment to give the chair umpire a scathing look, instead of immediately getting into position to serve again. The World No. 2 was clearly still thinking about the warning she had received. The chair umpire looked nonplussed. It was almost like a television drama. Rachel reminded herself to concentrate on her own game.
The Latina bounced the ball a few times, her actions slow and deliberate. A part of Rachel wondered if she was intentionally trying to test the chair umpire's patience. Santana bounced the ball one last time, paused, tossed it up, and met the orb with the middle of her racket. Crack!
"Foot fault!"
The crowd gasped, almost as if it was one very loud and extremely scandalised person. Santana gave her box an incredulous look and then stormed off to the linesman, where she proceeded to loudly question his judgment and integrity.
"6-5, Ms. Berry" the chair umpire announced, "Quiet please. Play to continue."
By now Santana was speaking in rapidfire Spanish, ignoring the umpire's request for her to play on. The lady in charge climbed down from her chair and walked over to the tennis star, who was still arguing with the linesman. Rachel slowly approached the net and stopped with her hands resting on top of the net cord. She could hear the chair umpire trying to pacify the irate player, while still standing by her fellow official's call. 'This is insane' Rachel thought.
Suddenly Santana stopped arguing and, blatantly ignoring the chair umpire, locked gazes with Rachel. She stared at the American for a moment before turning to walk to the service line. "Let's do this, Berry" she called out over her shoulder. The chair umpire stared at her turned back before shrugging and heading back to her own seat.
"Quiet please" she said, once seated. "Thank you. 6-5, Ms. Berry to serve."
And that's when it hit home. 'I'm serving for match' Rachel thought, her heart beginning to beat erratically. The fact had been completely lost on her while she'd watched the madness of the last few minutes unfold. She bounced the ball, once, twice, thrice, before gripping it in her left palm and bringing it to rest on the strings of her racket. Her stomach felt like butterfly central and a wave of nausea washed over the young American, preventing her from tossing the ball up. She bounced the ball again, once, twice, thrice. 'Don't get yourself a time violation too' she thought, and almost mechanically threw the ball up in the air.
The serve Rachel sent to the opposite end of the court was much slower than any other first serve she'd hit that day. There was no topspin on it, it didn't land at an awkward angle, and the bounce was nice and even. If Rachel had to describe it, she'd call it a "Poor serve."
She watched as it was sent back her way, fully expecting the meek serve to be punished.
Instead of landing in Rachel's half of the rectangle the ball flew high over her head, disappearing somewhere in the stands. The stunned brunette followed the ball's progression, first with her eyes, and then by turning around to be able to follow it's onward trajectory behind her. Only when it had bounced did she turn back around to see that Santana was already standing at the net, a proud, almost maniacal, look on her features.
There was pin-drop silence, everyone watching apparently as shocked as Rachel. And then the chair umpire found her voice again.
"Game, set, match, Ms. Berry. 6-3, 7-6."
5:33 p.m.
"If you had to guess, would you say Lopez shanked that return on purpose?"
To be honest, Rachel didn't really have to guess.
