Penny took a sip of her orange juice, not quite as sure as he seemed to be. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”
“I’m sure of it. As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in myentire career. You’re better than her, Penny. I know it, you know it, and maybe most importantly, she knows it.”
“Thanks, Dom.”
“I mean it,” he said, though she didn’t need that reassurance. He never said anything he didn’t mean. “And don’t thank me. Prove me right.”
It was overcast and gloomy by match time. Court Philipe Chartier was the premier court at Roland-Garros. The stands could hold more than 14,000 fans, and every seat was filled. The media was billing this match as the real championship, declaring over and over again that whoever won would be the clear favorite to take home the title at the end of the fortnight in Paris.
Lutrova won the toss and chose to serve first.
Excellent, Penny thought, she would have the first chance to break. She bounced up and down, getting used to the clay surface, testing with little shuffle steps how it would play during the match.
The umpire climbed to his chair overlooking the court. After a brief warm-up, silence reigned in the sold-out stadium, but the hum of anticipation was nearly palpable on the court.
Lutrova bounced the ball at her feet before bringing her arms together and tossing it into the air. Just as it reached the pinnacle of its rise, she slammed her racket head through it, sending a low-lying rocket of a serve across the court. Reacting instinctively, Penny stepped into the shot, returning theball so fast that Lutrova barely had time to recover her feet. The ball bounced in and then slammed into the wall behind the service line.
For a moment, the stadium remained silent, stunned by the speed and perfection of the point.
“Zéro-quinze,” the umpire said, and the crowd finally applauded, cheering the statement she made with that shot.
She was there to win.
Penny stared across the court. Zina met her eyes and Penny let the corner of her mouth lift up in the smallest of smirks. That return, that was what Dom wanted when he brought in Alex to train with her. He wanted her to take Zina’s best weapon, her serve, and shove it back down her throat. The hurt of the last few days hadn’t faded, but lifting her hand to the neckline of her shirt, she pressed against the coin through the material. Alex had helped her get here, and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste.
Three more serves and three more short points later and Penny had the lead.
“Jeu, Harrison.”
She turned to the box behind her. Dom, Jack, Indy, and Jasmine were all sitting in the front row.
“You go, girl,” Indy said, loud enough for her to hear even over the buzz of the crowd.
Penny held out her racket to the ball boy, who placed three balls on it as options for her serve. She tucked one beneath her skirt and let another fall back to the ground in his direction before she approached the baseline.
Lutrova was on the other side of the net, bent at the waist, racket spinning in her hands, poised on the balls of her feet.Her forehead was creased, blond eyebrows knit together, face pinched in concentration.
Penny would go right at her, like she and Dom discussed. It was time to see if the best player in the world could handle her game. She coiled her body, every muscle tensing, then releasing. The serve was perfectly placed, right where the lines crossed in the center of the court. It whistled past Lutrova before pounding once again into the wall lining the backcourt.
“Quinze-zéro.”
The match was a whirlwind as they went back and forth. The Lutrova she’d beaten in Madrid was nowhere to be found. The Russian superstar had won two tournaments since then and was at the top of her game. Her shots were crisp and accurate. They exchanged blows, making each other race around the court.
Penny served, a screaming line drive down the center of the court. Lutrova fired a return, and it began again, a rally from the baselines. Penny sent a slice backhand, short and spinning, into the clay, and Lutrova came storming up to the net. A forehand rocketed into the far corner and Penny raced after it, letting her last step fail, sliding across the clay, legs fully extended as she swung into a winner down the line. Her momentum died and she stopped in a full split before popping up into the air and back onto her feet. The crowd erupted.
“Jeu. Harrison remporte le premier set, 6–4.”
Sitting in her chair, she placed her racket beside her and downed half a bottle of electrolyte-infused water before burying her face in her towel, wiping off the layer of sweat. She allowed herself a huge grin while the terry cloth shielded her from the cameras.
Lutrova called for the trainer between sets and was having her legs rubbed down. Maybe it was an excuse for dropping the first set, getting the trainer out there, making everyone believe she was hurt, so Penny would let her guard down in the second set. Whatever game she was playing wasn’t going to work. Dom was right; she was better than Lutrova, she was better than the best player in the world. And that meant—shaking her head, she cleared out those thoughts. She could think about that after the tournament was over. Right now, it was time to finish off this match.
The chair umpire called them back, and Penny leapt to her feet, striding quickly out to the baseline, getting her muscles loose for the second set. This was in stark contrast to Zina, who stood up slowly and walked across her side of the court, examining her racket as if it might tell her how to win the match.
Only about a half hour later, it was clear whatever advice Lutrova’s racket gave her was crap.
Penny waited in the corner of the court for a serve that would never arrive as Lutrova buried her shot into the bottom of the net and yet another double fault brought Penny within one game of victory.
“Jeu. Harrison conduit le second set, 5–4.”
