CHAPTER 11
ALEXANDRA
It’s been days since the juniors’ graduation. Olivia gave a speech, voice steady, barely looking nervous. Some of the kids hugged her after, like she was the main character in their coming-of-age movie. Maybe she was.
She’s on her way to Montreal. I didn’t say goodbye, not that it was dramatic, I just… couldn’t. And here I am, on the move too, already tagged for Ohio. No time to linger, no room to dwell.
Ohio in August doesn’t waste time reminding you where you are. The humidity clings to the collar of my shirt, sticky and familiar.
The player entrance at the Cincinnati Open is its usual chaos, security scanning badges too slowly, media leaning over barriers trying to snatch a quote before we’re even inside, interns pointing us toward three different doors at once.
Coach Kit adjusted his cap beside me. “Back to reality,” he muttered.
It was always like this: the noise, the waiting, the questions. It just felt louder this time. Or maybe I’d just forgotten how loud it could be.
Inside, the tournament director greeted us with the kind of energy I was far too tired for.
“We’re thrilled to have you back, Alexandra,” he said, smiling like he knew something I didn’t. “Your comeback has been on everyone’s lips. You came a week early, which is great. We’ve slotted your press block. Nothing major, just a few outlets. The usual welcome back questions.”
“Right,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “Looking forward to it.”
The sarcasm practically rolled off my tongue, but he didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to.
Coach Kit shot me a glance likebehave, but didn’t say anything. Bobby, meanwhile, was quietly pretending to cough into his sleeve to hide a laugh.
We barely had time to drop our bags before I was being ushered into the media room. Same bright lights. Same blue backdrop cluttered with sponsor logos. Same plastic water bottle on the table that no one ever actually drank from.
I sat down, leaned forward the way they always ask you to, and waited for the first question.
“Alex,” someone began, a reporter I half-recognized from the Australian Open this year, “after the shoulder injury and so much time away from the tour, what made you decide this was the moment to come back?”
I cleared my throat. “We’ve been building back slowly, making sure everything was where it needed to be physically. Cincinnati was always the target. And with the US Open coming up, this felt like the right time.”
Another hand went up. “So, Alex, can we officially say you’re back on tour?”
I didn’t pause. “Yeah. I’m back.” Simple. Final.
A reporter near the front leaned into the mic. “And how do you feel about your ranking right now? Before theinjury, you were sitting inside the top 20. Now you’re further down the list. Is that something you think about?”
I gave a small shrug. “Honestly? I don’t. Rankings are just a number. They don’t step onto the court with me, they don’t hit a serve or fight through a tiebreak. What matters is how I’m playing and how I’m competing. The rest will sort itself out if I keep doing my job.”
Someone further back cleared their throat into the mic. “Alex, given how well your brother’s been playing this season, do you feel pressure to measure up now that you're both active again?”
There was a pause. I met the reporter’s eyes. “No,” I said, calm, almost detached. “He’s doing his thing, I’m doing mine. I’m proud of him, of course. But that question?” I let my tone linger just enough. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
The moderator leaned into the mic, voice firm but measured. “Last question.”
A woman up front jumped in. “What can fans expect from you this week? Will your playstyle change post-injury?”
I offered the smallest shrug. “Maybe, and also sharper. I’ve been working hard. Who knows?”
Nothing flashy. Just truth. I wasn’t here to promise fireworks. I just wanted this to be over with.
The moderator thanked everyone, and just like that, the press block was done.
As we stepped out into the hallway, Bobby let out a low whistle. “Well. That was… warmly received.”
Coach Kit glanced at me sideways. “You didn’t bite his head off. That’s growth.”
