The score was announced, with Scottie in the lead: 40–30.
They were down to the third set, each player having claimed their win. Chloe first—unsurprising given the year she’d been having.
“She’s got to keep up that speed,” Henrik said amidst the soft noise of the crowd. “If she loses that, Scottie will have her on the ropes.”
I turned, my jaw slackened. “Since when do you root against Scottie?”
Henrik had been a lifeline after my surgery, even pairing up with me in the mixed doubles to help me get back on my feet. He’d grown closer to my friends, like Scottie, as well.
His head tilted towards me, brows raised. “I’m not rooting against her,” he said, softer now. “But I’m supporting Chloe.”
“Traitor.” I guess I shouldn’t blame him. They’d been seeing each other since last autumn. Our once-close friendship had frayed since, and I couldn’t deny, I’d been the one pulling back. Seeing them together was harder than I’d expected.
I couldn’t decide what was worse, looking at him or at Chloe, down on the court. His relationship with Chloe left me unsure of where I stood with him. As they played on, I stared at the floor, aware of the swaying of the silent crowd, sitting in that tight anticipation a good final brought.
I should be down there. I should be playing.
“You know,” he said cautiously, “she isn’t so bad once you get to know her. I think you could be friends.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “You’re joking, right?”
In the short time that Chloe’s progress had held my attention, I’d watched her ruin careers like it was nothing. Girls with potential, rattled and ruined after a match with her.
He raised his shoulders in a shrug, when Chloe’s American accent cut through the silence.
“This is a disgrace.” I looked up, playing catch-up to the unfolding drama. “It’s like you aren’t even watching her. If she was anyone else, you’d be making these calls.”
The umpire placed her hand over her microphone, her responsecut off by the murmur of the audience. Scottie waited on the baseline, inspecting her manicure as she waited for the Hawk-Eye replay on the screen to settle the point.
A slow, building clap began to echo around the stadium as the footage played, revealing the point in Scottie’s favor.
“Are you done yet?” Scottie shouted. “Or are you ready to play?”
And thatreallyset Chloe off, shouting back at her opposition, anger flaring as the crowd grew restless, a chorus of boos rising in the air.
“This isn’t good,” Henrik said, his hands pressing into his thighs as he watchedhis girlfriendlose it on court.
“No,” I said, my tone just as serious. “It’s not.”
“Code violation, verbal abuse, warning Chloe Murphy.” A loud cheer from the crowd broke out at the umpire’s announcement, the young American shaking her head as she walked back to the returning position.
“What is she doing?” Henrik muttered as the match progressed, Scottie taking the last point in the game, and the serve changing to Chloe. She took her time, bouncing the ball, tossing it to the side, waiting out the clock.
I struggled to suffocate a laugh. “She’s doing what she does best.”
His gaze tore away from the match, his eyebrows furrowed.
“She’s being a drama queen,” I said. “Chloe does this every time.”
Henrik looked back at the match as shefinallyserved. Scottie started to move, but hesitated, reading the direction of the ball to perfection.
“Out.” The linesman thrust their hand in the air. The crowd released a breath, watching Chloe as she prepared to take her second serve, Scottie getting back into position.
Again, she took her time, running down the clock.
“She acts like this when it isn’t going her way,” I said, watching as she threw the ball up in the air, and the point resumed.
It had happened during the final at Melbourne, when she’d harassed the umpire, telling everyone that her opponent was milking an injury for more rest time. And again, in the quarter finals at Paris. And now. I wasn’t sure if she was just a hothead, or if this was the pressure getting to her, but as her competitor it was thrilling to watch. To know she had a weakness.
