Sofia—Clairo
“By the time we get to the front of this queue, the hotel will be full,” Calvin grumbled beside me, his arms crossed. The lobby buzzed with activity, frustration thick in the air. A storm had grounded all flights, and it had proven difficult to find a hotel room for the night.
I rose onto my tiptoes, craning my neck to count the heads in front of us. Five people, and only one receptionist on duty. “You might be right,” I muttered. This was going to take a while.
We’d tried calling ahead, the hotels that we’dmanagedto get through to telling us they were already full. All I’d wanted to do was get out of Toronto. The loss from earlier in the day still stung, but the reaction online was nothing like I’d seen before.
@bornahater: Chloe Murphy not throwing a tantrum bc she lost? Who is she?
@oncourtbaddie: IS THIS THE INÉS EFFECT?
@justafan: Murphy behaving like an adult? Never thought I’d see the day.
“It’s fine,” Inés chimed in, her attention on her phone. “This is a huge hotel. There’ll be rooms.”
We’d spent almost all of our free time in Toronto together practicing, and it had been nothing short of brutal. But she’d trained me to play under pressure, and throughout the tournament, the work had clearly paid off.
“If the flight hadn’t been cancelled, we’d be in the air by now,” Calvin grumbled again.
“We’ll be in Cincinnati tomorrow morning,” I replied, stepping forward as the line moved, watching some lucky bastard make their way to the elevators.
“We’re losing hours of practice time,” Calvin said, his voice low but still carrying a whiny edge.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll burn off energy running drills in the room.” Though the thought of doing any more than collapsing onto a bed was ridiculous. A hot bath and an early night had been penciled into my mind since the moment our flight was cancelled.
Inés leaned in close, her breath brushing my ear. “Or another night watching the movie channel?”
I couldn’t help but smile, the easy warmth between us a welcome distraction. “Nowthatsounds like a plan.”
Just like that, the night looked a little brighter. Who knew the best part of my day would turn out to be evenings spent with Inés Costa and the basic cable movie channel?
It had become routine. Between matches and all the madness that came with them, she’d burn whatever energy I had left running me ragged on a court. And then crash in my hotel room watching whatever film was on. Sometimes, I woke up alone, realizing I’d fallen asleep during the movie and Inés had seen herself out.
Another receptionist appeared at the desk, and the line moved more quickly. Calvin pumped his fist like he’d won a title match. “Finally.”
“I’m sorry,” a voice said behind us, hesitant but distinct. “But are you Inés Costa?”
A family of four stood a step behind us. The two girls, one a teenager and the other younger, were wide-eyed. The older one clutched her phone, her knuckles white around it.
“And Chloe Murphy?” the mother added, glancing at me nervously.
A smile spread across my face. I’d been recognized a few times over the past year, more as my results improved, and it still sent a small thrill through me.
Inés smiled, her voice holding a little hesitation. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
The father stepped forward, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “Wow, our kids are huge fans of both of you. We came into town for the tournament. It’s such a treat to see you here.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” I said, looking down at the girls. The younger one stayed shyly tucked behind her mom, but the teenager managed a small, excited smile.
“Could we take some photos?” the teenager asked, her voice trembling with nerves.
“Of course!” I said immediately, but I glanced at Inés, catching the reluctance in her expression. I waved at her, pulling Inés over and into the shot.
The mom took her daughter’s phone, and we all squeezed together for the photo. I felt Inés’s arm slide around my back, her palm pressing against a sliver of skin where my top had shifted.
“It’s been so much fun watching you this year,” the teenager said as we pulled apart. Her confidence had grown; her smile was bright. “I’m rooting for you to win in New York.”
“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming at her earnestness. “That means a lot.”
