Page 73 of Love, Amy

“Oh no,” she wails, “It’s Amy Bowman. She just can’t stop losing to me!”

I throw my hands up, egging on the crowd. “I won’t lose this fight, will I, everyone?” They respond, laughing and cheering.

The umpire leans on his hand, bored. “No fighting, ladies.” He makes no real move to stop us.

I feel like a kid again, playing tag. I’m gaining on Fernanda. “Gotcha!” I shout as I snag her wrist, pulling her to a stop near the net.

She grins at me. “What are you going to do now, Bowman?”

I crack my knuckles. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Navarro.” There’s a young girl leaning over the balcony nearby, eyes wide and mouth open. I wonder if she thinks I’m actually going to punch Fernanda. I try to hide my smile.

Before we can really put on a show, our partners swoop in on us. Francisco picks up Fernanda, whirling her around to her side of the court. “Enough of this!” Francisco says into his mic.

Aurelio lifts me by the waist. I pretend to put up a fight, kicking my feet dramatically. “There’s still so much more tennis to play,” he says cheerfully, getting a huge laugh from the crowd.

“I guess,” I grumble. He puts me down on the baseline, handing me a ball.

“Fine,” Fernanda huffs, getting into position to receive.

She winks at me as I serve. I wink back when I hit an ace.

We end up beating them, though it’s close. We all hug at the net to huge applause.

By the time we make it to the final match of the event, against Anika and Joaquin as predicted, I feel like I’m playing tennis on a livewire. The sky darkens and the stadium lights shine brightly. I want to win, to bring it home. I want to show the world what Aurelio and I can do together.

The match feels different from the start. We don’t take breaks to chase each other around the court or tell jokes into our mics. Joaquin and Anika are focused and experienced. We trade leads back and forth. I serve well and Aurelio chases down too many balls to count. Anika and Joaquin show no signs of weakness, eyes determined, hands quicker than ours at the net. The crowd quiets slightly, heads swiveling as the points get longer and longer.

I’m breathing hard by the end, sweat dripping down my green tennis dress. We’re down one point. If Joaquin and Anika win the next one, they win the whole event. It’s my serve. I eye them from across the net, pondering where to send my serve. Aurelio, positioned up front to my left, flashes the T signal behind his back. I nod in confirmation, thinking the same thing. Anika, who’s returning my serve, has historically struggled against a fast serve right down the middle. I take a deep breath, letting the moment soak in. I want to remember the crowd, the lights, Aurelio in matching green at my side, the tennis ball in my hand. I can do this.

My first serve goes straight into the net. I take another deep breath. I bounce the ball three more times at my feet. Aurelio looks at me over his shoulder, eyes shining with love and encouragement.

I toss the ball in the air again. It goes into the net again.

The crowd groans at the anticlimactic ending. Anika and Joaquin embrace, grinning ear to ear. I’m frozen, staring at the spot where my serve double faulted, where I lost us the match. It all feels eerily familiar. Too familiar. Have I really changed at all? Am I doomed to be a loser forever, just as Beck said I would be? Everything feels far away, fuzzy and scratchy in my brain.

A hand touches my shoulder. I look up into Aurelio’s beautiful brown eyes. “We did great,” he tells me, voice low. He seems to forget we’re wearing microphones. “You did great, Amy.”

The fuzziness fades and the clarity returns. I won two matches before this, and played a close match against the favorites, and all I can think about is that fateful serve. That’s what Beck would focus on, the moment that stopped me from being a champion. I have changed, because the old me would have agreed with him. And isn’t it more powerful to believe in Aurelio?

I wrap an arm around his waist. His comes over my shoulders, squeezing gently. “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s go congratulate the new champions.”

We walk over to Joaquin and Anika at the net. Anika looks at me nervously. I smile at her. “Congratulations, you guys,” I say. “You deserve it.”

Anika’s nervousness dissolves. “I just beat the Amy Bowman,” she squeals, jumping up and down. “I never thought it would happen!”

I laugh, and so does the crowd. We exchange quick hugs and handshakes before we’re ushered to a post-match interview. Joaquin and Anika go first, their enthusiasm and passion charming the crowd immediately. When the tournament organizer hands them the trophy, conveniently made out of tennis balls, they hoist it into the air to applause from the crowd. Aurelio and I lean against each other as we watch.

Finally, Chris McKendry, ESPN’s veteran reporter, turns our way. “Aurelio and Amy,” she says warmly. We walk into the frame of the cameras. “Congratulations on such a great tournament.”

“We’re very happy to be included,” Aurelio says, eyes on the crowd. “It was an honor to play against so many greats.” His gaze turns to me, openly affectionate. “And with my favorite person in the world.”

I wave off his compliments. “I paid him to say that.” The crowd chuckles.

Chris looks at us knowingly. “It’s your first time playing doubles, Amy. Is there anything you learned from playing with Aurelio?”

I should tell another joke, I know. But for some reason, I’m reminded of Aurelio’s Wimbledon speech. “On days like this,” I explain, “I’m reminded of why I love tennis. I loved hearing the fans get loud, I loved playing under the lights, I loved looking over and seeing Aurelio on the court with me.” I glance at him. “I want more days like this, and I think if I stick with Aurelio, I’ll get them. I’m just lucky that he chose me to be his partner.”

Aurelio doesn’t say anything but reaches over and takes my sweaty hand. The crowd watches us with interest.