Race & Rally // Charles Leclerc

31.00

The screen of my phone lights up next to me. I pick it up to see a text from Antonio.

-

Antonio
Call me as soon as you see this

-

I can't help but sigh. What could he possibly want now? He had decided not to come and watch me play because apparently he gets 'too nervous.' I almost laughed when he had told me. It took everything in me not to say, imagine how I feel?

The phone rings for an antagonising amount of time. He finally picks up.

"What the fuck was that Aria?!" he curses down the phone. As soon as I hear the tone of his voice, I instantly realise what he's talking about.

"Listen, she had absolutely no right to ask me a question like that," I mutter. However, I'm painfully aware of about how bad it must've looked from a viewers point of view.

"I don't care what the question is. You answer it normally and rationally. Do you want people to think that you're still fragile about the situation?!" he says, raising his voice slightly.

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. For the first time in a long time, I've nothing to say. I can't fight back.

"You want people to think you're a fighter Aria? Then act like one."

The phone line goes dead. I stare at the ground as I swallow down the scream that had been bubbling in my chest.

I understand that I should've reacted better at the interview earlier, but I know the only reason Antonio even cares about how I'm perceived, is because he doesn't believe I can do it. And honestly, I can't think of a single person who does.

-

I walk out onto the court and the crowd erupts, a sound that I haven't heard in a long time. I wave to the audience, trying to shake this immense feeling of imposter syndrome that is taking over me.

The stands are packed with eager fans, all here to witness my much-anticipated return. I soak up the atmosphere as much as possible, letting my determination set in.

Soon enough, I find myself face to face with my opponent at the net. Eloise Daniels is a lower seed that I hadn't heard of until now. She looks powerful, but I try to convince myself otherwise.

I reach the baseline, blowing cold air onto my hands to try and limit the sweat. She has first serve, which thankfully takes the pressure off of me. It will let me settle into the match. Next thing I know, the ball is coming flying towards me.

The match is electric. My serve is as powerful as ever, and my footwork, though slightly less nimble, displays that I still have the skills of a professional.

I fight through every set, winning points with my signature backhand and clever dropshots. The crowd roar with each victory, a palpable energy driving me forward. However, Eloise is incredibly good.

The match has come down to the final set, the score tied. It's clear that we're both exhausted, yet I'm still determined to push my limits.

I hit a stunning cross-court winner, bringing the score to match point in my favour. However, Eloise fights back two times in a row, causing the advantage to be for her. I now have one chance to level the score back out so that she won't win.

I have the serve. The crowd holds its breath as I prepare. This is the moment I have been dreaming of; my triumphant return sealed with a win.

Suddenly voices begin to echo through my mind. Snippets from the conversation I had with Antonio about entering me into the doubles.

'You could learn new things from your teammate, and it also adds to the chances of you winning..'

He doesn't believe in me.

'You want people to think that you're a fighter Aria?'

He never said that he believed I'm a fighter. He gave the hint that I'm trying to fool everybody around me.

But, Charles believes in me right?

'I want you to know that whatever happens, you should be so proud of yourself '

Whatever happens? Does that mean he didn't think I could win either?

I snap back into reality. Everyone is anticipating my serve. I take a deep breath. The ball leaves my hand, and with a surprisingly perfect arc, I smash it towards Eloise.

The rally that ensues is intense, both of us giving it our all. As I watch the ball be hit by Eloise, Antonio's voice rings through my ears once more. My focus falters for a slight second.

Then, in a heart-breaking twist, I make a slight miscalculation on my final shot. I go for an ambitious down-the-line backhand, but the ball clips the top of the net and falls back onto my side of the court.

My heart drops. The crowd gasps, the realisation hitting them like a wave. I have lost the match by the narrowest of margins.

I have lost.

Every noise that surrounds me becomes a blur. People seem to move in slow motion. I watch as Eloise jumps up and down in delight, relief seeping onto her face.

A part of me wonders how I'm going to go up and shake her hand. But I realise that she had played a brilliant game. This one was on me.

I walk up to the net, taking her hand in mine. "Go on and win this thing, will you?" I manage to say, and in return I receive a beaming smile.

"Of course I will Aria" she grins, taking her other hand and patting my back respectfully.

Walking off the court my racket and bags feel heavier than usual. The cheers and applause for my opponent circles the stadium, a painful reminder of what I have failed to achieve.

I make my way quickly to the locker room, disappointment gnawing at me, which is heightened at the realisation of how close I had gotten.

The countless hours of training, the sacrifices, and the mental preparation—all of it felt wasted in this moment.

I start to replay the match in my mind, over and over, fixating on the missed shots and the wrong decisions. If only I had been more aggressive on that breakpoint, if only my serve had held up under pressure. The 'if onlys' seemed endless, a chorus of what-ifs that will taunt me forever.

I can't even begin to think about what Antonio is going to say. He's going to be so disappointed.

David would be so disappointed.

I glance around the empty locker room as a sudden wave of loneliness washes over me. There is nobody here to comfort me.

My body caves and I let out a guttural sob. Tears begin to hit my legs as I keep crying. I go through people in my head that I could possibly call.

I unzip my bag and desperately search for my phone. Without being able to see through my tears, I somehow manage to find Charles' contact.

I ring him, but it goes straight to voicemail. I frown, but I try again. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail.

Frustration bubbles up inside of me, and I throw my phone across the room.

Charles won't answer. Even worse, I'll be going home to an empty house because his race weekend has only started. I seep my hands into my hair, trying to hold onto to something real as my body hyperventilates.

Antonio was right. I should've taken part in some small tournaments before any of the big ones. He never believed I was ready. Nobody believed, even the television presenters.

I don't even think I believe in myself anymore.