I practised for as long as I could, doing anything to stop myself from thinking too hard about the news. I hit serves and practised aiming for different angles over and over again, until my arm ached as much as my heart and the other courts started to fill up around me. Then, I packed up my things and hit the showers, not having too long until Quigley and Violet's match started and I would have to get going.

When Olaf had first left- after I had expelled some anger- I had tried to rationalise things in my head. I had tried to think of the positives, of which there were few, and tried to come up with a solution. The hope that it might not be too late and I just needed to change his mind was shot down by the fact he had already signed me up for doubles. And while I could've argued for him to put me in for singles as well (as you could usually be registered up until six weeks before the event) I knew that to do that would be to make a fool of myself. Even focusing on singles like I had been, I hadn't been good enough. If I spread myself even thinner, who knew how badly I would end up playing?

I didn't know how Violet did it, competing in both doubles and singles and still staying bright and positive and having enough time to spend with family and loved ones. Her life must've been nonstop and yet she never let her fatigue or lack of free time turn into a resentment for the sport. She was an inspiration, truly.

Once I was done freshening up, I headed to the National Tennis Centre, dropped my bag off in the player locker room (taking full advantage of the fact that my designated locker was still mine until the end of the grand slam) and then quickly went to the cafe, praying I didn't run into anyone I knew. I usually avoided the place like the plague but I was gasping for a drink, having finished the water I'd taken with me to the courts.

I held my breath as I walked round the corner, but was relieved to see that it wasn't actually too busy. I joined the short line with my water and was minding my own business when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Please be Quigley or Violet, I thought to myself as I turned around, despite knowing that they would be practising instead of making cafeteria runs.

Of course it wasn't them. It was Carmelita Spats.

"I thought that was you!" she exclaimed as she took in my face, her voice sickly sweet. It was almost enough to make me forget why I hated her. "What're you doing here? I thought you went out in the first round," she said. I was immediately brought to my senses.

Obviously I went out in the first round, because I played you in the first round and you won, I wanted to say. But instead I went for, "I'm here for my brother. He plays mixed doubles."

Carmelita pretended to think for a moment. "Oh, yes, I think I've heard of him. Quinten!"

"Quigley," I corrected.

She ignored me. "Speaking of doubles, I'm going to be playing them starting in Australia. Just thought I needed a bit of a challenge doing that alongside singles. Mixes things up a bit. My coach thinks it's a perfect idea, given my age and successes so far. She said that while I'm young and spritely, I should branch out and really test my abilities."

I didn't think I'd ever felt young and spritely since I entered the tour but I didn't say as much. I couldn't have anyway, even if I'd wanted to, because Carmelita took it upon herself to recount to me every single one of her wins and every positive media piece that had been done about her during her short career, going as far as to bring an article up on her phone and read it out to me word for word.

Carmelita then took the time to put away her phone and look me up and down. "Would you never consider doubles? It might help you actually control the court. Plus, you'd have someone to hit your forehands for you since yours are unbelievably sloppy." She then pretended to inspect her nails, but the ghost of a smirk graced her glossed lips.

I was saved from answering by finally reaching the front of the queue. I didn't bother saying goodbye to Carmelita, knowing I would struggle to without wanting to have a go at her, but she didn't seem phased. She didn't even spare me another glance.

By the time I left the cafe, I hated her even more than before. But it helped me come to a decision. I desperately needed to beat her at tennis, just to take her down a peg. And while doubles would be one thing, to beat her in a singles match, one on one, would be another thing altogether. It would be satisfying beyond belief.

And so I vowed I would do both- play both doubles and singles- even if I had to beg Coach Olaf to let me. I needed to see her face as I stole victory from her clutches. Nothing else would satisfy me more. I would work harder, put more hours into training, improve my stamina until I was back to my prime.

I walked to Violet and Quigley's game as if in a daze, mentally plotting my return to the tennis world. It was only the sounds of the crowds as I arrived that brought me back down to earth and I realised I was almost running late. The match was just about to start.

I hurried inside and quickly found my place in the players' box, sitting beside Klaus without a second thought. I was thinking about far too much to even comprehend or be annoyed by his presence.

I tried to clear my head, owing it to my brother and Violet to give their match my full attention. I could think of the logistics later. Now, I just needed to focus. And not a moment too soon.

The muttering of the crowd burst into a frenzy as the players walked out onto the court, their sports bags bursting with spare racquets, shoes and an array of snacks and drinks filled with glucose and electrolytes. All tools to aid their state of play.

I clapped along with the crowd, breaking into a smile as I took in Quigley and Violet's beaming faces. While some players looked stressed or were too far into their own heads focusing (like how I got, I supposed) the pair were always peachy, always ready with a smile for their fans and the cameras alike. And maybe I was just caught up in the rush of the audience- all cheering and applauding, the vibe filled with the excitement that always came with a match like this, where the players were each so talented that you knew you were in for a treat- or maybe it was down to the fact that I had a clear, if illogical, plan in mind for my near future and that that was what had put me in such a good state of mind, but I found myself not thinking about the cameras or the threat of a lens pointed my way. Instead, I threw myself into the match, not just playing the role of the supportive sister but feeling it, meaning it, the way I always ought to.

It was freeing, in a way, and I found myself utterly enjoying the experience. I didn't think about the snap of a camera or the sun beating down on us all, nor did I even think about my earlier tiff with my coach or the drama with Carmelita Spats. I was fully present and was rewarded with being front row at the tennis match of the season.

I found myself hissing with those around me at some near misses, holding my breath as one of my loved ones took to the baseline to serve, and then cheering along when points fell in their favour. It was matches like that that made me love tennis.

It was a shame that I'd got to a point where I needed reminding of that.

During one of the changeovers in the third set, I glanced around, having nothing else to do while the players were having a short break, rehydrating and discussing tactics. While others around us used the time to chat, Klaus and I hadn't spoken a word. It didn't feel awkward though, especially since the blanket of sound from other people filled in all the gaps in our non-existent conversation. Instead of talking, Klaus had been using his phone in the short breaks, whereas I knew I wanted to avoid mine for the time being. So I had simply sipped my water and took stock of the things around me until the match continued.

Now, I'd already drained my water and was simply holding onto the bottle, using the plastic as more of a stress ball than anything else. Klaus sat almost as still as I did, not bothering with his phone this time. I should've expected trouble.

I didn't hear him move but I did hear his voice, feel the soft tickle of his breath, as he spoke directly into my ear to ensure he would be heard. "Did you speak to your coach?" Klaus asked, and I immediately felt my usual defences click into place.

"Why?" I replied sharply, unable to help falling into old habits.

It was then I realised he hadn't heard me, nor had he managed to lip read the one syllable apparently. I leaned closer, ignoring the blip in my heart rate as I did so- my body's fight or flight response kicking in to remind me I was getting too close to someone who had hurt me before- and repeated myself.

Klaus sat back slightly, an incredulous look on his face as if he couldn't quite understand. Irritation flared in me, unable to comprehend how he was struggling with my fairly appropriate one word response. But then it became apparent that the confusion didn't come from him not hearing me, but rather because I had answered in a way he hadn't expected.

"Because I-" he started, before he was cut off by a roar of applause as the players stepped onto the court again.

Klaus leaned in a second time, trying to finish what he was saying, but I nudged him away. "After!" I told him over the noise, and went back to focusing on the court.

Violet was at the baseline, ready to send a serve whizzing through the air. I crossed my fingers for an ace, knowing how satisfying it was to hit one. Then I watched as she bounced the ball rhythmically before throwing it up in a perfect toss and smashing it back down to earth with a grace that was unimaginable. The ball skimmed the net, hit the centre line and zipped through the two opposing players, who both tried to intercept its trajectory with their racquets in vain. The crowd cheered at the perfect shot, me along with them.

But out of the corner of my eye I could see Klaus watching me instead, his expression concerned. I turned to him, ready to snap at him that he missed his sister's ace, but he averted his gaze to the court ahead the moment he saw me move, acting like nothing had happened. But as I studied the set of his mouth, his furrowed brow, I noticed how the concern didn't disappear. Not even afterwards, when Violet and Quigley won their match and the stadium erupted into cheers.