Page 7 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Catalina

The day has barely started, but my mood’s already gone from happy to fucking pissed.

My dad, two sisters, and brother invited me to go on vacation before the season starts in a few weeks, but I had to tell them to go without me since Santiago and I have to bond by going on dates and training together. It made me hate him a little more, even if I know it wasn’t his fault.

Well, not entirely.

“What has you frowning so much, pretty girl?” Sage, one of my closest friends and fellow tennis players, asks right as I lower the barbell I was holding. She’s the only Canadian in our friend group, but she’s lived over a decade of her life in various parts of Europe.

“Yeah, tell us why the vein on your forehead is pulsing,” Vanessa, everyone’s favorite CEO, chimes in with her thick French accent, and I direct my full glare her way.

It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.

Ness owns Spin , my biggest clothing sponsor. She’s the designer of all of my outfits, something she only does for me, so she’s responsible for always making them look like they should be worn on runways instead of tennis courts.

“She’s angry at the world for making her have to team up with the person she hates the most,” Charlie adds, and I nod in agreement.

“That’s partially why. Mostly, I’m frowning to hide the fact that I miss my family and can’t go see them soon,” I admit because I’ve always found it so easy to tell the three of them what’s going on in my life.

“Then I have something that’ll hopefully cheer you up,” Ness says, wiggling those perfectly shaped brows of hers at me as she steps toward where I’m jogging on the treadmill.

Not only is Vanessa the smartest woman I know, she’s also the kindest and one of the most drop-dead gorgeous.

She’s short and super curvy with dark skin, her dark curls twisted into several braids, and light brown eyes that always reveal more of what she’s feeling than words could.

She’s also the most fit person out of our whole group, despite not being a professional tennis player or athlete.

But if we’re talking endurance, this woman could outrun me any day of the week.

Ness holds out her phone for me, showing me some designs for a new racket.

“I love that one,” I say and slow down my run to look at it more closely.

It’s white and berry-magenta-colored with a pride flag painted on the side.

The head of the racket has a striped look that I like a lot, and she’s made the strings colored in a way that the letters CS are written in them.

My initials. It’s very unlike what other companies do, but then again, other companies don’t have this amazing woman as a CEO.

“I thought you might. I’m working on the design for your new outfits too, but I’m not ready to show those yet,” she says and snatches her phone out of my hand to keep me from swiping through more pictures.

Ness gives me a mischievous look, and I grin at her as she walks away, back to the mat she was exercising on before.

“That did cheer me up. Thank you.” She throws me a kiss, and I blush as I catch it.

“Why don’t you ever cheer me up when I’m sad?” Sage asks as she starts stretching on the floor in front of Ness.

She was the number one women’s player for years, but she’s had a few surgeries and injuries, so she had to take a season off and dropped in the rankings. When she came back, she struggled so much that even though she returned, she didn’t get back up to the top.

“Because there isn’t enough time in the day to cheer you up when you’re upset, love. No offense, but you’re so stubborn,” Vanessa replies, and Sage’s mouth drops open.

“Offense taken, thanks.”

They start bickering playfully with one another as I pick up my pace on the treadmill. I notice Charlie is looking at their phone with their brows furrowed.

“How’s your sister, Charlie? She’s getting married in a month, she must be nervous,” I say because I know that’s what’s bothering them. Their sister means the world to them, and they told me she’s been so stressed since her wedding is approaching.

“My sister is fine. Her fiancée, on the other hand, has already fired several caterers because she didn’t like their attitudes.”

“That’s understandable. This is their special day. You don’t need dickheads ruining it by giving you attitude,” I reply, loving that when I say “dickhead,” the first face that pops into my head is Santi’s.

As it should be.

Dickhead .

“I guess. It just gets difficult because Jenna likes to plan everything and Dels keeps throwing everything on its head,” Charlie adds, but all I can do is nod absentmindedly. I’m focused on my breathing now, trying to make it through my run without getting a stitch in my side.

But I see both sides.

On one hand, I like to plan everything to the smallest detail to make sure things run smoothly. On the other, I hate dealing with assholes. Which is why I gave up on trying to make rules with Santi.

“They’ll figure it out, and if they need help, I’m here,” Ness says, and Charlie offers her a grateful smile.

“Okay, who still wants to go get a tattoo with me later? I made an appointment for all of us, but I’m not sure if any of you changed your minds,” Sage says after a while of all of us doing our exercises.

I slow down the speed of my treadmill, sweat dripping down my burning hot face.

“Yeah, I’m still in,” I reply, walking now instead of running.

“Me, too. I’ve waited two years to get this tattoo, I don’t want to wait a day longer,” Charlie chimes in while Ness gives an agreeing nod.

Out of all of us, Ness was the least likely to change her mind.

She has at least a hundred tattoos. Most of them are small and spread out, but she loves them.

She’s also the one who made me fall in love with getting piercings.

We’ve known each other for over six years, and Ness and I have gotten about a dozen piercings since, nipple and clit piercings included.

I also got a few tattoos, but not nearly as many as she has.

As a tennis player, I have to be careful not to have too many.

They can’t be too visible or people will start judging.

Tennis is a prestigious sport. Wimbledon, arguably the biggest and most well-known tournament of the sport, still holds the tradition of the tennis players wearing white.

They want proper, elegant, clean images.

They don’t want tattooed, pierced, and “tainted” ones.

It’s why Santi’s and my scandals were judged so harshly.

For athletes in general, it’s dangerous not to fit the images given to us by the public.

Sponsors will retract their sponsorships.

You will not be invited to tournaments. They will never forget.

Especially when you’re a woman. Everything becomes more heightened. They judge you more harshly. They will take everything away from you because they are looking for reasons to. Getting opportunities is a battle, losing them happens in the blink of an eye, as easily as breathing.

All I can hope now is that my “dating” Santiago will make them believe my scandal was just a rumor.

“Alright, that’s enough, Lina. Get off and do some stretches,” Charlie instructs, so I turn off the treadmill, grabbing onto the handles to take several deep breaths.

Then, I settle down on the mat in front of them, letting them stretch out my tired limbs. I love this part of my training sessions. I get to relax and while some stretches hurt like a branding iron to the skin, it prevents me from being too sore the next day.

“Fuck!” I groan when Charlie stretches my back. More specifically, my left shoulder blade.

“Been bothering you again?” they ask, but all I can do is nod as I breathe through the pain. “Alright, let me massage you and cream the sore area.” One more deep breath keeps the tears at bay as the stinging sensation finally leaves.

I’ve had back problems ever since I was little, so this is nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any more bearable when a nerve gets stuck or a muscle cramps. I’ve seen doctors, but they couldn’t help me. They said I should come back when the pain got worse, which is fucking fantastic.

Especially because this feels like the most important season of my life, and I want nothing to stand in my way of making it to the number one spot.

Nothing.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Charlie breathes out, tears streaming down their face as the tattoo artist continues to put his tattoo gun to their skin. “Ness, you did not tell me it hurts this badly!”

Ness bursts into laughter.

“Because it usually doesn’t, you chose the most painful spot to get a tattoo,” she replies, still chuckling.

“Mine also hurt, if it’s any consolation,” I offer, lifting my shirt as I stand in front of the mirror to admire the words now forever engraved under the sea turtle that runs from the top of my cleavage all the way down and expands under my breasts.

La vida de una tortuga marina es una vida libre.

The life of a sea turtle is a free life.

My mother always said, “If I’m ever reborn, I want to return as a sea turtle. I want to be as free as they are, swimming through the ocean and spending my days exploring the sea.”

Mamá loved the ocean. When she was younger, my abuelito and her used to go sailing together.

I hope she got her wish. I hope she’s come back as a sea turtle, like she always wanted.

“It looks phenomenal,” Sage says as she approaches me, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving me a comforting smile.

Sage knows the story of the sea turtle and my mother.

She knows why I got this tattoo, they all do, but they think it makes me sad to look at when it does the opposite.

I love this reminder of Mamá. I love having a piece of her on me forever, especially because people can’t see it unless I allow them to.

It’s mine, and I’ve hardly shared it with anyone.

I usually wear bathing suits instead of bikinis because the media would tear me to shreds over it with assumptions and criticisms.

Only my friends know, not even Dad or my siblings. I think it would make them sad, and I don’t want to be the reason for that.

“She’ll be with you every second of the season. She’ll give you strength,” Sage says and leans her head against mine.

God, I hope she’s right.

I can’t do this without Mamá.