Topspin Page 2

  I bounced the ball a couple of times, buying a bit of time. Squinting at Amelia on the other side of the court, I saw she was positioned close to the center line, so she could take the serve on her forehand. Well, fine. If she wanted a forehand, I’d give it to her. Adjusting my grip on the racket, I tossed the ball up, brought the racket around and sliced the serve wide.

  She dived for it, but at little over five feet tall, her reach was pretty short. The ball tipped the end of the racket and kept going.

  A groan from the entourage. Silence from Hugo and company.

  “Fifteen–love,” I said.

  I sent my next serve onto her backhand. A power serve that I thought would be an ace, but she got her racket out and the ball ricocheted back over the net. It landed a meter inside the baseline. I could have hit it with a forehand. It was a fairly easy shot. But that would have got the rally going again, and the last thing I needed was another marathon. Instead, I lobbed it high and deep. She shuffled back, waiting for it to bounce. The ball landed just where I wanted it to, almost on the baseline, and bounced high over her head. She leapt up and swung at it, but she was just too short to make contact.

  “Thirty–love.”

  There was a muttering from Amelia Barrett’s family. They didn’t like my tactics, but I didn’t care. I would do whatever it took to win.

  I moved over to the forehand court and served the next one up straight away. I sent it out wide again, hoping she was still protecting her backhand side. This time she was ready for it. She shuffled to the right and returned the serve with a strong forehand. There was good topspin on it, and it accelerated off the bounce. I sliced it back down the line. It dropped low with a bit of backspin, and I thought I had her. But somehow she managed to scoop it up and tip it over the net. I dashed in, racket stretched out, and missed it by millimeters.

  A huge cheer went up. The clapping seemed to go on and on.

  I glanced over at Hugo. His face was as unreadable as ever. Miri and Hamish looked bored.

  “Thirty–fifteen,” I said.

  I bounced the ball, waiting for the noise to die down. But this wasn’t Wimbledon, and there was no umpire to caution the excited family supporters of Amelia Barrett. Finally I tossed the ball up for the serve anyway. It wasn’t the best toss, and I hit it a bit flat. The serve went long.

  “Fault!” called Amelia.

  I cursed under my breath. Come on, Kat. Just finish this.

  I put the second serve in short. Amelia shuffled in and hit it with her forehand, then ran in to the net. Not a good idea when you’re five foot nothing. I lobbed it over her head. She ran back, but there wasn’t much she could do.

  “Forty–fifteen.”

  Okay. Match point. If I won this one, I was a step closer to qualifying for the tournament. No pressure.

  I served it onto her backhand. She returned it down the line, low and flat. A quick two-step and a powerful forehand crosscourt sent her racing for the shot. Somehow she managed to get there and sent it back again with a matching forehand. The rally was on. Quickly I shuffled to the right and hit it down the line. Again she got her racket on it. She wasn’t going down easy. The backhand landed on the service line, and I ran in, tapping it over with a quick backhand slice, then following it to the net. I could only hope she wouldn’t lob it over my head like I had done to her.

  She shuffled in to the shot. It had landed on her backhand side. She turned for the backswing and brought her racket around. I think it was meant to go over my head. I saw her gaze move in that direction, but I was a lot taller than her, and backhand was not her best stroke. The ball came straight at my head. Luckily, my reflexes had been honed by training with Miri. I’d lost count of the number of times she’d fired body shots at me. I got the racket up and deflected the ball to the left.

  I saw Amelia staring at the spot on the court where the ball had landed, almost on the sideline. She couldn’t possibly be thinking of calling it out, could she? She glanced up at her family, then back at me. She pressed her lips together.

  “Good game,” she muttered as we shook hands.

  “Yeah, good game,” I said. I was leaping up and down inside.

  I turned toward Hugo, who nodded approvingly. Hamish and Miri were nowhere to be seen.

  chapter four

  “You looked tired out there” was all Hugo said when I joined him courtside.

  “Yeah, we had some long rallies in the first half,” I said. I didn’t mention the half-hour run through the streets of Melbourne. Somehow I didn’t think that was high on the list of recommended preparation exercises on the day of a tournament.

  “Make sure you rest up before your next match,” he said. He pulled an energy bar out of his pack. “Here. Have one of these a half an hour before you play. It’ll keep you going.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He turned to go. “Oh, and by the way. Amelia Barrett was meant to win that one.”

  “What?” I glanced over to the other side of the court, where Amelia’s family was gathered around her.

  “She won this tournament last year in the 14 and Under,” he said. “She’s only in the qualifiers because she’s been off with an ankle injury.” He nodded toward two guys who had taken over the court and were rallying back and forth. “Both her brothers play as well. Mark, the oldest, is one of the best juniors in the country, and Colby is no slouch either. He’ll give Hamish a run for his money this weekend.”

  The boys were both tall, unlike Amelia, who must have got her height—or lack of it—from her mother. One of the boys had longish dark hair tied back off his face. He looked a lot like his dad, who I’d spotted earlier cheering on Amelia. I figured this boy was probably Mark, the oldest. The other one looked more like his sister, with short chestnut hair and freckles. They both had amazing technique, I could tell, even though they were just fooling around.

  “But you told me last night Amelia was nothing to worry about. That I’d beat her,” I said to Hugo.

  “And you did, didn’t you?” he said.

  I looked back at Hugo. He didn’t usually play games. Then again, I’d only been training with him for a month. What did I know?

  “Look, Kat,” he said. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought you couldn’t do it. It was a tough draw. I didn’t want you to psych yourself out. Now your next one should be a breeze. You play the winner from court 8. Go and see what’s happening, and be ready to play again at eleven thirty.”

  I hurried over to court 8. The match had gone to a tiebreak. The two girls were pretty evenly matched and also fairly average, from what I could see. The taller girl had strong strokes but was a bit slow, so missed the shots that went close to the line. The other girl, who was about my height, was quicker but not very consistent. She made a lot of unforced errors. I thought I could probably beat either one.

  The match was over quickly. I figured the shorter girl gave up in the end. Once the taller girl broke her serve, she didn’t win another point. That was all right with me. I’d gotten enough of a look at my next opponent to be prepared, and besides, my stomach was raging at me. I’d been too mad at Miri to eat anything but a Mars bar for breakfast. I needed food.

  For an athletic competition, there was an awful lot of junk food on offer. Burgers, hot dogs, grilled sandwiches…and it all smelled good. I admit I was tempted. I hadn’t eaten a French fry or potato chip or even had a soft drink in over a week, which was kind of a record for me. I knew junk food wasn’t a good idea, though, and settled on a banana smoothie. I only hoped it wouldn’t still be sloshing around in my stomach when it was time to play.

  Drink in hand, I turned around and almost bumped into Miri. She was with a blond guy who looked a bit older than us, about seventeen or eighteen, though he wasn’t much taller than she was. His skin was tanned to a golden brown, and he looked totally full of himself. He gave me the creeps.

  I went to walk past them, but Miri caught my arm. “Kat, wait up,” she said.

 
The guy looked me up and down, and then his gaze slid away. Like slime sliding off a rock. “I’ll catch you later,” he said to Miri.

  “Who was that?” I asked when he’d left.

  “Him?” she said. “Dray Yule. He trains with Mark deLany—although, between you and me, I don’t know why he took him on. He’s not really that good.”

  The trainer’s name didn’t mean anything to me, but the way Miri had thrown it out, I thought he must be one of the better trainers around. I glanced back and saw that Dray had stopped to talk to someone, but his eyes were still on us. I didn’t want to guess what he was thinking.

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  Miri shrugged. “I’ve seen him around. He’s always at the Melbourne tournaments. It’s his home town. By the way, I hear you won,” she said. “Congrats. When I saw you were playing Amelia Barrett, I thought you were a goner.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, remembering suddenly what she’d done that morning. I started to walk away, but she turned and kept pace with me, pulling her cell phone out and scrolling through the menu.

  “We’ve got an easy draw tomorrow morning,” she said. “The Wong sisters. They’re nothing special. Maddy and I have played them a few times.” She chatted on about them as we walked. As if nothing had happened the night before. As if we were friends.

  Finally, I stopped and faced her. “Miri, what do you want?” I said. “In case you’re wondering, I’m still mad about last night. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got to play soon.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There’s no pleasing you. I try to be nice and you bite my head off.”

  “It’s a bit late for nice, don’t you think?” I said.

  She scowled. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry about last night. If it makes you feel any better, Hugo’s put me on notice for being late this morning.”

  She actually did look sorry. Whether it was for screwing me around or getting in hot water with Hugo, I’d never know. I could only hope it was a bit of both.

  I sighed. “Look, Miri,” I said. “All I want is to play tennis. The fact is that we have to play doubles together, and that’s going to be a whole lot easier if we’re not at each other’s throats. So why don’t we start over. Forget about last night and concentrate on our game.”

  Her face brightened. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  I took a sip of my smoothie. “So what about these Wong sisters?” I said.

  “Don’t worry about them,” she said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “If you can beat Amelia Barrett, you can beat Leah and Nora Wong.” Her phone bleeped, and she glanced at a text that had just come in. “I’ve gotta go. But Kat, can I ask one teensie favor?”

  I should have known it was too good to be true. “As long as it doesn’t involve lying to Hugo,” I said.

  “No, nothing like that.” She looked over her shoulder toward the change rooms. “I promised Hamish I would pick up his spare racket from the restring service, but it won’t be ready until eleven and I’ve gotta meet someone. Could you…?”

  “But…I have to be on the court at eleven thirty,” I protested.

  “It won’t take long.” Her phone bleeped again, and she started backing away. “Hamish is on the warm-up courts with Hugo. I owe you one.” She dashed off toward the change rooms, and I was left standing there with a melted smoothie, realizing I’d been duped again.

  chapter five

  Hamish wasn’t surprised when I showed up with his racket, which made me wonder whether Miri had planned to make me her errand boy all along.

  “Hey, I meant to tell you congrats on your win this morning,” he said. His eyes were a deep blue. I’d never noticed that before. “I was watching you play. You’re not bad. Not bad at all.”

  I knew it was a compliment. His smile was warm and genuine.

  “Thanks.” I grinned stupidly.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” asked Hugo from behind me.

  I jumped guiltily. “Yeah, I’m going,” I said. “Wish me luck.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” said Hugo. “Get out there and play tennis.”

  “Good luck!” said Hamish as I ran off.

  The tall girl was waiting for me. She wasn’t actually that tall, not as tall as Miri anyway, but that was how I thought of her. Her name was Emily Hunt. She was from Sydney and had arrived in Melbourne the day before, on the same flight as us. She recognized me from the line at the baggage carousel. This was also her first time playing at Melbourne Park. She seemed excited that we had so much in common—and nervous too. Like she needed to tell me her life story before we got started. I was pleased to see she didn’t have a cheer squad with her.

  We headed out on the court to warm up, and I reviewed my plan for the match. It was pretty simple, really. Move her around and make her run for the ball. She had lead feet. If I placed my shots well, I could tire her out and force her to make mistakes.

  It was all going according to plan. I got the feeling she was already pretty tired from the first match, so it didn’t take much to wear her out. She didn’t have the energy to chase after difficult shots. I was up 4–1 when things took a turn for the worse.

  We stopped to change ends, and the world started spinning.

  “Are you all right?” she said.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just need a minute.”

  I sat at the edge of the court and put my head on my knees. I could hear the blood pumping through my veins. My stomach was a hollow pit.

  I felt a hand on my back, and a bottle of Powerade was thrust under my nose.

  “Here, drink this,” said Hamish.

  “Did you eat that bar I gave you?” said Hugo, squatting on my other side.

  I took a sip of the drink and shook my head. I hadn’t had much of the smoothie either. He swore.

  “Have one of mine,” said Hamish. “I can get some more.”

  My hands were shaking as I ripped open the packet. The bar was fruity and sweet, and I felt the sugar going straight to my energy-starved body. I ate the whole thing in three bites.

  A shadow blocked the sun, and I looked up to see Emily standing over me. “Is she all right?” she said. “Does she need to forfeit?” I could hear the eagerness in her voice, though to be fair, she was trying to look concerned. I couldn’t blame her. If I forfeited, she’d move on to the next round.

  “No,” I said. “I’m all right. I was just a bit dizzy for a second.”

  I stood up. The world tilted and then evened out. I took another sip of the Powerade and a swig of water.

  “All set,” I said, hoping I was. “Let’s play.”

  It was Emily’s serve. She tightened her ponytail and adjusted her cap, then glanced at the sun, which was right overhead. I didn’t mind. The longer she took, the longer I had to recover. I wasn’t dizzy anymore, but I felt heavy and sluggish, like I had weights attached to my wrists and ankles.

  She tossed the ball up for the serve, and I went up on my toes, ready for the return. Her racket arced up and around. The ball rocketed toward me. I shuffled in just as it slammed into the net.

  Whew. Saved by a fault. The way I was feeling, it probably would have been an ace if it had gone over.

  Her next serve was slow and easy. I shuffled around to take it on my forehand, going for a power shot crosscourt. Only there was no power there. I managed to get a bit of topspin on it, but there was no acceleration, and the ball plopped softly into the court just past the service line. Emily lined it up and powered it down the line in a passing shot that should never have happened.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was an easy shot. I should have got to it. I would have got to it, if I had half the get-up-and-go I usually had. But it was like there was a half-second delay in messages getting from my brain to my feet. The next two points were just as bad. I tried to hit them deep, and they landed well inside the baseline, setting her up for a clean winner. I was in real trouble. I had to do something.
I wasn’t sure exactly what, but anything would be better than what I was doing now. I’d missed three points in a row, and at 40–love I had little to lose.

  She sent the next serve straight toward me. I sidestepped and took it on the forehand, lobbing it high and hoping she didn’t have a great smash hidden up her sleeve. She didn’t. She scooted backward and lobbed it back at me, nice and deep. I lobbed it back again to her backhand side. With plenty of time, she moved around to take it on her forehand. Now I had her where I wanted her. Deep in the corner on the backhand side. I moved forward to take the shot early and angled it short on her forehand side. I didn’t need power for that, just accuracy. She watched helplessly as it landed well inside the line but far out of her reach.

  “Great shot, Kat,” called Hamish. I glanced over and he grinned at me, giving me a thumbs-up with both hands.

  I smiled to myself as I moved back into position. It felt good to have someone cheering me on. Not just anyone, but someone who knew a lot about tennis and would know a good shot when he saw one.

  Next thing I knew, Emily had served and the ball powered straight past me. So much for my comeback.

  I was feeling a bit better now though. The energy bar and the Powerade were kicking in. I had a strategy. Move her around and keep her guessing. Try to keep the points short. I couldn’t afford to get into long rallies. It was Amelia Barrett all over again.

  I served the first ball short and wide, just like she’d done to me. She managed to get her racket on it, but it landed out.

  Okay. Back on track. Fifteen–love.

  She returned the next serve with interest, which wasn’t hard. My serves weren’t what they should be. It landed deep, and I blocked it back. The ball flew high over the net. I watched her move in for the kill. She did have a smash after all. Her timing was perfect, her racket arcing down over the ball just at the right moment. It slammed into the middle of the service court and bounced over my head.