by Diane Hoh
When the clapping stopped, Coach Dietch straightened up and said, “Well, DeVoe, I see you’ve met your newest competition.”
Libby’s face turned as ash-white as her hair, and her lips tightened into a long, thin line.
As grateful as Nicki was for the support, her heart froze in her chest. Because she knew with cold certainty that on this, her first day of tennis practice at Salem University, she had made an enemy.
Judging from the look in Libby DeVoe’s cold green eyes, a very dangerous enemy.
Chapter 2
NICKI’S FIRST PRACTICE DID not go well.
After living in Texas for two years, she was used to playing on an outdoor court, even in winter, but here, in the heart of New York State, January meant indoor play. Salem, like other eastern schools, had indoor courts.
Nicki walked down the long hall to the huge, domed area, by herself. But when she entered through the big double doors, a tall, brown-haired girl with shoulders as wide as Libby’s approached. She was accompanied by a shorter, stockier girl. “Hi,” the taller girl said. “You’re Nicki Bledsoe, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture in the paper. I’m Patrice Weylen. Everyone calls me Pat. And this creature next to me waving her racket in the air like a maniac is Ginnie Lever. Actually, she is a maniac. About tennis, anyway.”
“Hi.” The “maniac” stopped swinging. She was short and well-built and had, Nicki noticed with relief, very long hair, caught in a thick, strawberry-blonde, French braid. So maybe there weren’t any rules about hair length.
Ginnie leaned across Patrice to say in a low voice, “We’re not members of the Libby DeVoe fan club, in case you’re interested. Watch out for her, okay?”
Nicki laughed, to hide a sudden uneasiness. “You’re the second person to tell me that today.”
“Oh, yeah? Who was the other one?”
“A guy named John Silver. He works in the sports shop at the mall.”
Pat and Ginnie nodded. “John’s great. Anything you want to know about tennis equipment, ask John,” Pat said. “He’s really smart.”
“Cute, too.” Ginnie said, pulling open one of two large doors. “If John worked out once in a while, he’d be gorgeous.”
“Maybe he should take up tennis instead of just talking about it,” Nicki said. “Nothing gets you in shape better than racing around a tennis court. And this,” she added admiringly, glancing around the huge, domed structure housing four separate courts, “is really something.”
“On nice days,” Ginnie said, pointing to the glass roof, “the sun shines in, and it almost feels like you’re outside.”
“It’s great,” Nicki said.
But her pleasure over the facility was short-lived as the male faction of Salem’s tennis team arrived and practice began in earnest. Tension sometimes led her to play well, but not on this day. As she moved to a bench to sit with Pat and Ginnie until Coach Dietch set up play, Libby DeVoe passed in front of the bench, bending to whisper, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got, hotshot.”
It shouldn’t have rattled Nicki. She liked to think she was more professional and disciplined than that. Besides, Libby had only said aloud what everyone else was thinking. They were all waiting to see exactly what it was that Marta Dietch had seen in Nicki Bledsoe.
But it did rattle her. Maybe it was from getting two warnings about Libby DeVoe in one day. Whatever the reason, no one was going to see during this practice session what Dietch had seen. Nicki fought grimly to overcome the tension she was feeling, but it was hopeless.
She messed up on eight serves in eight tries.
She missed the simplest volleys.
She began to hear giggles and snorts of derision from her teammates.
Discouraged and embarrassed, Nicki took refuge on a bench, sitting down beside Pat. On the courts, Ginnie was playing very, very well, with fierce concentration. “She’s really good,” Nicki commented admiringly.
“Tennis is Ginnie’s whole life,” Pat said. “When she was a baby, her parents must have given her a miniature racket instead of a rattle. The only reason she cares about her classes at all is her scholarship. If it weren’t for that, I think she’d practice twenty-four hours a day.”
Libby DeVoe, too, was playing well, Nicki noticed with envy. She had a strong serve and a powerful backhand, and for someone so tall and big-boned, she was amazingly light on her feet.
Just before Coach Dietch blew the whistle to end practice, she came over to Nicki’s bench to say, “Relax! First time out is always tough. Get a good night’s sleep and be back here at two tomorrow.”
When she had left, Nicki muttered, “Well, at least she didn’t toss me out on my ear.”
Pat looked shocked. “She wouldn’t do that! Everyone knows how good you are.”
If they did, they were hiding it well.
The whistle shrilled. Nicki and Pat got up to leave, waiting for Ginnie to join them.
“You’ll do better tomorrow,” a voice said in Nicki’s ear.
She turned, looked up into the face of John Silver, smiling down at her.
“I thought you were working,” she said. But she was glad to see him. He had warned her about this team. And he’d been right.
“I was. But I decided to come watch practice today. Check out the new hotshot tennis star.” He smiled at Nicki, who felt her cheeks grow warm.
“Not much of a star today,” she said apologetically.
John stayed alongside Nicki. “First practices are always rough,” he said, echoing Coach. “Give yourself some time.” Then he grinned. “But if you think new shoes would help, I can get you a twenty percent discount.”
Nicki laughed. “I’ll give it some thought.” Then she added grimly, “If I’d played that poorly when Dietch scouted me, I wouldn’t be here now. I hope you’re right about first practices being rough. I need to do better tomorrow.”
“Good luck.” As he walked her to the locker room, Nicki noticed Libby DeVoe coming up alongside him, flashing a smile his way and a look of contempt Nicki’s way.
Oh, great! Libby had a thing for John? Wonderful. If Libby had hated her before, now she’d really hate her for talking to John, too.
This isn’t high school, Nicki told herself. We were supposed to leave that kind of petty jealousy behind when we graduated.
“Want to go get something to eat?” Pat asked as they entered the locker room. “Have you seen Vinnie’s yet? Great pizza. I’m broke, as usual, but I think I can scrounge up enough for a slice or two.”
“I haven’t been anywhere.” Nicki hated going to a restaurant alone, and had been eating in Devereaux’s dining hall only when she knew it wouldn’t be crowded. It would be fun to eat with friends again.
“Meet you outside …” Pat said, and stopped short a foot away from locker number twenty-three. “Nicki?” she said, staring at the locker door.
“What?” Nicki moved forward to join Pat. Ginnie was right behind them. It was her gasp that drew the attention of others in the room.
“Oh, wow,” someone breathed.
“I don’t believe this,” Nicki said, advancing to stand directly in front of her locker.
Written on the door in thick, white foam, were the words, GO AWAY, LOSER.
Chapter 3
“IT’S MOUSSE,” PAT SAID, flicking a finger through the white foam. “It’s hair mousse.”
The words, GO AWAY, LOSER were already beginning to lose their shape, dripping into elongated streaks of white on Nicki’s locker door.
“I don’t think that’s funny at all,” Ginnie said indignantly. “That’s no way to welcome someone.”
Already, Nicki hadn’t been feeling very welcome, after being confronted by Libby and ignored by the others. If it hadn’t been for Pat and Ginnie, she’d have felt like a complete outsider.
And now this.
Everyone in the locker room was watching.
“Was it something I said?” Nicki quipped in a brittle voice. She reached inside her locker
for a handful of tissues. Swiping at the melting letters, she said loudly, “I hope this wasn’t expensive mousse. Seems like such a waste, since I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay. I’m not moving again.”
Two girls Nicki hadn’t met got up from the bench then and, armed with paper towels, came over to help her finish cleaning up the mess. They introduced themselves as Hannah and Barb, said they were glad she had joined the team, and when the locker door was clean, went to take their showers.
That makes four, Nicki thought grimly as she grabbed a clean white towel from her locker. Four people out of maybe two dozen, who had acknowledged her existence.
“I don’t get it,” she said as she, Pat, and Ginnie combed their hair after their showers. “Why is everyone here so unfriendly? I know I screwed up out there today, but even before we went out on the court, the air in here practically gave me frostbite. What’s going on?”
“It’s Libby,” Pat said flatly. “She’s put the word out that she doesn’t want you here. She liked things just the way they were. To her, you’re a spoiler.”
“And people listen to her?” Nicki asked scornfully. “Why? She puts her sneaks on one foot at a time, the same as the rest of us.”
“I think people are afraid of her,” Ginnie said. “She has a terrible temper. And she’s the best player we’ve got. No one wants to cross her. She might quit.”
“She’d never quit,” Pat said with contempt. “Not her. And you’re as good as she is, Ginnie. Maybe Nicki is, too.”
“Well, you’d never get anyone who saw me play today to agree with you,” Nicki said, stuffing her whites in her gym bag. “If I don’t do better tomorrow, the message on my locker door will be in permanent ink instead of mousse.”
“Libby didn’t do that, though,” Ginnie pointed out. “She couldn’t have. She came in after we did.”
Pat shrugged. “She could have told someone to do it. That’s her style.”
They did go to Vinnie’s to eat. The restaurant, in the nearby town of Twin Falls, felt familiar and comfortable to Nicki. It was just like all the Italian restaurants in all the towns in which she’d lived. Warm and welcoming, the smells of tomato sauce and oregano heavy in the air, music playing from a jukebox, checkered cloths on the tables. Vinnie’s made her feel at home for the first time since she’d arrived at Salem.
There were other tennis players there, but none of them paid much attention when the trio walked in, or made any attempt to join them at their table. The largest and noisiest table was Libby’s, where every chair was filled. Barb waved, but didn’t motion for them to join the group.
“You wouldn’t rather be sitting over there, would you?” Ginnie asked Nicki as they took their seats. “I mean, with the bigshots?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Did you see the way DeVoe looked at me when I came in? Do I look like I’m in the market for a knife in my back?”
Ginnie looked satisfied. “Good. Just thought I’d ask. Most people coming in as transfer students would gravitate toward the most popular people. I’m glad you’re not like that.”
It wouldn’t do me any good, Nicki thought, and then concentrated on her menu.
They were halfway through their meal when Pat suddenly said, “Nicki, don’t look now, but someone’s staring at you.”
“Don’t tell me not to look and then tell me something like that,” Nicki chided. “Now, I have to look. Where?”
“Over there, in the corner. The tall guy in black, standing near the jukebox with the blonde girl. If you absolutely have to look, pretend you’re scouting for a waiter.”
As casually as she could, Nicki turned her head. She was, indeed, being stared at.
“That’s Deacon Skye,” Ginnie said. “He’s in my English class. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The only guy in the class who knows anything about e.e. cummings and Ezra Pound. But,” Ginnie shook her head, “he’s kind of a loner. That’s Melanie Hayden with him. She’s an artist, that’s all I know. They hang around together a lot, but I don’t think they’re dating or anything like that. They’ve been in trouble a couple of times for signing into their dorms late, driving too fast on campus, making too much noise in the library, stuff like that. And Deacon argues with our English prof all the time.”
The boy in black smiled at Nicki.
She turned back to her meal. “Why is he staring at me?”
“Maybe he thinks you’re gorgeous. You are, you know,” Pat said.
“No, I’m not. Anyway, he’s not my type. Obviously a rule-breaker, while I, on the other hand, have lived with the discipline of being an athlete my whole life, practically. We’d have absolutely nothing in common.”
“Maybe not,” Ginnie said, sighing, “but don’t you think he looks a little like Mel Gibson?”
“No. But he probably thinks so. Now leave me alone and let me eat. I need my strength if I’m going to do better tomorrow than I did today.”
Still, when the boy in black and the girl with blonde hair left the restaurant, Nicki watched them go with a mixture of curiosity and disappointment. They looked interesting. The only people she’d associated with most of her life were athletes. Disciplined and ambitious and goal-oriented, obeying all the rules because they knew that would get them where they wanted to go.
What would it be like to know someone who didn’t always follow the rules?
Might be fun.
But she didn’t have time to find out now.
On their way out, they had to pass Libby’s table. Barb looked up and said, “Good luck tomorrow, Nicki.”
Libby’s green eyes shot her a death-ray.
Nicki smiled and said, “Thanks, Barb.” When they left the restaurant, she told Pat and Ginnie, “I have to go back to the mall. I was in a hurry today, and got the wrong kind of socks. You guys want to come?”
Pat shook her head. “Can’t. I’ve got a quiz in math tomorrow and I’m not ready.”
“Me, too,” Ginnie said regretfully. “I’d like to go. I haven’t been to the mall in ages. Too much to do. But I’m in the same math class as Pat, so …”
Nicki was disappointed. She had thought now that she’d actually met a couple of people, she wouldn’t have to be doing everything alone anymore. Still, it was just a quick trip to the mall to exchange socks. Pat and Ginnie would probably be available for more important things, like movies and parties.
She drove them back to campus, dropped them off, then turned the car around to drive to Twin Falls.
It was nice to have friends again, even if they couldn’t come with her this time. Pat and Ginnie were a lot like girls she’d known in high school. Sports had probably taken up most of their time, leaving little time for popularity and dating. On Saturday nights when they weren’t on the road for a tournament, they’d gone to the movies together, probably staying at each other’s houses overnight, pretending they didn’t care that they hadn’t been invited to the parties and the dances. But of course they had cared.
She’d been luckier than that. Being the new girl had lent her a certain romanticism, given her her share of dates and invitations. Until it was time to move again.
She had to play better tomorrow. Tennis wasn’t all she had in her life, but it was the most important, now that she had the scholarship. How patient could Coach Dietch be? How many chances would she give a newcomer?
More than the other players were willing to give, apparently.
She was almost to Twin Falls when the car began pulling sharply to the left, and an unmistakable thunking sound came from the left rear side.
Nicki groaned. It was cold and dark out, and the last thing she wanted to do was change a tire on the side of the highway. The car wasn’t new, but all four tires were. Her father had insisted on that. How could one have gone flat already?
Sighing in annoyance, she pulled the car to a stop on the shoulder, and got out. It really was cold, and the sky overhead was thick with dark, gray clouds. Snow. Great. It was on nights like this that she mis
sed Texas, where they had moved when she was sixteen. It almost never got this cold there.
Checking for traffic, which was moderately heavy on the highway, she walked around to the offending tire. Bent to inspect it. And reeled back, her mouth open in disbelief.
Because even someone with a limited knowledge of cars and tires could see that the tire had not gone flat all by itself. Nor had she run over a nail or a piece of glass. There was no nail; there was no glass.
What there was, though, was a-thick, six-inch-long slice in the rubber, separating it, that cried out the truth to Nicki.
The tire had been deliberately slashed.
Chapter 4
UNNERVED BY THE SIGHT of the ruined tire and the cars whizzing past perilously close to her, Nicki climbed back into the car, trying to clear her head enough to decide on a course of action.
She was having trouble digesting the idea that someone had deliberately slashed her tire. It was too frightening. It made her feel unprotected and threatened. The notion that a stranger had destroyed something that belonged to her while she was sitting peacefully in a restaurant, eating, was so wrong, so crazy, that she couldn’t quite take it in. Had it really happened that way? Wasn’t there some way it could have been accidental?
No, there wasn’t. Not a slash that size.
Nicki didn’t know what to do.
She could change the tire. She’d done it before. But the shoulder of the road wasn’t wide enough for her to work safely. It might be smarter to lock the car and hike the rest of the way into town to find a garage.
She was about to do just that when bright headlights hit her rearview mirror, blinding her. A car had pulled up behind her, and someone was getting out. Two someones. Guy. Girl. Approaching her car on the driver’s side. She could see them in her sideview mirror. They walked confidently, as if unaware of any danger from passing cars. As if they were saying, Who would dare hit us?
As they drew closer, Nicki remembered the rules about highway safety that had been drummed into her by her parents when she first got her license. If you’re stranded on the highway and a stranger offers to help, ask him to go to the nearest garage and send help. Do not get into a stranger’s car. Do not let him into yours.