Copyright © 2017 Steven Barwin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Barwin, Steven, author
Desert slam / Steven Barwin.
(Orca soundings)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1372-4 (paperback).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1373-1 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1374-8 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings
PS8553.A7836D48 2017 jC813’.54 C2016-904453-X
C2016-904454-8
First published in the United States, 2017
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016950088
Summary: In this high-interest novel for teen readers, Maya is involved in a car accident while on vacation in Palm Springs.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover image by iStock.com
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
To my family
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Small white wind turbines dotted the desert terrain. Leaning against the curved wall of the airplane, I felt the vibrations travel through me and heard the accompanying clanking sound as the wheels dropped. My excitement over landing in Palm Desert, California, one of my favorite places in the world, made me want to unbuckle and dance around.
I pressed my face against the window to take it all in. The desert mountains came into view as we made a sweeping turn to land.
My stomach lurched as we descended, and my ears popped. It wouldn’t be long now.
The airplane door opened and everyone got in line to get off, anxious to see the blue skies and feel the dry heat.
Inside the terminal, I yanked my suitcase off the carousel and stepped through the sliding doors into paradise. I adjusted my sunglasses and guided my suitcase wheels onto the curb. I took in a deep breath of the dry desert air. A double honk caught my attention. I smiled and waved as Grandpa John pulled up in his sky-blue convertible. After some hugs and kisses we hit the road.
“So how’s my favorite granddaughter?” he asked as he pulled onto a highway flanked by desert on either side.
“Your one and only granddaughter,” I said. The sky was the most perfect, spotless blue. I couldn’t resist. I used my phone to snap my first picture of the trip. “I’m great. So excited to see you guys and to play and watch lots of tennis too.”
“Speaking of tennis, all the hotels are sold out for the Indian Wells tournament. This place gets busier than Times Square on New Year’s Eve.”
“That’s because it’s one of the best tournaments on tour,” I replied.
“Can’t argue with you there.”
We didn’t speak for a few minutes. I was just enjoying the warm air rushing past me, blowing my hair straight back like a wave.
“So I heard you’re a full-fledged driver now,” my grandpa finally said. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you. I am officially a free woman. The open road is calling to me.”
He smiled at me, and his sunglasses reflected my face. “All you need is a car.”
I laughed. “That would help. Where’s Granny Evelyn?”
“Home. Unfortunately, her back is out again. Slipped disk is acting up.”
“Oh no. She’s not golfing?”
“Not for at least another week. She’s kind of going crazy at home. All she can do is watch others play from the balcony.”
We turned off the highway and onto a road lined with palm trees. I snapped another photo. The gates parted and let us into the Tuscan Palms community. I sighed, all the tension from life in busy Vancouver draining from my body as we entered golf, tennis and swimming heaven. I dragged my suitcase up to the second-floor condo. Inside, the walls were painted in bright tropical colors. There was a hint of coconut sunblock in the air.
Perfect.
I propped my suitcase and tennis-racket bag on the bed in the guest room.
Granny Evelyn called out, “You’re here!”
I found her on the balcony, stretched out in a chair with a book. “Don’t get up,” I said, giving her an extra-long hug.
“How was the flight?”
“Good. Are you okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer by the way she grimaced whenever she moved.
“I will be. But who can complain with this view?”
She was right. Beyond the balcony was the golf course—the eighth hole stretched out in front of us. A golfer stepped to his fairway ball, lowered his club in front of it and waggled his butt before swinging.
“It’s a great sport,” Grandpa John said. “I think you’d be good at it.”
The golf ball jumped ahead and to the left and was swallowed by a small pond. The golfer smashed his club into the grass.
“Sorry, I just don’t get it,” I said.
“That’s okay. Someone famous once said that golf is a good walk spoiled,” Grandpa John said.
My grandmother jumped in. “Don’t knock it!”
“Thank you for inviting me down for March break.”
“We told you—the invitation is always open. Everything good in Vancouver?”
I gave her the update, even though I spoke with her and Grandpa John every Sunday night. “I can’t wait to hit the tennis court.”
“Well, you’re only here for a week,” she said. “Go have fun. It’s hot out there, so take lots of water.”
I nodded and got changed.
At the door, Grandpa John was waiting for me. He held out a key and a plastic electronic key pass attached to a palm-tree keychain. “This’ll get you through the gates, and this one’s for the condo.” He put that key in the lock and checked it before handing it to me.
I opened the large gate by swiping the pass and stepped into the tennis area. Tall palm trees lined perfectly green courts with bright white borders. There looked to be six courts, and they were all empty. You have them all to yourself, I thought. I chose court three because over the fence and beyond the palms I could see the mountains.
With no pressure and no rush, I lined up my tennis balls on the ground for serve practice.
I chose one and bounced it repeatedly on the baseline, catching it in my left hand each time. The complete silence except for the occasional bird actually made it harder to focus. So I filled it with imaginary chatter from a nonexistent crowd. Then I grasped the yellow tennis ball and tossed it gently into the air. At the top of its arc I reached up, fully extended, and thwacked the ball. On my follow-through I watched it soar over the net and land deep in the left service court, just before no-man’s-land.
After six serves I stopped for a water break, already in a full sweat.
On the far side of the court I gathered my stray tennis balls and set up to serve again. With wins at Wimbledon, and the French and Australia Opens behind me, this serve could get me the
US Open and make me the youngest Grand Slam winner in tennis history.
Three bounces, and then I sent the ball into the air and smacked it hard and with spin, finding the sweet spot. It touched down where the singles sideline met the service line.
“An ace!” I called out, raising my racket in the air. At center court I took a bow and blew kisses to my fans.
“Nice serve.”
I turned to see a girl of about my age and height. Caught off guard, I stuttered a hello.
“You must really be a tennis fan to be out here in the heat,” she said.
I nodded. “My parents call it an addiction.”
“Same here. Only my parents call it HTF—hardcore tennis fan. I’m Ruby.”
“Maya.”
“Want to play?”
I nodded. “Love to.”
We took our sides, and Ruby served first. She was good enough to keep me on my toes. And once the ball was in motion, our rallies were so epic that we needed water breaks after each one.
“This was perfect,” Ruby said after we finished. “Just what I needed. Right now my friends are in a deep freeze.” She pointed to her knees. “Snow up to here in Brooklyn.”
“In Vancouver we hardly ever get any snow. Only rain. And lots of it. It never gets very cold, but there aren’t any palm trees or anything.”
“Yeah, this place is a nice break from having to deal with weather. Blue skies every single day.”
“Are you here alone?” I asked.
“No, I’m here with my brother. He’s younger and totally annoying.”
“How about another game tomorrow?”
“Sounds great. Maybe early morning so it’s not a hundred degrees.”
I laughed. “Good idea.”
We exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes, and I walked back to the condo, my clothes stuck to me like a second skin. The condo air conditioning washed over me, and it felt good, like I was hugging a brick of ice. My shower started off cold, and I gradually increased the heat as my temperature returned to normal. Changed, wet hair in a ponytail, I felt brand-new.
On the balcony, my grandparents were sipping wine and snacking on peanuts and pretzels. “How was it?” my grandmother asked.
I took a seat on a white chair. “It was great. I met a girl named Ruby, and we played a few sets.”
Grandpa John held out a blue plastic cup. “Lemon-lime sparkling soda water.”
“Yes, please.” It was calm and quiet outside. Beyond the perfectly manicured grass, the sun was on its way down. To the right was a still pond.
“Isn’t that pond beautiful? Those tall green leaves are called mare’s tails. And around the edge are water violets.”
“Beautiful, like a painting,” I agreed. In the distance was a mountain range, almost too perfect to be real. I took a picture and made it my new wallpaper.
“So about dinners,” my grandmother said. “We need to plan out our meals, because restaurants will get busy with the tennis tournament going on. There’s the clubhouse, which is always good, plus M Kitchen for your favorite ahi tuna burgers.”
“And Los Sushi,” I added.
“We already have reservations for that Friday night,” my grandfather said, sipping his wine.
My grandmother nodded. “And because we will be going out so much, I’m preparing chicken parmesan for tonight.”
“Only if I can help.”
“Only if you want. You’re on vacation.”
“Yes, I want to.” I nodded. “I know I still have to graduate, go to college, turn tennis pro and tour the world, but I can get used to the retired life. Super jealous.”
They smiled. “Oh,” my grandfather said, sitting up in his chair. “We have a surprise for you.”
I sat up too.
“We heard you were having trouble getting these, and it just so happens there was a charity auction and I was the highest bidder. How does dinner courtside sound?”
“That a new restaurant?”
“No. It’s the Indian Wells Tennis Garden.”
I was confused. He handed me an envelope, and I opened it. “What? No!” I pulled out tickets for the BNP Paribas Open. “We’re going to the tournament?” I cried. I was jumping up and down and making enough noise to destroy the peaceful ambiance for anyone around.
Chapter Two
I had never had a reason this good to get up so early in the morning. Most of the world was still asleep, and Ruby and I were already in our second set.
“Your game is really in the zone,” she said from across the court.
“Thanks. My serves are landing deep, and my shot has lots of spin. I think it’s just being here, you know? Sunshine, no wind, just perfect conditions.”
“You’re saying it’s the weather—I’m saying it’s you!”
“That’s very nice of you.”
We split two more games, both tiebreakers, until it got way too hot and we were too sweaty to be running around anymore. On our way out the gate and back to the condos, Ruby asked, “Are you interested in coming by to my grand-mère’s condo after dinner to watch some of the tennis on TV? My whole family is really into it.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t tonight.” I didn’t want to just come out and tell her I was going to the actual game, because that would make her jealous, and I didn’t want her to think I was a show-off.
“Okay, maybe another time.”
We moved past the pool and across a small street. It looked so hot, you could probably cook breakfast on it. “Actually, the reason I’m unavailable tonight is because my grandparents got tickets for the Indian Wells tennis tournament.”
“Really? Wow. I wouldn’t come over and watch it on TV either!”
“I’m sorry. I appreciate the invite.”
“Don’t be. Seriously. You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
After some time in the pool and a little nap following an attempt to read a book, it was finally time to go. My grandfather and I walked slowly to the car to keep pace with my grandmother. I was wondering if she’d need a wheelchair to get around at the game. We finally made it to the car, me doing a terrible job of containing my excitement.
The doors unlocked, and I opened the front passenger door for my grandmother.
She moved toward the car, then paused.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She looked at me, both hands resting above the door. “It hurts too much to bend down to get in. I’m sorry.”
I gave her a long hug. “It’s okay.” I helped guide her away from the car.
We got her back upstairs and sitting comfortably in a chair. I was really worried about her, and I felt bad leaving her, but she insisted we get a move on.
“Go, go—I don’t want you to be even later. Just sell my ticket at the gate.”
I already had someone in mind.
Back at the car, my grandfather held up the keys. “How’d you like to do the honors?”
I was a little nervous, but I jumped at the opportunity. I steered the convertible through the streets of the gated community.
“There’s 3109 on the left.”
I pulled over and waved to Ruby.
She jumped in the back. “Thank you so much inviting me!”
“We’re happy you could join us,” my grandfather said. “Okay, Maya, you’re doing great. Outside the main gate you’re going to want to turn left.”
Driving through the streets of Palm Desert was easy, thanks to the glow-in-the-dark cat’s-eyes lining the road. If I were in the wrong lane, I’d feel them against the tires. We crossed over into Indian Wells, and the tennis stadium came into view like a beacon. We parked and made our way past TV news vans with giant satellite dishes on them. After standing in a small lineup we entered through a white picketed security fence. Past the main gate, palm trees lined the way to the tennis courts. Ruby and I practically skipped the entire way. We passed a man wearing a crazy tennis-ball costume.
&n
bsp; “We need to take a picture!” I said. Ruby asked him if he’d mind and then we stood on either side of him while Grandpa John took a photo.
We continued on, and Ruby said, “This place is like its own city,” pointing at restaurants, tennis shops and countless lemonade stands.
We paused at a large video wall outside a tented area. It had all the main matches on. “We have tickets, guys,” I said. “If we were going to watch tennis here, we might as well be at home!”
I took the steps two at a time through our gate entrance. I stopped at the landing, taking in the expansive sight ahead of me. The tennis court played center stage to a magnificent view. The blue court was divided into eight parts by crisp white lines. The stands rose steeply, dotted by pixelated people, toward towering lights. Beyond them was that sharp mountain zigzag across the perfect painted sky.
“This is beyond beautiful,” Ruby said.
I held up my phone and took a picture. “Favorite new wallpaper.”
The crowd started to cheer, and down at courtside I saw the players appear.
I took my grandfather’s hand and led him to our seats. “Wow. Have I told you how much I love you, Grandpa John?”
He smiled, and I lined up the three of us for a selfie or two before we sat down.
After some applause the match started, and the crowd was silent. Nothing but the guttural grunts of the women giving their all in each contact with the ball.
I took tons of photos and videos so that when I got home and back to the usual routine, I’d be able to remember everything, from their footwork to their shots. The level of play was better than anything I’d expected. I also aimed my phone at the stadium and surrounding mountains, taking a couple of panoramic shots. I threw in some shameless selfies too, so I could remember what it was like to be here. I wanted to remember how happy I was.
Game, set and match came much too quickly. We hung around the Indian Wells Tennis Garden, did some wishful window-shopping and waited in line for an hour to get a tennis ball signed from someone I’d never heard of. By the time we got back to the car, we were all overtired, held together by too much Pepsi, deep-fried fish tacos and the adrenaline of overexcitement.
Desert Slam Page 1