Fifteen all.
I won the next two points through sheer determination, stubbornly moving her back side to side and then popping in a short shot. I thought my plan was working. She was breathing hard, taking her time getting back into position to receive the ball. It was taking its toll on me too, though. Those rallies had been way too long. I was tiring. Fast.
Forty–15. One more point, and I’d be up 5–2 and one game away from taking the match and qualifying for the main tournament. Hugo and Hamish were still watching from the sidelines. I snuck a peek at them as I bounced the ball. Hugo looked grim, Hamish worried.
I tossed the ball up and sliced it out wide. Emily took two quick steps, stretched and blocked it back. The ball arced toward the net, hit the tape and tipped onto my side of the court. I groaned. Luck was on her side.
She seemed to know it too. I faulted on the next serve and had to lob in an easy second. Suddenly the tables were turned. It was her advantage, and I had no idea how it had happened.
I bounced the ball, trying to think. I needed something special now. I couldn’t afford to fault on my first serve. She was positioned far into the forehand court. Waiting for the slice, maybe?
I took a deep breath, tossed the ball up and slammed it down the center line. She seemed to have her second wind though. She pivoted around and returned it with a flat backhand that skimmed the top of the net and kept coming. I ducked to the side but couldn’t get my racket around. The ball nicked the rim and flew on past me.
Her game.
There was no containing her excitement. She’d broken my serve, and it was the turning point for the match. Her shots started coming harder and faster. She moved more quickly. I’d pop in a drop shot, and she’d get in and drop it back over the net again.
I didn’t make it easy for her. I fought long and hard, but in the end the score was 7–5 and that was it. My chance to compete in the singles was over.
chapter six
I don’t know who was more disappointed in me, Hugo or myself. I knew I’d blown it. I could have won that match. Correction. I should have won that match. And would have, easily, if it weren’t for stupid mistakes. Like getting no sleep and then exhausting myself running errands for Miri between matches. And forgetting to eat. I mean, that was pretty basic, wasn’t it? Food equals energy?
“Bad luck,” said Hamish.
But Hugo was right. Luck had nothing to do with it.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Hugo. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” he said. He didn’t need to say anything else about the loss. It was written all over his face. “Carbs tonight. Lots of them, and a light meal in the morning. Have a sports drink or an energy bar on hand at all matches. This is basic stuff, Kat. I didn’t think I needed to spell it out.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said. I felt about five years old.
“Now forget about it and concentrate on the doubles.”
He and Hamish headed back to the warm-up courts, and I was left to wallow in my misery. The sound of balls on rackets was suddenly extremely irritating. Everywhere I looked, someone was serving an ace or smashing a winner down the line or racing in for a tricky volley. No one was sitting with their head between their knees, fighting to stay conscious. It’s not like it was forty degrees and I’d been overcome by the heat or anything. It was just stupid mistakes, pure and simple.
I turned away and headed back to the hotel. I needed to eat, but I could get something at the café next door. I couldn’t stand watching these superstars play when I’d ruined it for myself so completely.
After a chicken-and-veggie wrap, I did feel microscopically better. If not on cloud nine, at least a bit more like myself. I even thought I might go back to Melbourne Park and seek out the Wong sisters so I could have a look at their game. Miri seemed a bit too sure of herself for my liking. And if I wanted to get back into Hugo’s good books, there was only one way to redeem myself.
As I swallowed the last of my wrap, I glanced out the window and saw Miri leaving the hotel. She’d changed into jeans and a jacket and had her purse slung over her shoulder. She darted a quick look down the street toward the café, then headed the other way, moving fast. I grabbed my tennis bag and dashed out to catch her. Expecting her to cross the road and head toward the tennis complex, I was surprised to see her round the corner and disappear. I hesitated for only a split second before following her.
I stayed a fair distance back so she wouldn’t notice me as we headed up Jolimont Road toward the center of the city. It was a busy street, four lanes of traffic whizzing past at sixty kilometers an hour, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. She glanced back once, about halfway up the hill, and I ducked into a shop doorway, hoping she hadn’t seen me. When I peeked out, I thought I’d lost her. Then I spotted her standing on an island in the middle of the road at a tram stop. She hopped onto the first tram that came by, one of the free City Circle tourist trams, an old-fashioned wooden car that clanked and clunked its way down the road before squealing to a stop. I dashed across and hopped on the back of it.
Luckily, the tram was quite full. I was able to slouch in a seat at the back where Miri couldn’t see me. The tram rocked and wheezed its way up the street toward the city center. After ten minutes or so, Miri pulled the bell for the next stop. As she was making her way through the people standing in the aisle, I ducked out the back and slid into the crowd on the sidewalk.
We were at a busy intersection, with masses of people around. They shoved past me, heads down, intent on their business. Many of them were talking on cell phones or texting as they walked. I looked up and saw an old stone building with arched entrances and a domed top. The sign above the entry said Flinders Street Station.
Miri had a quick look around and then ran up the steps in front of the station. I followed her as she disappeared through the archway. Finding a small flower shop just inside, I hid behind a stand of daffodils and peered out to see what she was doing.
She stopped in front of the ticket machine and glanced around, as if she was looking for someone or something. Not finding who or what she was looking for, she pulled out her phone and checked it, then pocketed it again. She stood staring at the map of the city rail system, glancing over her shoulder every so often. People came and bought tickets, stood next to her to check the map and brushed past to move through the turnstile, but she just stood and waited. She looked nervous.
The lady who owned the flower shop was starting to glare at me when someone sidled up behind Miri, leaned in close and whispered something in her ear.
Miri jumped as if she’d been stung. She turned toward the newcomer, taking a step back. As he moved closer, I recognized the blond hair and tanned skin of Dray Yule, the guy she’d been talking to earlier. I wasn’t close enough to hear them, but Miri didn’t look happy. I’d seen that look on her face often enough to recognize it with my eyes closed. They talked for no more than two minutes, and then Miri handed something to Dray. He pocketed it before I could get a look at it. Without another word, he slunk into the crowd.
chapter seven
“Are you going to buy something, love?” The shopkeeper’s voice startled me out of my trance. “’Cause if you’re not, I’d appreciate it if you’d move on.”
I smiled apologetically and backed away from the flower shop. Miri was gone. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I saw her again. I couldn’t let her know I’d followed her. She’d kill me. But I had a bad feeling about what I’d seen.
Dray Yule was bad news. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on him. And Miri didn’t want anyone to know she’d met up with him. Otherwise, they would have met at the tennis courts. That meant she knew they were doing something wrong. Or was it just that she didn’t want Hamish to see her with him? That he might think she was cheating on him? I didn’t think so. They had met at the station so she could give Dray the package. But what was in it? Money? Drugs? I didn’t think Miri was into that stuff. She was so con
scious about what she put in her body. So serious about her tennis. At least, I’d thought she was. Until last night. What did I really know about Miri, anyway? Nothing. She was my tennis partner. She could hit a ball and do a damn good job of it. That’s all I knew. What I also knew now was that she was involved in some kind of intrigue with Dray Yule.
By the time I’d made it back to Melbourne Park, all the matches were over, so it was too late to scope out the Wong sisters. Miri was in the room when I got there. She’d changed again and was dressed for going out.
“Where have you been?” she said.
I was tempted to say Flinders Street Station, just to see what she would do. But I didn’t. “Just getting something to eat,” I said.
“That’s good,” said Miri, tying a scarf around her neck. “Hamish and I are going out and, no offense, you’re not invited.”
“No worries.” I dropped my tennis bag on the bed. She was acting so normal. You’d never have thought she’d been having a clandestine meeting at a city train station only an hour ago.
“Hugo was looking for you.”
“Oh?” I paused, one shoe off and one shoe on. “Was it important?”
“Nah, he said he’d catch up with you at curfew.” She winked. “Assuming you’re back.”
“Ha ha,” I said.
There was a knock on the door.
“That’ll be Hamish,” she said. “Do you want to let him in? I still need to do my hair.”
I couldn’t see anything wrong with it myself, but she disappeared into the bathroom, so I got up and opened the door.
“Hey, Kat,” Hamish said. I’d heard people talk about infectious smiles. His really was. I grinned back at him. “Miri ready?”
“Not yet.” I let him in. There was an awkward pause as we stood there waiting for Miri. “Ready for tomorrow?” I asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. “What about you? You feeling better? Ready for the doubles?”
I flushed, recalling that he’d seen my embarrassing loss earlier. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry about this afternoon. We all make stupid mistakes,” he said. With a glance at the bathroom door, he leaned toward me and dropped his voice. “The first time Miri came to Melbourne Park, she loaded up on so much junk food the night before that she could hardly lift her racket. Got skunked in the first round.” He laughed.
I laughed too, but inside I was thinking, Miri and junk food? It was hard to believe.
Miri came out of the bathroom. Talk about bad timing.
“What are you two talking about?” she said suspiciously. “Kat, you’re as red as a tomato.”
“Nothing,” I said, feeling myself go even redder.
Hamish jumped in before she could give me the third degree. “I was just telling her about my first tournament at Melbourne Park.”
“When you got in that fight with Colby Barrett and got disqualified in the semifinal?” Miri smirked. “You were what, twelve, thirteen?”
“Uh—yeah.” Hamish looked a little red himself now.
“Isn’t Colby Barrett Amelia’s brother?” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from what we’d actually been talking about. “I heard he’s pretty good.”
“He is,” said Hamish. “Really good. In fact, if he wins this weekend, he’s going to take the number-one ranking for 16 and Under.”
“And if you win, you’ll be number one,” said Miri.
“Well, yeah, there’s that,” said Hamish with a grin.
“So what stupid thing did you do today to get Hamish talking about ancient history?” Miri asked.
I told her, and her jaw dropped. “In the qualifier? You didn’t even make it into the tournament?”
By this time, I knew my face must be glowing like Rudolph’s nose. “Let’s not talk about it, all right? Aren’t you going out or something?”
Miri slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her jacket and phone. “You pull something like that tomorrow, and you’re dead.”
My jaw dropped. She’d had as much hand in my loss as I had—the late night, the running around, the poor practice session. If I hadn’t needed her for the doubles, I would have let the accusations fly. “Whatever,” I said.
Hamish rolled his eyes at me behind Miri’s back. I bit back a grin as they went out the door.
chapter eight
When we arrived at the warm-up courts the next morning, I could see right away that Hamish was in a bad mood. I wondered if something had happened between him and Miri the night before. From the look of it, they’d had a pretty quiet night. Miri was back well before curfew, and there’d been no smell of alcohol on her. She’d seemed tense though. Quiet. I’d put it down to pre-tournament jitters. Even the pros get them, right? But now, with Hamish acting strangely too…All the drama was giving me a headache.
Hugo put us through our drills, and I forgot about the lovebirds. We were up against the Wong sisters at eight thirty. He set us up with some extra volley practice, which made me wonder if they were really good at the net. Or maybe it meant they weren’t good at the net at all, and if we took the offense, we’d intimidate them and put them off their game. I just had no idea. I wished I’d had a chance to check them out the day before.
It turned out the Wong sisters were twins. A matching pair with blue tennis skirts, black ponytails, white visors, and braces on their eager smiles. Not only were they twins, they were mirror-image twins—identical except for the fact that one was right-handed and the other left-handed. I didn’t know which one was Leah and which one was Nora. I didn’t suppose it mattered. Someone might have warned me about the mirror-twin bit, though, before we rocked up to the courts at eight twenty and started hitting. No one seemed to have thought it was important enough to mention.
Left-handers are hard to beat. Their forehand is on the backhand side, they slice out wide on the serve, and their spin goes the opposite direction from what you expect. Playing a left-hander paired with a right-handed twin seemed like a double whammy.
Miri was altogether too relaxed about the whole thing for my liking. She hit through the first game like it was a Sunday-afternoon social match, lobbing easy forehands back to them, backhanding the ball crosscourt to the left-hander’s forehand, hitting easy shots to the player at the net. Okay, I had to admit they weren’t the strongest of players. They were small, and they didn’t hit particularly hard or fast, but they were quick on their feet, and they had both the left-hander and the twin advantages. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating them.
It was 40–30 our way when Miri let a volley pass her by. I chased it down but couldn’t reach it in time. That made the score deuce instead of game.
I glared at Miri, but she just shrugged. Like it didn’t matter to her whether we won the match or not.
Either Leah or Nora served the ball down the middle. Not very hard, but right on the line. Miri took it with her backhand and hit it straight back to center court. Straight into the forehand of both girls. She couldn’t have set them up better if she’d tried. Luckily, instead of shooting a winner down the line like she should have, the right-hander volleyed it into my court. I blocked it back short, leaving the left-hander racing for the net. She scooped it up, but it dropped back onto her side.
Miri was oblivious to the whole thing. I didn’t know where her brain was, but it sure wasn’t on the court, playing doubles with me.
I stood out near the tramline, anticipating a slice serve from the left-hander. It came exactly where I’d expected, and I shuffled across to take it on my backhand. With the ball out wide, there was nothing to do but send it down the line and hope that the girl at the net wasn’t on the ball. No such luck. She stepped across and volleyed it back into the middle of the service court. Miri should have got it. Any other day she would have, but today she gave it a halfhearted swipe that missed completely. I dashed toward the net, caught it on my forehand and lobbed it over the right-hander’s head. Her sister moved quickly into the deu
ce court and tried to take it with her backhand. It was an awkward stretch for the left-hander, and it didn’t make the distance.
Game.
“What’s with you?” I said to Miri as we changed ends.
“I know, I should have got that,” she said, totally un-Miri-like. Something was seriously wrong.
“Yeah, you should have. You’re playing like crap,” I said.
Miri’s jaw clenched at the insult. “It’s not like we’re playing the Williams sisters, you know,” she whispered with a glance toward the other girls. “We still won the game.”
“No thanks to you,” I said. “Whatever’s bugging you, forget about it until after the match. I want to win this one.”
Miri’s eyes flashed with anger. I didn’t care. Whatever it took to get her playing. “We will,” she said. “Stop being such a worrywart.”
It was our serve. Miri stepped up to the baseline, bounced the ball a couple of times like she always does, then fired an ace down the center line.
She arched her eyebrows at me. “Happy?”
“Yeah,” I said.
She served the next one out wide and deep. Unfortunately, it was to the left-hander. On her forehand side. The girl shuffled over and sent it back down the tramline with a topspin forehand. I stretched across and volleyed it back, but it flew wide and landed out.
“Fifteen all,” said Miri. I could hear the annoyance in her voice. Like it was my fault.
I turned and pointed to my left hand. Meaning, pay attention to the left-hander. Miri barely glanced at me.
Her next serve landed wide.
“Fault!” called a Wong sister. I still didn’t know which one.
Miri popped in a second serve, short and close to the center line. The right-hander moved in and hit it on her backhand down the middle. I leapt across for a forehand volley and tapped it back, aiming for the left-hander’s backhand. She was good at the net though. She volleyed it back again, straight at Miri. Miri leapt aside, caught it with an inside-out forehand and lobbed it high over the net. Without missing a beat, the twins switched sides. The right-hander waited behind the baseline for it to land.
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