Down the Line

by Michael Panckridge

  All the players were getting tired, and for all Jack’s skill, he was struggling to hit the ball firmly back against the wall. He got to 25 shots then, like me, he missed a backhand.

  That brought Jack up to a total of 196 – nearly 100 behind Bryce. There was still no sign of Fisk, or Bryce for that matter. It was then that I began to suspect something was going on.

  It was my turn at the wall again.

  Once again, I started out okay. I tried to stay on the forehand side, with steady, even hits that bounced back at a low height, so I could hit the ball pretty hard back against the wall.

  I soon lost count of my score. I must have been well past 50, when I caught the ball too high on the strings, up near the frame of the racquet. It lobbed into the wall. Although I leant forward and managed to get the ball before it bounced a second time, I couldn’t get any power into the shot.

  ‘Eighty-four,’ called Miss Lamb. My total score of 240 went up on the whiteboard.

  There was one total score not filled in – Fisk’s.

  ‘Travis Fisk, if you do not show up in the next thirty seconds, the wall competition will finish,’ said Miss Lamb through her megaphone.

  There was a commotion from behind me. I turned to see Fisk jogging past some kids and onto the court. About ten metres behind him was Bryce.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked Bryce as he got close.

  He didn’t seem to hear me. He was staring at the whiteboard. Then suddenly he turned to us all.

  ‘Guys, it’s a long shot, but I think Fisk has been up to something.’

  We all turned to look at Fisk, who was firmly planting forehands against the wall, with a determined look on his face.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve been watching him. And following. There’s a little black bag behind the wall over near the classrooms there. And guess what I found in it?’

  Bryce eased a sleek mobile phone half out of his pocket, then slipped it back in.

  ‘He’s been making phone calls. Actually, not calls – text messages. I snuck a look at his saved messages. There were two messages still there. One word messages saying “Now”.’

  Bryce was getting more and more agitated, his voice getting higher and louder.

  Fisk was continuing to hit clean shots at the wall, hardly moving to strike the next ball.

  Bryce looked at us each in turn, then at Fisk who was well past 50 and powering his way towards my score.

  ‘Do it, Bryce!’ insisted Luci.

  We looked at Luci.

  ‘Do what?’ asked Bubba.

  ‘Send the text, Bryce.’ Luci’s mouth was set in a determined line.

  Bryce pulled the phone back out and pressed a few buttons. A number appeared. The sound of the ball hitting the wall was rhythmic and steady. Fisk was going to go on forever.

  Bryce pressed another button then typed the message, ‘N-O-W’. He clicked the send button.

  I’m not sure if any of us had really worked out what was going on. Bryce hustled off to return the phone to Fisk’s bag. The silence of the court was suddenly broken by the most massive honking as a car sped past, this time from the other end of the street.

  Fisk froze, his racquet and arm locked halfway through a shot. Before he had time to realise what had happened the ball was onto him. He jerked at it with his racquet, but only managed to punch it across his body, at right angles to the wall.

  Again there came a huge sigh from the crowd, followed by clapping and cheering.

  Mrs Waite spoke to everyone through the megaphone as Miss Lamb put up the final scores. Fisk had scored 81, giving him a final total of 221. Fisk himself looked bewildered. Still, he couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t the only one to have been put off by some weird traffic noises.

  For the next few days, we lived and breathed tennis and the Wimbledon competition in particular. I’d forgotten about the strange noise in the library, but when I was next there I mentioned it to Bryce.

  He was interested right away. As with most things he wanted to know exactly where, for how long, everything. He asked us over and over. Then all of a sudden he disappeared, a recent habit of his. Luci just looked at me and shrugged.

  The knowledge test was actually pretty easy. There were no tricky questions like what the score was in the fourth set of the 2014 Men’s Wimbledon final or anything. But we did have to identify plenty of well-known players, past and present.

  Like in the cricket quiz, the questions that went with real tennis action from famous tournaments and matches were the best. We got to see a bit of footage from the Wimbledon final, then had to answer a question. There was a series of ten questions where the footage suddenly froze, and we had to guess the next shot. We could select either a forehand, backhand, lob or volley. The first few were easy, but the last couple were really tricky. There was plenty of discussion about those for the next few days.

  As in the cricket competition, our scores were not displayed on the notice board. Bryce and his dad had invited us all round to his place for dinner. We were sitting outside on a deck and Mr Flavel, wearing a blue apron, was cooking up a feast on the barbecue. He and Mrs Flavel made you feel really welcome. It was like we were special guests. The trees and shade in the garden made the warm evening seem much cooler.

  ‘I’ve got some very interesting news for you all,’ Bryce said to us. ‘I’ve been doing a little bit of investigating in the library. Have any of you ever bothered to count the windows on the river side of the library?’

  ‘Sure! Plenty of times. Probably three or four times every day!’ Bubba wasn’t helping at all.

  ‘No, didn’t think so. Well, next time you’re inside the library, count them. And then go outside and count them again.’

  ‘Now, there’s a bit of excitement to look forward to,’ said Luci.

  Bryce shook his head slightly and smiled. ‘You’ll see.’

  The final tennis tournament was to be held over two days. Both the girls’ and boys’ tournaments were being played at the same time.

  On the Thursday, the first round matches started early. The courts were alongside each other, which was handy because it meant that even though there were two matches on at once we could still follow the form of the players and catch all the results.

  There were plenty of snacks and drinks for the players, and although it was cool and overcast when the competition started at nine o’clock, sunscreen was compulsory. There were a few parents about, helping with the drinks and supporting their own children. I imagined it would get pretty packed tomorrow afternoon when the finals were on.

  Jack was first up on what was called ‘West Court’. He nailed Richard Mazis easily. I played on ‘East Court’ against Nick Krsul. None of the high seeds who’d played already had encountered any trouble. Fisk beat David Styles 6 – 0. I wrapped up my game against Nick 6 – 1, which was the same score line for Shane against Jimmy Paisley. Danny Paulo beat Miles Westman 6 – 3. Jamie Stokes was the only player to cause an upset by beating Chaz Green 6 – 4.

  Bubba had the toughest time. Walt Belugo made him run and stretch, and Bubba struggled to stay in the match. When he went into the net, though, his reflexes took over and he won most of those points.

  He levelled the match at five all. It was going to a tiebreaker. This was one big, long game where you scored in single points rather than fifteen, thirty and forty. You had to be the first to get to seven points, but you had to be in front by at least two points when you did reach seven to win the tiebreaker.

  The cloud had melted away and it was going to be another scorcher. Bubba got out to an early lead, but missed an easy volley and double-faulted to let Walt draw level. Bubba looked like he was running out of steam.

  At one point, Bubba looked over in our direction. I pointed to the net and did some fast walking with my fingers to tell him to get into the net. It worked. He won the next three points to take the tiebreak 7 – 4, winning the match 6 – 5.

  Luci and Bryce
played at the same time, so I didn’t know who to watch. In the end I watched a bit of both games. Luci and Bryce struggled, but both managed to get through. Bryce wore down poor Jordie with his amazing ability to get everything back into play. Luci tried to save her energy, not even attempting to chase down some of the wider shots. We ate lunch together under the shade of a big tree outside the library. It must have been about 30 degrees already.

  ‘Did anyone count the windows?’ asked Bryce.

  ‘I was about to,’ Jack said.

  Bubba surprised us all by bouncing to his feet and wandering off around the corner towards the library.

  ‘The outside ones, Bub!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Five!’ he called, through a mouthful of bread, a few moments later.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Bryce.

  We must have been looking confused.

  ‘I’ll go,’ sighed Luci.

  She came back a minute later looking puzzled.

  ‘Four,’ she said to us all.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Bryce.

  ‘What?’ I asked, looking at Luci.

  ‘Four. There are four windows in the library, you know, looking out over the pine trees.’

  Bubba took a sandwich. We all looked at him.

  ‘Guys, I can count to five, you know.’

  Except for Chaz Green, all the top eight seeds won through to the next round, the quarter-finals. And it was the same with the girls. There had been no surprises. But it wasn’t long before the shocks came.

  Jack had no problems stitching up Danny Paulo, winning six games to two. Then Bryce faced up to Travis Fisk. They were playing at the hottest time of the day. There were some parents watching, a couple of teachers and most of the tennis players. Bryce’s dad was sitting right up front.

  It was obvious from the outset that Bryce was going to be a match for Fisk. It was power against brains, smashing winners versus keeping the ball in play. Bryce was totally blasted away by some of Fisk’s cracking forehands. He didn’t even think about chasing them down. It wasn’t a good look. But then, Bryce wasn’t ever bothered about looks. He knew what he was doing. He was saving energy.

  Every two games, they came in for a break. There was just enough time for a drink, a sit down and a wipe of the face in the shade – just like in the real tournaments. They looked tired and hot, but Fisk was looking more and more frustrated as the set progressed.

  Bryce was wearing him down with his patience and cunning. He was the crafty fox and Fisk the eager but lagging wolf. Fisk had the advantage on his serve. If he got his first serve in, he invariably won the point. His percentage stats on winning points off his first serve would have been way up there. Maybe in the 80s.

  At five games all, the tiebreak started.

  Bryce had the first serve and, amazingly, smacked the centre line for an ace. In no time Bryce had raced to a 3 – 0 lead. Fisk fought back though, and had soon nosed his way in front, five points to four.

  The next point was the clincher. For a change, Bryce was hovering near the net.

  Looking back, it seemed weird that Fisk had stayed calm for so long. That changed when all his anger came spitting out in a forehand aimed directly at Bryce’s face.

  The impact of the shot smashed Bryce’s glasses – again. This was the second time since the Legend of Cricket that they’d been broken courtesy of Fisk. Bryce lay on the court, clutching his face. Mr Flavel jumped to his feet and helped his son off the playing surface and onto a chair. Fisk stood on his own baseline, quietly defiant, almost daring someone to challenge his shot.

  No one did. The tiebreaker score was 6 – 4, but that seemed irrelevant as Mr Flavel looked closely at Bryce’s eyes. What amazed me most was that up till now, Bryce and his dad hadn’t appeared to speak a word to each other. Later, Bryce said that his dad had in fact whispered four words to him as he picked him up: ‘Stay steady, stay calm.’

  To surprised gasps and eager cheers, Bryce walked back out a few minutes later, head up and a new pair of glasses on his nose. Well, another pair. His dad had grabbed them out of Bryce’s sports bag, and they were now clamped around Bryce’s head with a piece of strapping tape.

  I yelled support, along with Jack, Becky, Luci, and Bubba, who had quickly got over his disappointment from losing to Shane in his quarter-final. We were the last to fall silent as Mr Spears, the umpire for this game, called for quiet.

  Fisk was serving for the match. He had two match points, which meant that he could lose this point and still win the match by winning the next point.

  I watched Bryce intently. There was something about him that inspired you. There was always a surprise around the corner. Sending emails or text messages, his score at the wall, counting windows – and now, here was another one.

  Bryce stood way out in the tramlines, that space in between the singles’ and doubles’ sidelines. He was offering Fisk the match. I couldn’t believe it. As I watched, he stepped even further away, out past the doubles sideline.

  ‘What’s he doing out there?’ asked Luci.

  Fisk must have thought it was Christmas! His eyes lit up. I imagined he was thinking, ‘I’ll win this with a smashing ace down the centre of the court’.

  True to form, he blasted his first serve down the middle of the court.

  But it was long. Way long.

  ‘Second serve,’ called Mr Spears.

  Bryce moved again. This time he crept in closer, still way wide, but now almost up level with the service line that runs across the court. Again, Fisk went for it. Not aiming at Bryce, but down the middle again. But with way too much force for a safe second serve.

  ‘Fault!’ called the umpire as the ball again sailed over the service line.

  Bryce was still not out of trouble, but at least he had more control over the next point. It was 5 – 6, still match point for Fisk, but it was Bryce’s turn to serve.

  Bryce hit a swinging serve that Fisk did well to get back into play. Bryce rushed forward and tapped the ball delicately over the net. Fisk rushed and lunged at it, but only managed to reach it after the ball had bounced a second time. He fell into the net. Bryce stood there, not a metre away from Fisk and did the most amazing thing. He reached out his arm to help Fisk to his feet.

  For a moment, it looked as if Fisk might accept the help.

  ‘Just finish him off, son!’ Mr Fisk’s voice cut through the still, hot air. The spell was broken. Fisk stood up without Bryce’s help and returned to his position.

  Bryce again dished up a tricky serve that sent Fisk way out past the tramlines. His return lobbed gently into the net. The fire in Fisk was dying. The momentum of the match had shifted 180 degrees.

  Fisk did manage to get his next first serve in. It was exactly the spot he should have served the ball to when he was leading 6 – 4. It had no pace, though. Bryce forced it back with good angle and Fisk was under immediate pressure. He could only lob it back. Bryce sent Fisk scampering off to his backhand side straight away. This time Fisk could only just reach the ball, and his shot dribbled along the ground toward the net. Game, set and match to Bryce!

  It was the most sensational match of the tournament but only a handful of people had seen it. I got the feeling, though, that it would be remembered for a long time.

  Bryce stood at the net waiting for Fisk to shake his hand. Grudgingly, Fisk did. He appeared too tired to display any sort of emotion, as did Bryce. In fact, I think everyone was drained after that match.

  Bryce went straight to his dad. They hugged. They were both smiling. Bryce looked over, and waved us to join them. There were drinks all round as Mr Flavel produced cans for each of us from his esky.

  He sure was a proud dad.

  That night it was hot, which made sleeping difficult. The next morning was overcast with thick, heavy clouds. But if anything it was even warmer and steamier.

  There were eight of us left in the competition. Jack was playing Shane in the first semi-final. That was to be followed by Mia agains
t Helena Mulova, one of the twins. Then I was to play Bryce. The last semi was Luci against Becky.

  The best match of the morning was Jack’s against Shane. They had heaps of fantastic rallies. I think word got out pretty quickly that there was another special match happening, because the crowd of kids and teachers kept growing as the match progressed.

  By the time Jack served out the match, winning six games to four, the area around the courts was packed. This was all good news for Mia, who seemed to enjoy any opportunity to display her talents; the more people, the better. She blitzed poor Helena. I reckon Mia would have given any of the boys a good run for their money.

  ‘So, how’s Alana? Have you heard?’ I asked.

  Luci was as surprised as everyone else when Alana retired hurt during their quarter-final game. Especially as she was leading 3 – 1.

  ‘I hadn’t heard, actually,’ Luci replied. ‘But she was pretty teary yesterday. It’s not the greatest way to win a match.’ Luci shrugged. ‘Hey, you know the Williams sisters?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Yeah, ’course. I was chatting to them only the other night!’ I replied with a grin.

  ‘Idiot! I was just thinking. You know, sisters playing each other, like they did in the Wimbledon, US and Australian Open finals. It would be a pretty weird feeling. They’ve probably played heaps of fun games together as kids, you know. And then there they are, in the biggest tennis matches of the year, Grand Slam finals, and you look up, and it’s your sister at the other end.’

  I didn’t say anything, but I knew what she was getting at. Luci was worried about playing against her best friend.

  ‘It’s the same with me and Bryce. But it shouldn’t change anything. Me and Bryce, we’ll be mates whatever happens. Same with Jack. You play hard out on the court. Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal, all this Legend stuff.’

  Luci was looking at her feet.

  ‘Maybe not.’ But she didn’t sound convinced. It did mean something to her.