Tennis Ace

by Matt Christopher

  Dierdre was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed tense and kept looking everywhere except at the person she was talking to.

  “It’s a thrill to meet you,” Ginny said.

  Dierdre smiled, but not happily. “Well, at least you still recognize me, anyway.”

  Ginny stared in surprise. “Recognize you? Sure, I recognize you! You’re a champ! Everybody recognizes you!”

  Dierdre seemed to really look at Ginny for the first time. She sighed. “You’d think they would. I mean, it was only a year ago that I was on top, but … I’ll bet a lot of people here don’t know who I am.”

  Vince laughed. “Well, you’ll be back on top soon, Dierdre. We know that much. It’ll happen.”

  Dierdre nodded several times. “Sure. Absolutely. I … well, of course I’ll be there! I have to be there.” Steve felt a little uncomfortable at how desperate she sounded. He wondered why getting back on top was so important to her.

  Vince put a hand on her arm. “Dee, don’t worry. Just have some confidence. We’re going to work everything out and you’ll be right where you used to be.”

  She flashed him a grateful look. “I will, won’t I? Because if I’m not — I — I guess I’d have to go back to school and — it would be — I couldn’t just —”

  She suddenly realized that the others were staring at her. Ginny looked astonished, and Steve was embarrassed.

  Dierdre tried to laugh it off “But I’m just being silly, and I’m looking forward to watching Ginny play — and to playing her on the tour someday!”

  Vince gently took Dierdre’s arm. “Save me a seat with you guys, will you? Dee and I are just going to talk for a moment.”

  As they walked away, Steve let out a long breath and said, “Yikes!”

  Ginny whirled toward him. “What do you mean, ‘yikes’? So she’s kind of nervous and self-conscious. So what? She’s been away for a while and she’s rusty. She’s still a great player!”

  Steve held up his hands defensively. “Sure, Gin! I know that. I didn’t mean — hey, you’d better get ready.”

  Ginny took off and the rest of the family sat down in the stands. Steve turned to his father. “Dierdre seemed real uptight, didn’t she, Dad?”

  Mr. Greeley looked thoughtful. “Well, when you’ve been to the top, it isn’t easy thinking that you might not get back again, especially if you’re still young.”

  So even if you’re a champion, you can have a rough time, Steve thought as he settled into the stands to watch Ginny play. And this is what my dad really wants for me?

  Ginny didn’t look like her usual competitive self. She lost the first set of her match, six—four. But she quickly regained form and took the second and third sets by identical six—four scores.

  Ginny came off the court as the fourteen-and-under state champion and was surrounded by her family. They all hugged her and showered her with praise. Then Vince stepped in.

  “That was impressive, Ginny. The more I’ve seen of you, the more talent I think you’ve got. Maybe we can figure out a way for you and your brother to work with me in Florida.”

  He glanced at Steve, who made himself sound polite but not too eager.

  Ginny’s response came as a shock to Steve. She didn’t jump up and down and scream. Instead she smiled and said, “Thanks, Mr. Marino. I really appreciate that. I’ll talk it over with my folks. They may want me to wait a year.”

  Steve’s jaw dropped. That sounded like something he might have said, pleasant but not exactly enthusiastic. Was Ginny feeling sick or something? He wished he could ask her what was going on, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get her alone before he had to get ready for his own final. He was playing Tony Zaras, a guy who had beaten him a month before. He planned to take some time and think about how best to play Tony. Tony was the first seed — the highest ranked in the twelve-and-unders — this year, with reason.

  Steve was just getting ready to leave when Vince waved someone over. Steve looked up to see Billy Gardiner standing in front of him.

  As Vince made the introductions, Billy squeezed some kind of wrist-strengthening gizmo in his right hand. He put the thing in his pocket before shaking hands and then took it out and began squeezing again.

  Steve pointed to the little device. “You use that every day?”

  “You bet! Gotta keep the wrists strong,” said Billy, never stopping his exercise.

  “For how long?” asked Ginny.

  Billy shrugged. “Dunno. A couple of hours, I guess. I don’t keep track, I just do it. I also work out every day for four or five hours when I’m not playing. Young guys like Steve, here, are coming along all the time, and I have to stay in shape. If you don’t work at it, you can lose it. I don’t plan to lose it. But you have to put in your time at the gym and keep your edge.”

  “I remember when you competed in the French Open,” said Mr. Greeley. “That final was amazing. I thought for sure you were going to win.”

  Billy grinned broadly. “Hey, thanks.”

  Mrs. Greeley said, “I’ve always wanted to go to France. How did you like it?”

  Billy thought a moment. “I play well on those red clay courts. It’s my best surface.”

  Mrs. Greeley looked a little surprised. “No, I mean, how did you like the country? Did you travel, go to any of the museums, eat at any wonderful restaurants?”

  “What’s the view like from the top of the Eiffel Tower?” Ginny asked. “You’ve been all over the world; what country is your favorite?”

  “Oh, I get you,” said Billy, scratching his head. “I’ve never gotten to see too much in France, really. I go there to play tennis, so, you know, between practice and working out and watching videos of myself and getting my rest and watching the guys I might play to see how they look, I don’t get to look around or do that kind of thing.”

  Billy grinned broadly. “And I always eat the same food, a special diet that I invented. I take a lot of the food with me, along with lots of vitamins and things. So I don’t have a chance to try local food. I guess I don’t care too much about that other stuff, anyway. I’m just a tennis player.”

  “And a great one!” Mr. Greeley hastened to say. “You have any ideas what you’re going to do when you retire from tennis?”

  “Retire?” Billy stared as if the question was totally weird. “Oh, I don’t think about that. First of all, I’m going to stay with the tour for another six or eight years. Then there’s the senior tour. I’ll stay in good shape so I’ll play that till I’m sixty. Then maybe I’ll retire — and keep playing for fun. Or maybe try to get a job on TV, doing analysis, interviews, something like that,” he finished vaguely.

  Steve and Ginny exchanged a look. Steve suddenly knew without a doubt that he didn’t want his life to be like Billy Gardiner’s. No way. There was too much else to enjoy, too many things he wanted to do.

  Now all he had to do was make his dad listen to him. He had to.

  13

  Steve decided that Tony Zaras was the trickiest player he had ever faced. He decided this after he had fallen behind, three games to none, in the first set of the final. He was being driven crazy by Zaras’s assortment of spins, slices, lobs, and drop shots, which had him back on his heels and confused. The same thing had happened, he remembered, when he had last played Tony a month before, and lost.

  As he got ready to serve the fourth game, he tried to think of a way to turn this match around. He had to get back in control. Tony had weaknesses to be attacked. What were they?

  There was Tony’s backhand, for one thing. Tony used a two-handed grip. That made the backhand stronger, but it shortened his reach a little. Maybe Steve could concentrate more on the backhand, force him to run and lunge more, make Tony the guy who was off balance and uncertain for a change.

  He tried the strategy on his next serve. Taking a deep breath, Steve sent a smash down the centerline, making Tony lunge at it with his two-handed backhand. As Steve had hoped, the return was w
eak, and he put away the point with a sizzling shot to the opposite corner.

  Encouraged, Steve continued to use the same strategy for the rest of his serve. He was able to keep Tony from using his trick shots, and took the game.

  But Tony came back to hold serve and still led, four games to one. While Steve successfully won his own service games for the rest of the set, Tony took the set, six games to three.

  They continued to hold their serves in the second set, but it seemed to Steve that Tony was slowing down a little and having more trouble getting his breath. Steve continued to work on Tony’s backhand and to make him run, from side to side and, with well-placed lobs, from net to baseline.

  Uncharacteristically, Steve didn’t charge the net at all until the second set score was four games apiece. He was watching Tony carefully. He thought he noticed that Tony had adjusted his play so that he could cover more of the court with his forehand.

  On his next serve, Steve hit a ball that was slightly on Tony’s backhand side. Sure enough, Tony sidestepped and made a forehand return — a slice that bounced away from Steve when it hit the surface. But Steve darted after the ball and returned a strong forehand. Tony hit it into the net for an unforced error. Steve won the game and led five games to four.

  Okay, Steve thought. Time to pour on the juice.

  Tony served to begin the next game. Steve slammed a fabulous return, then charged the net. Tony’s hit sent the ball high and hard, right to Steve’s outstretched racket. The ball flew back over the net so forcefully that Tony could only watch as it bounced high in the air out of his reach.

  Tony’s next serve was a topspin smash. Steve had to leap for it, but he hit it well. Both boys played the point from the baseline, until Tony hit a drop shot that was designed to bounce twice, softly, before Steve could reach it. Instead it bounced back on Tony’s side. Tony was definitely tiring. Steve felt a surge of energy.

  Tony tried another topspin serve, but Steve gauged correctly where the ball would go after it bounced and hit a powerful return to Tony’s forehand, in the corner of the court. Tony, expecting that Steve would hit to his backhand, was caught flat-footed and couldn’t reach the ball. Steve now had three set points to work with.

  Tony seemed rattled and served his first fault of the set. Steve moved in a little. When Tony’s second serve proved soft, Steve hit it to his backhand, faked a charge toward the net, and then stopped short. Tony hit a lob, assuming that Steve would continue to the net. Steve was ready. He smashed another return out of Tony’s reach to tie the match at one set apiece.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  As he prepared to serve the first game of the deciding set, Steve glanced at the stands where his family was sitting. Vince was with them, of course. A thought flashed across Steve’s mind: If I lose this match, maybe Vince won’t want me at the camp after all. That would solve his problem, for sure.

  But he didn’t want to lose. He wanted to win. Steve enjoyed playing tennis and always played to beat his opponent. If he lost, well, that was too bad, but it wouldn’t ruin his life. Still, he liked winning better, and even though he didn’t want tennis to become the only thing in his life — not now, not yet, and maybe never — he wanted to win this match and get that trophy.

  And in order to get that trophy, he had to beat Tony Zaras. He turned his full attention back to his opponent.

  Steve bounced the ball a few times. Then he tossed it up in the air and unleashed a beautiful topspin serve that bounced crazily.

  Tony’s reflexes were sharp and he reached the ball but couldn’t get much on it. Steve rocketed a backhand return across court to Tony’s backhand. Tony netted it.

  Steve went on to take the first game without Tony winning a point.

  But Tony held his own serve. He won with his serve-and-volley game, coming to the net and punching the ball out of Steve’s reach.

  The next game was hard fought. Steve began his service with a powerful ace down the middle of the court that handcuffed Tony. But Tony’s dazzling passing shot blew by Steve to make it fifteen-all.

  Steve thought hard about what to do next … and got so distracted he committed a foot fault, allowing part of his foot to go over the baseline before he hit his serve! Tony blasted Steve’s second serve so hard that the ball hit the frame of Steve’s racket. Tony was up, fifteen—thirty.

  Steve lost his concentration and, two points later, the game. Tony had broken his serve.

  But Steve bore down in the next game and came back to break Tony. The game winner came on a spectacular desperation dive, where Steve just got his racket on the ball and the ball just hit the baseline at the corner for an unreturnable winner. Two games each.

  The two players moved to the side of the court before resuming play. Steve drank a little of the sports drink provided and wiped his hands, arms, and face with a towel. He took some slow, deep breaths, which his father had told him was a good way to stay calm and under control. He tried to block out the noise of the crowd.

  But there was one thing he couldn’t block out: the question of what he would say to his dad. He tried not to think of it, but it wouldn’t go away. He sighed and got up to serve the fifth game. He looked up once more at his family. His dad gave him a big thumbs-up sign. Ginny waved and shouted something he couldn’t hear.

  Steve checked to see where Tony had positioned himself. Tony was edging away from the side of the court so he wouldn’t have to cover as much area with his backhand. Steve decided to test that backhand anyway. He aimed toward the middle and hit the centerline with a nice, strong serve.

  Tony’s return kept Steve on the baseline. Steve sent the ball back to Tony’s backhand side, moving in toward the net as he did so. But Tony hit a high lob that forced him to retreat.

  He got to the ball in plenty of time. Once again, he aimed for Tony’s backhand. He noted that when Tony hit his return, he stayed on the left side of the court instead of moving to the middle. Steve hit a hard smash to the right corner of the court. Tony just barely got to it with a lunge that left him off balance. Steve put his next shot out of reach.

  Steve then served straight at Tony, who jerked to his left and hit an out-of-control forehand slice. The ball landed wide of the court. Steve led, thirty—love.

  Tony took the next point, returning Steve’s sloppy serve with a beautiful passing shot straight down the line. Now Tony’s rooters had their turn to cheer and shout encouragement.

  Steve quieted them quickly. He served to Tony’s backhand again, then moved to the net and hit a passing volley out of Tony’s reach. It was forty—fifteen, and Steve decided to try to wear Tony down a little more.

  Accordingly, he stayed back on the baseline and ran Tony back and forth from corner to corner. It was all Tony could do to make returns at all. He couldn’t use any of his tricks, and he looked more and more tired.

  Finally, when Tony started across court too soon in anticipation of a shot, Steve hit one behind him and won the game. He had the lead, three games to two.

  Tony was able to hold his own serve, although each point was long and the game went to deuce five times before he put it away, evening up the final set at three games each. As soon as he won the game point, Tony bent over, hands on knees, breathing hard.

  Steve thought to himself, I have to keep forcing him to run. He doesn’t have as much energy in reserve as I do … I hope.

  14

  In the next game, Steve kept Tony on the defensive by forcing him to use his two-handed backhand a lot and making him run constantly. Steve knew that, at this point in the match, he had to hold his own serve.

  Steve had the game at forty—love when he hit a ball too deep, giving Tony a point. Angry with himself for the unforced error, he lost concentration on the next point. Tony tipped a drop shot over the net for a winner, and suddenly it was forty—thirty.

  Hoping to catch Tony by surprise for an ace, Steve hit his next serve to Tony’s forehand side. But Tony managed to catch up to it and send th
e ball rocketing straight back. With a grunt of exertion, Steve stretched far to his right and made a clean return.

  Tony hit cross-court, coming to the net as he did so. Steve attempted a lob, but it wasn’t high enough. Tony reached high and hit an overhand smash to Steve’s left.

  Steve dove and just got his racket on the ball. He skidded along the hard surface but made a decent return. He quickly rolled to his feet and sprinted across the baseline to return Tony’s next volley. This time his lob was better and Tony had to back up to reach the ball. Steve tried a drop shot of his own. It ticked the top of the net and fell for game point. Steve led, four to three.

  He set himself to receive Tony’s serve, but the umpire called out, “Just a minute, please.” Steve stared at him, puzzled.

  The umpire leaned down from his chair and asked, “Are you all right, son?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Look at your leg,” suggested the umpire. “How do you feel?”

  Steve looked down and saw blood running from a scrape on his left leg. He realized it must have happened on that last diving shot. He hadn’t felt a thing, hadn’t been aware of the scrape at all. Even now, he didn’t feel much of anything.

  “Are you all right?” the umpire repeated. “Can you go on?”

  “Go on? Sure!” Steve replied. “Absolutely! I mean, I’m fine, it’s nothing, just a little scrape.”

  The umpire nodded and studied Steve for a moment. “All right, then, but I think we should take a moment and clean it up.”

  Play was stopped and a tournament official appeared with a first aid kit. He cleaned the scrape and applied a disinfectant. Steve winced; that stung a little. The official then put a bandage on and patted Steve’s shoulder.

  “You sure you want to keep playing?” the umpire asked.

  Steve was surprised. Who, he wondered, would default from a championship match on account of a little scratch? He definitely wouldn’t, that’s for sure.