by Diane Hoh
“Lots of people do,” he interrupted. “They think that if you’re not a jock, you don’t count. I used to think it myself, once upon a time, when I was young and stupid. Now, I know better. I love sports, but there are other important things in the world, too, Nicki.”
“I know that,” she said in a subdued voice. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. To change the subject, she said, “I almost had to come and see you this week.” And she told him about the destroyed racket and how she had thought initially that it was her own. “Not that you could have restrung the thing,” she concluded. “It was beyond hope.”
John was still frowning. “Your kind of racket isn’t that easy to shred,” he said. “I wonder what was used on it?”
The same thing Deacon had said. Nicki shrugged. “Who knows? A Cuisinart, maybe. Or a paper shredder.” Then, out of simple curiosity, she asked, “How did you know what kind of racket I have? I haven’t brought it into the shop yet.”
He laughed. “I saw you practice the other day. I notice things like that.
“I hope you’re not letting Libby get to you.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve seen that girl throw her racket all the way across a court. More than once. I’d play it cool around her.”
“I will, I promise. Thanks.” To repay him for the advice, she said, “Ginnie didn’t come tonight. She’s home. You should have invited her.”
This time, he was the one who looked surprised. His broad cheekbones flushed. “Me? How did you …”
“I’m smart, like you. Have you asked her out?”
“Nope. Because I am smart. She’s already got a love. Tennis.”
Well, at least she’d tried. A bunch of Phi Delts came over to talk to John then, and Nicki wandered off to find Deacon.
She found him in the kitchen with Mel. They were pouring the contents of two large bottles of tabasco sauce into a kettle on the stove.
“We’re livening up this party,” Mel explained. “It’s much too quiet to suit me.”
“What’s in the kettle?”
“Sloppy joe mix.” Mel gestured toward a huge platter piled high with hamburger buns, sliced open. “Whadya think?” she asked, smiling mischievously.
“I think you’re going to get us kicked out of this party,” Nicki said uneasily.
“And do you care?” Mel peered into Nicki’s face. “Are you having fun yet?”
No, she wasn’t, and no, she didn’t care, Nicki realized. Too many tennis players giving her the cold shoulder, and always, always, there was Libby DeVoe, hate emanating from her pores like poisonous fumes.
“Why don’t we just go?” she asked Deacon. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Not. Just. Yet.” He poured carefully, and when he had finished, took a fat wooden spoon from a rack over the stove, and stirred thoroughly. “The hordes will be hungry any minute now. Let’s stay and watch the fun.”
It was fun. Especially when Libby and Nancy Drew and the rest of Libby’s crew piled sloppy joe high on their hamburger buns, oohing and aahing over how good the mixture looked and declaring that they were “starving.” When they left the kitchen, plates in hand, Deacon, Mel, and Nicki followed silently, their faces devoid of expression. They took seats opposite the tennis crowd, and waited for the reaction.
It was worth the wait. Libby was the first to turn scarlet, choke, and gag before she jumped up and ran from the room. Nancy Drew was the second, and Carla Sondberg was right behind the two of them. Nicki did feel bad when Hannah and Barb raced out of the room as well, but she felt nothing but satisfaction when the remainder of Libby’s group gasped, cried out, and ran to get water.
The trio was still laughing as they left the Phi Delta Theta house.
They were just about to climb into Deacon’s car when John Silver came running out of the house, calling to them.
They stopped, waiting at the car for him.
“Don’t you think you went a little overboard?” he asked quietly. “You ruined a perfectly good party.”
Nicki was embarrassed. The prank suddenly didn’t seem as funny as it had.
But Deacon said calmly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, give me a break,” John said. “Everyone knows you guys were responsible. You’re the only ones who didn’t run screaming and gasping into the kitchen for water. Besides, we all know that’s exactly the kind of stunt you’d find hilarious.” Looking directly at Nicki, he said, “Didn’t I tell you? These two are going to make enemies for you, Nicki. And if there’s one thing you don’t need, it’s more enemies.” And with that, he turned and headed back into the house.
Chapter 8
NICKI SPENT ALL DAY Saturday practicing. She was up early, showered, dressed, and ready to go by eight o’clock. She hadn’t slept well, and had a headache. But she was anxious to get out and make up for Wednesday’s atrocious performance on the courts.
The atmosphere in the dome was even chillier than it had been. She knew everyone was remembering the previous night’s culinary disaster. They all knew she’d been in on it, with Deacon and Mel. No one seemed the worse for wear, but they were clearly still angry.
“What’s going on?” Pat asked Nicki when she noticed the ugly looks being directed Nicki’s way as they were doing their warm-up exercises on the sidelines. And Ginnie said with concern, “Boy, if looks could kill!”
In a soft voice, Nicki told them the truth.
Pat didn’t seem shocked. “Deacon’s always getting into trouble,” she said matter-of-factly.
Ginnie wasn’t quite so accepting. “John’s right,” she said, retying her sneaker laces. “You probably shouldn’t be hanging around with those two. If Coach hears about your pranks, you could get into trouble.”
“What I do off the courts,” Nicki said stiffly, “is my own business. And Deacon and Mel are fun. They’re not snobs, like some other people I could mention.”
Now, Pat looked shocked. “You don’t mean us, do you?”
“Of course not. But you two are just about the only people on this team who’ve spoken to me.” Nicki shook her head. “And I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. It can’t be just Libby. How can one person have that much power over other people?”
“Maybe it isn’t just her,” Pat suggested, opening a new tin of tennis balls. “She isn’t the only one on the team worried that you’re going to take her place. There are others.”
But before Nicki could ask who those “others” were, Coach blew the whistle signifying the official beginning of practice, ending the conversation.
In spite of the butterflies in her stomach, which seemed to be performing new gymnastic feats with every passing moment, Nicki played well. By noon, some of the players had thawed again, asking her how she achieved the control that she’d been displaying. As gratifying as that was, it failed to take the edge off her anxiety. The next day’s exhibition loomed ahead of her. She could prepare for it by practicing, but she couldn’t avoid it. There was nothing she could do to stop it.
She spent her lunch break with Pat and Ginnie, in Lester dorm’s dining hall. Ginnie looked tired, and they still had an afternoon of practice to get through.
“Sometimes,” Ginnie said wearily as they ate, “I think it might be nice to just hand everything over to Libby and go lie on a beach for a month.”
“Bite your tongue,” Nicki scolded. “Can you imagine what she’d be like if this team didn’t have you? She’d really be top dog then. She’d probably hire a press agent, show up for practice in a limo, and expect an endorsement from an athletic shoe company.”
“I know, but I get so tired. …” Ginnie’s voice trailed off.
“We all do,” Pat said sharply, surprising Nicki. “But stop being a wimp.” In a milder voice, she added, “Quit whining, and eat. Your problem is, you never let go. We should have gone to the Phi Delta Theta party last night.” She grinned at Nicki, but her voice was a little envious. “It sounds like it might have been fun. And the food was fr
ee.”
Nicki laughed. “But inedible. Still, you both should have come.” To Ginnie, she said casually, “John was there. He hasn’t called you, has he?”
“I turned the phone off at nine. Went to bed. I was so tired.” Ginnie lifted her head. “Why would John be calling me? What for?”
“Give me a break,” Pat said drily. “What for? Well, you’re a girl, and he’s a guy, and …”
At first, Ginnie looked pleased. Then the expression disappeared, and she said quickly, “Oh, I don’t have time for that stuff now. Not with this marathon practice today and the exhibition tomorrow. John knows how tough it is. He knows I’m too tired to go out at night.”
She sounded so disapproving, Nicki felt her cheeks flush. Was Ginnie implying that Nicki wasn’t as dedicated as she should be? Because she’d been having fun with Deacon and Mel? “There’s more to life than batting a little round ball back and forth across a net,” she said, getting up and collecting her trash.
Ginnie looked up in surprise. “No, there isn’t,” she said quietly. “Not for me.”
Nicki felt a sudden, sharp pang of pity. She loved tennis, too. But she also liked music, and dancing, and reading, and roller-skating, and movies. If something ever happened that kept her from playing tennis again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
But for Ginnie it would.
“Time to practice,” Nicki said aloud, jumping up. Pat groaned. But not Ginnie. She led the way back to the courts.
Nicki played as well during the afternoon hours as she had that morning, but, by the end of the practice session, every muscle in her body was screaming for respite. “I don’t know about anyone else,” she said as they all dragged into the locker room, “but I’m hitting the whirlpool at the infirmary. Because if I don’t, I will have to be carried onto the courts tomorrow afternoon.”
Everyone else had plans. Of course they do, Nicki reflected bitterly, heading across the cold, twilighted campus for the infirmary. Anyone who’s anyone has plans on Saturday night.
Not that she hadn’t had the opportunity. Deacon had planned to take her dancing in town. She’d turned him down, knowing she’d be too tired. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d said he understood. She hoped he meant it.
She was almost to the infirmary when she heard a voice behind her, calling her name. She turned to find Barb hurrying along the walkway toward her, her tall, bony figure shadowy in the twilight of campus.
“Changed my mind,” she said breathlessly. “My muscles were shrieking at me, ‘Whirlpool, whirlpool!’ I decided to give them a break. Okay if I join you?”
Nicki was glad to have the company, and even happier when they entered the infirmary and discovered that there were no patients at all and only a nurse on duty. She was half-asleep, sitting with her feet up on the desk, listening to music.
Nicki knew that being in the almost-deserted building by herself would have been too creepy.
The whirlpool room was deserted, too, the small, square, windowless space dark, the water in the octagonal, tile-edged tub at peace.
“I’ll start it up while you change,” Nicki offered. “Let’s not turn the lights on. It’ll be more peaceful in the dark.” She flipped a switch on the tub, and the water began churning vigorously, making gurgling noises. “Do I need this! The aches in my muscles have aches.” Stripping down to her bodysuit and wrapping a clean towel around her hair, she climbed into the tub and sank to a sitting position. The warm, bubbling water wrapped around her like a heated cocoon. It felt delicious.
“This is perfect,” Barb said when she got in and relaxed against the back of the tub. “Absolutely perfect. And you were right about the lights. It’s much better in the dark. Like swimming in warm, tropical waters under a night sky.”
Nicki laughed. “Like that’s something you’ve done recently?”
“It’s something I’ve never done, but I can use my imagination, can’t I? And you didn’t need to put a towel over your hair. My hairdryer is right there on the chair. You’re welcome to use it.”
“You put an electrical appliance this close to the tub?” Nicki demanded. “Are you nuts? What if it falls into the water? We’ll fry! Then we won’t have to worry about any stupid exhibition.”
“It’s not plugged in, silly girl. I’m not that dumb,” Barb assured her.
“Thanks for the offer,” Nicki said, “but I brought my own hairdryer. But maybe I should just forget about it, and brave the elements with soaking wet hair. If I got pneumonia, I wouldn’t have to go up against DeVoe tomorrow.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’re ready for DeVoe. I was watching you at practice today. Very impressive. Quit worrying. Wish I were in your league, but I’m not.” Barb smiled lazily, her eyes closed, her cheeks rosy from the humidity. “One of the advantages to not being one of the best is, it’s not the end of the world when you lose, because you’ve lost before, and will again.”
“You’re a good tennis player, Barb.”
“Yeah, I know. Good is enough for me. It wouldn’t be for Libby, though. Ginnie, either. Maybe not even for you.”
They fell silent then, luxuriating in the warm, bubbling water, and Nicki thought about Barb’s remark. Would she have been satisfied to be just “good” at tennis? It wasn’t as if her parents had pushed her. Nicki had worked so hard at conquering tennis because she had to use it to gain entry into each new school she attended. No one would have paid much attention to someone who was only “good” at tennis. She had to be better than that. And so she had been.
But if it ended now, if Libby creamed her tomorrow, if the team refused to accept her totally, if Coach should shake her head sadly and say, “I’m terribly sorry, Nicole, but you just aren’t as good as I thought you were,” would it wreck her life?
No. It might Ginnie’s, and it certainly would Libby’s, but not Nicki Bledsoe’s.
That realization momentarily stilled the butterflies in her stomach. She would play her very best tomorrow. But if Libby beat her, she’d still survive.
“This is not perfection, after all,” Barb said, sitting up. “Something is missing. Music, that’s what’s missing. That nurse at the desk has a tape player. I saw it. Maybe she’ll let us borrow it for a few minutes. We can plug it in right over there.”
Nicki sat up, too. The water was making her too sleepy. “Good idea. I’ll go get it. If I don’t, I’m going to sack out in this water, and that wouldn’t be good.” She climbed out of the whirlpool, and wrapped a towel around herself. Then she ran in her bare feet, dripping all the way, to the door. “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”
“You’re going to leave me here in the dark all alone?” Barb called, faking alarm.
“You’re not alone. You have all those bubbles. Relax.”
Nicki made the long trek to the nurse’s desk to find her on the telephone. Nicki stood off to one side, waiting impatiently. She was shivering with cold, her arms wrapped around her chest and aware that she was creating a very large puddle on the white tile at her feet. Since the nurse was laughing, it was clear that her conversation had nothing to do with a medical emergency.
Finally, when she couldn’t stand the cold another second, Nicki moved forward to the desk to say, “Excuse me?”
The nurse looked up, annoyed. “Yes?”
“We’re using the whirlpool and we were wondering if we could borrow your tape player? Just for a few minutes? I mean, since you’re on the telephone …”
The nurse shrugged and reached behind her to unplug the black, oblong radio/recorder. “Don’t drop it in the whirlpool,” she said, holding one hand over the mouthpiece. “Not only would you get electrocuted, which would be very messy for me, but you’ll ruin that tape, and it’s one of my favorites. Vince Gill. Don’t you just love country?”
Well, no, Nicki didn’t, but even country was better than nothing.
Slipping and sliding, she tried to hurry back to the whirlpool room, anxious to be enveloped in that warm, silk
y water again.
“Country!” she announced drily as she pulled the door open with her free hand and stepped into the dark, quiet room. “The nurse is into country music. But it is music, right? Now, we can really relax.” Closing the door behind her, she advanced toward the whirlpool, aiming for the electrical outlet where she intended to plug in the tape player.
No response from Barb probably meant that she’d fallen asleep. Nicki had almost dozed off earlier herself. The water was so warm, so soothing, and they were both so tired. But she’d have to wake Barb up. Taking a nap in a whirlpool wasn’t healthy. Bad for the blood pressure or something.
“Barb?” she queried as she crouched to feel around with one hand for the outlet. “Wake up! I’m going to have to turn the light on to find a place for this plug.”
No answer.
“Barb?” Nicki’s searching fingers found the plastic outlet cover. But they touched something else as well. Something that shouldn’t have been there.
A plug. There had been no plug in that outlet when she left the whirlpool room. She knew because she’d checked, intending to use it for her hairdryer when they got out of the water. There had been, as in all outlets, two receptacles for plugs. Both had been empty. Two empty slits on top, two on the bottom, waiting for the prongs of an electrical cord to be inserted.
But now there was a cord there.
Nicki’s heart began to pound painfully. “Barb?” Nicki stood up and moved closer to the whirlpool.
She couldn’t see clearly enough to be certain the plug belonged to the hairdryer, but she knew in her heart that it did. Knew it with nauseating certainty.
The hairdryer that they’d been so careful with, for safety’s sake, wasn’t safe now. Not safe at all. It was firmly connected to a source of powerful, deadly electricity.
And just then, a harsh, husky, unidentifiable voice came at Nicki out of the darkness. “Why did you leave the lights off?” the voice accused angrily over the bubbling of the whirlpool. “I couldn’t see in the dark. She was supposed to be you. I thought she was you! This is your fault.”
