“Out!” she called.
The Wong sisters high-fived each other, and I glared at Miri. This was my only chance at competing in this tournament. If she blew it because of a stupid fight with Hamish…
Miri bounced the ball. Then bounced it again. She threw the ball up, brought her racket around and smashed the ball down the center line. The Wong sister didn’t even have time to flinch.
And so it went. Miri was hot and cold. She’d mess up easy shots and then pull out a winner at the most unexpected time.
The score was deuce. Then our ad. Then deuce again. Their ad, and deuce again. We went back and forth through I don’t know how many deuces until Miri started getting mad. And when Miri gets mad, she gets wild. She wound up and let fly with a flat forehand that rocketed across the net at about 150 k’s, flew between the two Wong sisters and hit the backstop. It was their game. They stared at her with twin sets of eyes drawn so wide, I could see the whites even from my side of the court.
“Get a grip,” I whispered furiously to Miri.
Miri’s shoulders rose and fell as she breathed deeply, adjusting the strings on her racket. Slowly she walked back to the baseline. When she turned around, her face was calm, her jaw set. I smiled grimly. I’d seen that look before and been on the other end of it many times. And just like that, we were back in business. The Wong sisters only won one more game.
“What’s your hurry?” I said as we packed up our stuff.
Miri already had her bag slung over her shoulder. She glanced at her phone. “Hamish started his match at nine thirty, and I promised I’d be there.”
I jogged after her as she hurried off toward the other end of the courts. “I thought you guys had a fight.”
“No, why did you think that?” She looked genuinely surprised.
“You were back so early last night, and Hamish was in such a bad mood, I just figured you must have argued or something.” I shrugged.
“Well, we didn’t,” said Miri. She grinned. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
I didn’t want to know what she meant by that. “So what’s up with Hamish?”
“He lost his medallion,” she said. “His mother gave it to him, and he always wears it when he plays. It’s sort of a good-luck charm.”
I’d heard of tennis players who were like that, having superstitions and set routines they followed before a match. Did it really matter that much? “Does he think he can’t win without it or something?”
Miri shrugged. “It’s important to him. He doesn’t see his mom much anymore.”
That made me curious, but there was no time to ask any more questions. We’d arrived at court 1, where Hamish was playing his first singles match. He didn’t look like he’d just lost his good-luck charm. In fact, he looked more like he was out to prove something. He was hitting hard and strong and fast, jumping at every opportunity, going for the winners. An ace here, then a winner down the line, an overhead smash…I don’t think his opponent knew what hit him. It was all over within half an hour. Final score, 6–1.
The win didn’t seem to improve Hamish’s mood any. In fact, he seemed to take it as a personal insult that the guy had gotten even one game off him. He rummaged through his tennis bag, a scowl on his face, and finally threw it down in disgust.
“I’m out of energy bars,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t anything go right today?”
“I’ll go get you some,” I volunteered. He’d probably given me his last one the day before.
He glanced at me like I was a mosquito to be swatted away. Then he sighed. “Would you? I’ve got doubles at eleven thirty, and I’ve got to go back to the hotel first.”
To search for his medallion, I was sure. “No worries,” I said. “The fruit ones, right?”
“Yeah. Go to Fresh. They always have them.”
Fresh didn’t have them. And neither did the canteen or the pro shop, although there was an empty box next to the energy bars Hugo liked. They must have had some earlier. I bought a couple of Hugo’s brand and made it back to the court just as Hamish was warming up with his doubles partner. Theo Pappas competed in the 14 and Under Singles but was almost as tall as Hamish and had one of the best forehands I’d ever seen. They’d make an intimidating pair.
“They were out of fruit bars,” I said, offering Hamish the ones I’d bought.
He swore under his breath. “I can’t eat those. I’m allergic to nuts,” he said.
I was such an idiot. Miri had told me on the flight over that he was allergic to nuts. Like, deadly allergic. And there it was, stated clearly on the label. Contains nuts. “Sorry, Hamish. I’ll find some of the others,” I said. “There must be a store close by that sells them.”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ve got to go on.”
“Did he find his medallion?” I said to Miri as the match started.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll ever find it.” She seemed very matter-of-fact, and it made me wonder why she was so sure.
chapter nine
With a couple of hours before I had to play again, I decided to go off and seek out Hamish’s energy bars. But first I needed to get rid of my tennis bag. I was sick of lugging it around everywhere.
I’d just popped the lock on my locker when I heard voices coming from the direction of the boys’ change room. I was curious. The voices were intense, on the verge of breaking into an all-out argument. Then I caught the name Hamish Brown, and my ears really perked up. I stashed my bag in the locker and crept closer.
“We had an agreement,” the first guy said, his voice low and furious. It sounded vaguely familiar. “This isn’t half of what you promised.”
“And our little enterprise hasn’t worked half as well as you thought,” said the other. His voice was deeper, more controlled.
“So he made it through the first round. You didn’t expect him to lose to Spencer Parkin, did you?”
“No, but six to one?” A snort of disgust. “He couldn’t have played better if you’d given him some kind of performance enhancer. Look. As far as I can see, your idea sucks. Show me some results, then we’ll talk payment.”
“You’ll see results, all right,” said the first voice, calmer now. Confident. “Just give it some time to kick in.”
The deeper voice grunted. “You’d better hope it doesn’t take too long. It’s only a three-day tournament.”
Then I heard feet moving, and I ducked back into the girls’ change room. My heart was pounding like mad. They were up to something. And it involved Hamish. Peering through the door, I saw someone leaving the boys’ change room. I didn’t recognize him at first, not until he paused to glance around just outside the door. Without thinking, I grabbed my cell phone and snapped a picture, and then another as he was walking away. I was pretty sure it was Colby Barrett. But who had he been talking to?
I got my answer a couple of minutes later when Dray Yule came through the door. I’d have recognized that conceited swagger anywhere. Now I really wanted to know what was going on. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he’d met secretly with Miri the day before and was having another secret meeting with Colby Barrett today. Was Miri in on whatever they were doing to Hamish? I knew she could be really nasty at times, but I couldn’t believe she would do anything to harm Hamish. And that’s what it had sounded like. Like they had a plan to take Hamish out of the competition.
I snapped a couple of photos, and then, on impulse, I followed Dray as he rounded the corner and went out onto the grounds. I had to know what he was up to. He moved quickly, winding his way through the courts where matches were being fought at every turn. It wasn’t long before I’d figured out where we were going.
A minute later I saw him slip into the stands outside court 6, where Hamish was playing doubles. What was he up to? I went around the other side and squeezed past a few spectators to sit next to Miri and Hugo.
“Did you get them?” asked Miri.
“What?”
�
�Hamish’s energy bars.”
I’d completely forgotten about them.
“No, I couldn’t find any,” I said. I leaned forward to peer past her. Dray was slouched in the end seat of the row, arms folded. His cap almost covered his eyes, but still, I didn’t like the way he was eyeing Hamish. Like a cat waiting for a bird to drop into range.
“What’s the score?” I asked nervously.
“Hamish and Theo are up five to two,” said Miri.
“Already?” I turned my eyes toward the game just in time to see Theo hit a backhand winner down the line.
“Hamish and Theo have played doubles together since Hamish was twelve. Theo used to train with Hugo,” Miri explained. “Until he moved here to Melbourne last year. He trains with Morgan Freebairn now, but he and Hamish still play doubles together. Look at them. Why wouldn’t they?”
I watched as Hamish tossed the ball up and hit a massive serve down the center of the service court. I wished we had the speed clocks going. It looked close to 150 k’s an hour to me. The guy on the receiving end blocked the return, no control over where it was going. He just stuck his racket out and hoped the ball would land inbounds. Theo volleyed it back, and the kid’s teammate dived toward the net. Not fast enough. The ball slid past, landed in the court behind him and bounced into the backstop. Point to Hamish and Theo.
I glanced toward the end seat. Dray was gone. He’d slipped out while I was watching the game. Scanning the crowd, I spotted him standing near the entrance to the courts, where Hamish’s and Theo’s tennis bags were sitting. I watched in disbelief as he took a bottle of Powerade out of his bag and exchanged it for the one in Hamish’s.
“This is it. Match point,” said Miri.
I looked up to see Hamish setting up for another serve. When he came off court, he’d be going for the Powerade. And instead of his own, he’d get the one Dray had planted. And drink whatever Dray had put in it.
“Have you got a Powerade in your bag?” I asked Miri.
“What?”
“A Powerade,” I said. “I need one. Now.”
She unzipped her bag, and I grabbed the bottle. Hamish and Theo were approaching the net to shake hands with the other players. I pushed past the spectators, jumped down the steps to the ground and sprinted around to the gate just as Hamish and Theo came out.
“Hey, Hamish, good game,” I said, a bit out of breath. I shoved the Powerade toward him. “Here. I couldn’t find any of your energy bars, so I got you this instead. Sorry about before.”
For a second, I thought he might just brush me off. Tell me to get stuffed and go for his own. Then he took the bottle. “Thanks, Kat. Don’t worry about it.” He cracked it open and took a long drink.
I chewed on my lip as he stowed his racket in his bag. The suspicious bottle of Powerade was still in there. Seeing Miri approaching, I panicked.
“When’s your next game?” I asked.
“Not till three.”
“Are you going back to the hotel? I could carry your bag for you.” I actually blushed. What a stupid thing to say. But I had to do something.
“Uh…no thanks,” he said, giving me a strange look and slinging the bag over his own shoulder. He put his arm around Miri as she came up alongside him. “We’re going to get some lunch and then Miri’s got her singles at one. We’ll catch you later.”
“Wait!”
They turned and stared at me.
“I forgot. I—I need to talk to Miri. Just for a minute,” I added as she scowled at me.
She rolled her eyes, but I dragged her away and led her behind the stands.
“Don’t let Hamish drink the Powerade that’s in his bag,” I said.
She frowned. “What? Why not?”
I hesitated. I was taking a risk. What if she was in on it? I’d be blowing my cover, and Hamish would still be in danger. But she couldn’t be, could she? She wouldn’t do that. Not to Hamish.
“Kat, what’s going on?”
Her eyes flashed with impatience, but with worry too. Worry that her plan had been discovered? Or worry for Hamish?
“Miri?” Hamish called. “Let’s go.”
There was no other option. I’d just have to trust her.
“Dray Yule switched the Powerade,” I said quickly. I could hear Hamish’s footsteps approaching. “Don’t let him drink it. I’ll explain later.”
Hamish came around the end of the stands. “What’s the big secret?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Miri. She threw a glare my way, the kind you’d give to a pesky fly. “Kat’s freaking out about our next match. I told her to chill. It’s just doubles.” She linked arms with Hamish and pulled him away.
I watched them go, hoping desperately that Miri wasn’t involved in whatever was going on and would take my warning seriously.
chapter ten
I couldn’t stop thinking about the Powerade in Hamish’s bag. What had Dray done to it? What had he put in it that would make Hamish lose a match? As soon as I could, I searched out Miri and Hamish at court 5, where Miri was warming up for her singles match.
“Hey,” I said to Hamish as I slid into the seat next to him. I glanced down at his bag. The Powerade was gone. Had Miri managed to get it out or had he drunk it? Either way, there was nothing I could do about it now.
“Hey,” said Hamish. He seemed a lot more relaxed than he had that morning. Was that a good thing, or was he on something? He flashed one of his smiles at me, and I smiled back. To my horror, I felt my cheeks start to go pink. Damn that fair, freckled, traitorous skin!
“I was hoping you’d show up. I wanted to ask you if the guys at the restring center said anything about my racket when you picked it up yesterday.”
I thought back. They’d given me the racket, all wrapped in plastic, and the order form, but that was it. I shook my head. “No. Why?”
“They got the tension all wrong,” said Hamish. “I went to use it in the doubles, and it was strung way too loose. It probably cost us the first game. I double-faulted twice before I got the feel of it.” He saw me frowning and added quickly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll take it back and get them to do it again. It’s no biggie.”
It worried me though. Was this another of Dray’s tricks? Part of the plan he’d said was going to “kick in?” In a tight game, it could have been disastrous. Could have meant the difference between a win and a loss. Which was what Dray wanted. I was pretty sure I still had Hamish’s order form somewhere in my hotel room, and made a note to look for it when I got back.
We watched in silence as a coin was tossed and the match started. Miri chose to serve, always a good move for her. Her serve was one of the strongest I’d seen. Not that I’d been around the Australian circuit much, but I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of her power serves, and it was damn hard to get back. As if to prove me right, her first serve of the match was an ace.
Hamish and Hugo were intent on the game, applauding when Miri hit a good shot, groaning when she went for the winner and missed it. Not that that happened very often. Her opponent was quick, but she seemed inexperienced. In fact, I was sure I’d seen her playing in the qualifying rounds. As I watched, I could see all the stupid mistakes she was making. The kind inexperienced kids make. Like serving to Miri’s forehand when it was her best stroke, or running up to the net when she could easily have stayed on the baseline, only to have Miri lob it over her head. It reminded me of the stupid mistakes I’d made the previous day. How I’d had a chance to be playing today and had blown it. The girl was nothing special. If it had been me against her, I probably could have won. I’d played Miri tons of times, and while I rarely won, I made it a contest. This girl was no match for Miri. After forty-five minutes, it was all over. The score was 6–2, and Miri had barely worked up a sweat.
We wandered over to the board to see who we were playing next. Our second round of doubles was scheduled for three, so we wouldn’t get a chance to watch Hamish’s next match. Running my fin
ger down the sheet, I saw we were playing Chelsea O’Brien and Emily Hunt, who’d won their first doubles match 7–5.
Emily Hunt! The name jumped out at me when I saw it. She was the girl who’d beaten me in the qualifying round. My chest tightened in anticipation. I would show her how I could really play. Show her that only bad luck and bad judgment on my part had allowed her to be in the singles at all. I wondered if she had won her first round.
She recognized me when we met at the court. She gave me a nervous little smile, then whispered something to her partner. The girl glanced over at me and pulled Emily into a huddle. I didn’t care. Whatever strategy they were planning, I knew I could beat Emily Hunt. And no matter how good Chelsea O’Brien might be, I had Miri on my side.
Chelsea served first. She was tall and skinny. Too skinny. My arms were probably bigger than her legs. She had mousy brown hair pulled up into a ponytail on top of her head. It must have bugged the crap out of her, the way it bounced around every time she moved. She flicked it back as she prepared to serve the first ball.
Given her size, I wasn’t expecting much. I’d thought her strength must be being quick on her feet, or being deadly accurate in her strokes. But those scrawny arms had a lot of power. She tossed the ball up, and next thing I knew it was streaking toward me like a fireball. With no time for a full backswing, I sliced it back. Unfortunately, it headed straight for Emily. She volleyed it short into my court, and the first point went to them.
I knew then that we had a fight on our hands. Emily Hunt was better at doubles than singles. It didn’t matter so much that she wasn’t very agile. She didn’t have as much court to cover. And Chelsea O’Brien was a powerhouse. All 110 pounds of her was pure muscle. And she knew how to use it. I’d underestimated my opponents yet again and let my guard down. When we lost the first game, I knew we needed a plan.
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