Topspin

by Sonya Spreen Bates

  “What’s our strategy with these two?” I asked Miri.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never played either of them before. But it’s only the second round. They wouldn’t have put one of the real contenders in the same stream as us.”

  Typical Miri. So sure of herself. So sure of her game. But I didn’t believe it for a minute. This wasn’t the Australian Open or anything, where they kept the top seeds apart until the quarterfinals. It was only a junior tournament, and a bronze level at that. I doubted they bothered.

  “Emily Hunt is a bit slow,” I said. “Not the skinny one, but the other girl. I played her yesterday.”

  Miri squinted at her. “She’s the girl that beat you? She doesn’t look that good.”

  “I told you what happened,” I snapped.

  I didn’t need yesterday’s loss thrown in my face again. “But if we make her run, she’ll tire out and start making some unforced errors. She must have played at least two matches already today, maybe three, depending on how she did in the singles.”

  “All right. It’s a plan.” There wasn’t any high-fiving or anything, but I felt better having a strategy in place.

  Miri took the first serve, and we made Emily run. Anytime we could, we avoided Chelsea and fired the ball Emily’s way. And she started making unforced errors, just as we expected. In sheer frustration, Chelsea started chasing balls that should have been Emily’s. Darting into center court to catch a volley, racing crosscourt to get ones we lobbed over her head, running into the net for a short ball and leaving her side of the court open for a winner. They both knew what was happening. Emily knew she’d been targeted as the weaker player. I could see her shoulders drooping, her racket sliding a little lower. She even started double-faulting on her serve. I felt a bit sorry for her. But this was a competition, and I was there to win, not to do her any favors. I’d already done her a massive favor by messing up my qualifier. I wasn’t going to let sympathy drive me into letting her win again. Or even come close.

  We couldn’t do anything about Chelsea’s power service game, though, and Emily managed to hold her serve once too. But when the match ended with a win at 6–4, I was happy. We were still in it, and I’d proved to myself and to Emily Hunt that it should have been me playing the singles today, not her.

  “Good game,” I said as we shook hands. “How did you do in your singles?”

  She looked surprised and a bit embarrassed that I’d asked. “Oh, I lost six to one in the first round,” she mumbled.

  So she was out of the tournament. I felt sorry for her but a little glad, too, that she’d lost. She should never have gotten through the qualifier. “Bad luck,” I said.

  A shy smile crossed her face. Again, it was like we were best buddies. “You know how it is. It’s so different here than playing back home. Melbourne Park is huge, and everyone is so professional. The girl was really good. A left-hander. Nora Wong. Do you know her?”

  Did I know her? I knew her wicked slice serve, that’s for sure. “Not really,” I said, “but we played her and her sister this morning in the doubles.”

  “And you won? That’s great.”

  I could see Miri packing up her racket and getting ready to head out. She was checking her phone, her fingers tapping away as she replied to a message. I bet I knew who was texting her.

  I peeled myself away from Emily.

  “Miri!” I said. “Wait up!”

  “I’ll catch you later,” Miri said, pocketing her phone. “I promised I’d meet someone after the match.”

  “Who? Dray Yule?” I said, taking a chance. We had to get this out in the open.

  Her jaw dropped. Then she scowled. “No, as a matter of fact. Not Dray Yule. If you must know, it’s a friend I used to go to school with. Theo’s sister, Maria. So if we’re through with the third degree, I’ve got to shower. We’re meeting in an hour. At a café on Swanston. Any more questions?”

  I shook my head and she stalked off.

  chapter eleven

  I spent a restless night tossing and turning, my dreams riddled with images of Miri and Dray Yule laughing together as Hamish drowned in the hotel pool. Then Emily Hunt was there, taking my place as Miri’s doubles partner, winning the tournament and accepting the trophy that should have been mine. I woke up long before my alarm was set to go off and decided to go for a run. We weren’t due on the court until nine thirty. I had plenty of time.

  It was a cool, overcast morning, the light still the dull gray of dawn. The streetlights hadn’t yet gone out, and the vehicles driving past had their headlights on. There wasn’t much traffic, so I darted across Jolimont Road and headed up the much quieter Jolimont Street, jogging easily along the narrow tree-lined road to the footbridge that would take me toward the Yarra River. I’d seen it from my hotel window. A wide, slow-moving waterway that meandered through the high-rises of Melbourne.

  It was quiet down by the river, away from the traffic. There was a path that ran alongside the water, and a few people were walking dogs or jogging. A rowing team trained on the river, its boat gliding soundlessly through the water with each stroke of the oars. Melbourne Park and all its complications seemed a long way away.

  The air was fresh and crisp. I ran on and on, enjoying the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, the pumping of blood in my veins. That was the thing about running. I didn’t have to think. My body took over, and my mind switched off. I didn’t have to worry about Miri or Dray or Hamish or even the tournament. In fact, all thoughts of them were blown clear out of my head. Until I ran up some steps and found myself in Federation Square, across the street from Flinders Street Station.

  I stood and stared at the building, already busy with commuters arriving in the city. Slowly the freshness of the day evaporated. All I could think about was Miri handing Dray that package. I’d thought at first it must be drugs or money or something, but as I stood here now, a horrible suspicion planted itself in my brain. What if it had been more personal? Hadn’t Hamish realized his medallion was missing the very next day? The more I thought about it, the more I thought I was right. Miri could easily have slipped it out of Hamish’s bag and pocketed it without him knowing. How Miri could have done something like that, knowing what it meant to Hamish, I didn’t understand. I stood there until I started to get cold. When it started to rain, I turned and headed back the way I had come.

  Miri wasn’t in the room when I got back, which was just as well, because I would have confronted her then and there. Given her reaction the day before, who knew what the consequences of that might have been? Remembering Hamish’s comments about his racket, I rummaged in the wastepaper basket and found the order form from the restring center. There was Hamish’s name, cell-phone number, racket brand and requested string tension, a circle around that number. But the first number had been crossed out and another one written in its place. Someone had altered the docket. I had a feeling I knew who it was. I had to find Miri.

  I showered quickly and got into my tennis gear, and then I headed down to the café to get some breakfast.

  I was surprised to see Hamish there, sitting alone at a table near the window, finishing off some toast. I glanced at my watch.

  “Hey, Hamish,” I said. “Did your match get postponed because of the rain?”

  “What?” Hamish glanced out the window. The light drizzle that had followed me back to the hotel had stopped. “No, I doubt it. They’ll sweep the courts and they’ll be dry in plenty of time.”

  “Then what are you doing here? Don’t you play at eight thirty?”

  Hamish looked at me like I was nuts. “Yeah. It’s only just after seven, Kat. I have plenty of time.”

  My stomach tightened. “No, it’s eight fifteen, Hamish. You should be on the court right now.”

  Hamish rummaged in his bag and found his phone. “Holy crap,” he said. “The clock in my room must be wrong.” He grabbed his bag and raced for the door. “Thanks, Kat!” he said as he dragged it open. Then he was gone.


  I looked at the remains of his breakfast. If I hadn’t come along, he would have finished it off, then wandered over to the tennis center and discovered he’d missed his match. Another part of Dray’s plan falling into place, I was sure. But who could have set his clock back? Not Dray, unless he’d bribed a housekeeper to let him in. There was only one person who would have easy access to his room. Miri.

  As if thinking of her had somehow brought her to life, I heard her voice outside the café.

  “You said he wouldn’t get hurt.” Her voice was a bit shrill, almost panicky. “A few harmless pranks, that’s all.”

  Sliding into Hamish’s seat, I peered out the window in the direction of her voice. Miri and Dray were standing on the sidewalk near the entrance to the hotel. Dray’s hand gripped her arm. I wasn’t sure what he said, but it must have been something about keeping her voice down, because I couldn’t hear any more of the conversation after that. Miri tried to wrench her arm away, but Dray held on tightly. He leaned in close to her and said something more. Even from this angle, I could see how threatening his face was.

  I made my way to the door of the café and slowly eased it open. I poked my head out just far enough to get a good view and pulled out my phone. I took a couple of photos, then switched to video. I still couldn’t make out what they were saying, but sometimes a picture can speak for itself. After a few seconds, Dray released Miri’s arm and she hurried away, heading in the direction of the tennis center.

  Dray glanced my way, and I ducked back into the café, my heart pounding. Had he seen me? Quickly I moved up to the counter and looked at the menu board, pretending I’d been standing there all along. But the door to the café stayed closed, and gradually my heart slowed.

  I wasn’t very hungry anymore, but I ordered a toasted bagel to go. As I left the café, bagel in hand, and started down the street, Dray stepped out of the hotel entrance and blocked my path.

  “Kat McDonald,” he said. “You’ve been putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I tried to look calm, although my heart was in my throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. I went to move around him, but he sidestepped so I couldn’t get past.

  “Yes you do. Let’s have it.” He held his hand out expectantly.

  “Have what?” I said, still trying to bluff my way through this.

  “Your phone.”

  “I’m not giving you—”

  In the blink of an eye, he had pinned my wrists behind my back with one hand and pulled my face in against his chest. I felt his other hand rummaging through my pockets. I was just about to scream when he released me and stepped back, holding up my cell phone in triumph.

  “Give that back!” I said. “You have no right to take that.”

  “You’ll get it back,” he said, thumbing through the menu. I tried to snatch the phone away, but he held it high out of my reach. “Ah, here we are.” He flicked through the pictures. “You’ve been busy for quite some time, haven’t you?” he said, giving me a glimpse of the photos of him and Colby Barrett. He deleted them with a touch of his finger, then scrolled through again, deleting as he went.

  “Now keep your nose out of other people’s business.” The words or else were written on his face.

  “Or what? You’ll report me for taking photos of the tournament?” I said sarcastically. “Or set my clock back so I miss my match?”

  His eyes widened slightly, and I knew I’d hit the mark.

  “I can do a whole lot better than that,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “You played in the Seattle City Junior Champs last year, right?”

  I had. But what was he getting at?

  “Yes, I remember you,” he went on. “You’re the one who got caught smoking weed in the girls’ shower room and was banned for the rest of the year.”

  “I did no such thing!” I said hotly.

  He shrugged. “It’ll be your word against mine. And you’ll be suspended from the tournament while they investigate. It should only take a couple of days.”

  I glared at him. “I know what you’re up to, and it’s not going to work. Hamish is good. He’ll keep winning. If Colby wants to take the trophy, he’ll have to fight it out fair and square in the finals.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Hamish if I were you,” said Dray. “Worry about yourself, because it wouldn’t take much to make Hugo Mansfield drop you like a hot potato. And your tennis career will be over before it starts.”

  He held out my phone to me. “Here. Happy snapping.”

  I reached for it, but before I could grasp it, he let it slip out of his fingers and drop to the pavement.

  “Oh, how clumsy of you,” he said and walked off.

  My hand was shaking from both fear and anger as I bent to pick it up. The screen was cracked, but the phone still seemed to be working. My other hand still clutched my bagel, now cold and greasy in its bag. I threw it in the garbage and headed for the courts.

  chapter twelve

  I don’t know how I made it through our next match. With no breakfast but one of Hugo’s energy bars, I was running on pure anger-fueled adrenaline. How dare Dray threaten me? It was lies, all lies. He probably hadn’t even been at the tournament in Seattle. But he was right about the girl in the showers. I’d heard about it too. If he said anything, there was sure to be an investigation. I would be suspended until his accusations were proven false, and that would mean forfeiting a match and losing any chance we had to move into the next round. Hugo would go through the roof, and even though I was innocent, I doubt he’d want to coach me anymore. Not after the stupid performance I’d put on in the qualifier. He had given me a second chance, but if I blew Miri’s doubles, I was sure he wouldn’t give me a third.

  “What’s with you today?” asked Miri when we’d finished up, the score a win for us with six games to four. “I’ve never seen you hit so many winners and make so many unforced errors all in the same game.”

  “We’ve got to talk,” I said, stuffing my racket into my bag.

  “What? But I’ve got—”

  “Now,” I said. The look on my face must have told her not to argue.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel,” she said.

  “So what’s going on with Dray Yule?” I said bluntly when we were seated across from each other on the beds.

  “It’s nothing,” said Miri, unable to meet my gaze. “I went out with him one night, and now he won’t leave me alone.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “Don’t lie to me, Miri. He cornered me this morning and threatened to get me kicked out of the tournament. I know you met up with him at Flinders Street Station, and I know he’s got some sort of hold on you too. So what’s going on?”

  Miri’s eyes grew wide. She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was thick.

  “All right,” she said, clearing her throat. She looked tense, but her eyes were dry. “I was out with Dray that first night when I broke curfew. We had dinner, and he invited me to this party. There was beer and vodka coolers and—and some pot. I didn’t smoke any of it, but I did have a drink.”

  “Or two or three,” I said.

  “I know! It was stupid.” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the memory. “I should have just left, but I didn’t want to look like a nerd. And once I’d had one, well…” She let her hands drop and took a deep breath.

  I waited.

  “We got talking,” she said. “He seemed so into me. He wanted to know all about me, asked me all these questions. And…I told him.”

  “And you told him about Hamish too,” I said.

  Her gaze flicked to me. “Yeah. I don’t know exactly what I said. It was the alcohol. I just…talked. I couldn’t stop myself.” She paused and bit her lip. Like she was deciding whether to tell me the next bit. “And then he sent me the photos.”

  “Photos?”

  She dug in her tennis bag and pulled out her phone.

  �
�You can’t tell anyone about these,” she said, flicking through the menu.

  “I won’t.”

  She glared at me. “No, I mean it. Promise you won’t tell.”

  “All right, I promise,” I said. “Let me see.”

  The first photo showed her sprawled on a couch with two guys, her eyes half closed and drink in hand. It was obvious she was drunk. In the next she was laughing. They were all laughing, like they were on laughing gas…or something else. The last one showed her kissing some dark-haired guy with a shadow of stubble on his chin. I’d never seen him before.

  “God, Miri. How could you let this happen?” I said, stunned.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she wailed. “It just— happened. How could I have known he’d take photos?”

  I shook my head, hardly able to believe the girl in the photos was Miri. She was usually so in control. So careful with everything. “Why did you go out with him in the first place? I could tell he was a sleazebag the first time I set eyes on him.”

  She sighed. “I was pissed off at Hamish for chatting up those flight attendants on the plane. I just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.” She actually looked rather ashamed at this confession.

  “But Hamish didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “He’s nice to everyone. Even me.”

  I must have blushed a bit, because she gave me a funny look. “You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the color climbing higher in my cheeks. If anyone ever invents a cure for blushing, I’ll be first in line. “Of course I do. He is cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to try to steal him away from you.”

  She looked down at her fingernails. I could see she’d started to bite them. “You might not, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t,” she said.

  I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. “Hamish wouldn’t do that to you,” I said. “It’s obvious he’s crazy about you.”

  “But why?” she said. “I’m not pretty or smart or funny. The only thing I’m good at is tennis. Why would he want me?”