Topspin

by Sonya Spreen Bates

  “What are you doing?” I said to Miri.

  Miri smiled sweetly. “He said she couldn’t handle the power shots. I’m just taking it easy on the poor little thing.”

  The girl was throwing dagger glares at us now. “Dad!” she whined.

  “What?” said Miri. “She can’t have it both ways.”

  “All right,” said the umpire. “Enough of the cheek. Just get on with it.”

  Miri positioned herself on the baseline and served to the older sister, a nice hard serve with just a touch of slice to make it spin. We’d lost any momentum we’d gained in the last few games though. The dad’s eyesight was almost as bad as the kid sister’s, and a couple of bad shots on our part meant the game was over pretty quickly. We’d lost the match.

  I should have been devastated. That was the end of the tournament for me. But as soon as the game was finished, I remembered Hamish and the drug test. It still seemed suspicious to me. Dray Yule had acted too pleased at the end of Hamish’s match. I had to find him and figure out what he was up to.

  Miri went to find out what was going on with Hamish, and I set off to find Dray. I didn’t have time to search the whole grounds again. He could be anywhere. But I had Miri’s phone. We’d exchanged phones earlier. I wasn’t sure the camera on mine would work after Dray dropped it. I pulled it out now and hit New Message.

  Dray. We need to talk. Meet me

  Where? It had to be someplace quiet, but somewhere I could easily hide from him.

  outside Rod Laver Arena. Miri.

  I crossed my fingers and hit Send. That should lure him in. Then all I’d have to do was follow him and hope he did something to incriminate himself.

  chapter fifteen

  I crouched behind a garbage can just inside the entrance to Rod Laver Arena. There was a wide foyer running the circumference of the building, with concession stands along the outside wall, all locked up with roll-down metal barriers. No one was playing here today, but a tour group had just gone in, and I’d attached myself to the back of the group long enough to come inside without being conspicuous.

  Dray showed up about fifteen minutes later. He was in his tennis gear as usual, his sports bag slung over his shoulder. Now that I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t seen him on the court all weekend. I wondered if he was even entered in the tournament, or if he was just here to orchestrate Hamish’s defeat.

  He dropped the bag on the ground, pulled his cell phone out of the side pocket and typed something into the keypad. The next thing I knew, Miri’s phone bleeped in my pocket. I swore under my breath—I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put it on silent mode—then glanced at the screen:

  Where the hell are you?

  I thought for a second.

  Sorry, can’t make it. Lost the doubles and Hugo’s on the warpath.

  Dray called Miri all sorts of unflattering names and grabbed his stuff. He was about to leave when Colby Barrett walked past.

  Dray hailed him down.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying and was about to risk creeping closer when Dray gestured toward the door to the arena. After a short argument and a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, they came inside the foyer.

  I pressed myself further into my hiding spot as they passed within a meter of the garbage can. They walked just far enough inside so as not to be visible from the door.

  “So, let’s have it,” said Dray. “Hamish Brown is out of the tournament. Pay up.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Colby. “He could still pass the drug test. In fact, knowing Hamish Brown, I’m pretty sure he will.”

  “Don’t worry. I made sure he won’t be getting out on the court tomorrow. I put a joint in his tennis bag for insurance.” Dray looked particularly pleased about this.

  “You what? That wasn’t part of the plan,” said Colby. “I just wanted him out of the tournament, not arrested.”

  Dray glared at Colby. “Don’t get all moral on me now. You wanted him out and he’s out. Now pay up.”

  With a look of distaste, Colby dug in his bag and pulled out an envelope. I’d been so absorbed in what was going on that I’d almost forgotten about videoing, but now I grabbed Miri’s phone and started filming.

  Dray took the envelope and pulled out a wad of money. He counted it slowly, note by note.

  “It’s all there,” Colby said.

  “You cut me short once,” said Dray. “I’m not stupid enough to let you do it again.”

  It was then that I noticed Dray’s sports bag sitting against the wall. It couldn’t have been more than three meters away. It would only take a second to get to it if I could somehow distract them…

  I stopped filming and switched to Miri’s contact list. There. Colby Barrett. I didn’t question why she had his number in her phone. I just hit Text Message and started typing.

  I need to talk to Dray. Have you seen him? Miri.

  I held my breath and hit Send. Dray was tucking the money into his wallet.

  “Miri Tregenza’s looking for you,” said Colby a second later.

  “Yeah?” said Dray. “I wonder what she wants.”

  So he wasn’t admitting he had arranged to meet her here. Interesting. Didn’t Colby know about her involvement?

  Colby started texting again, and I saw my chance. They were both looking down at his phone, their backs to me.

  Heart pounding, I snuck out of my hiding spot, tiptoed to Dray’s bag and reached into the side pouch. My hand had just closed on Dray’s cell phone when the text came in. Miri’s phone vibrated in my pocket.

  I should have been expecting it. Of course they were texting Miri. And Miri’s phone was in my pocket. But somehow I panicked. Even though the phone was on vibrate, I thought they must be able to hear it, or feel it, or sense it going off, or something. I grabbed Dray’s phone and took off.

  “Hey!” yelled Dray.

  I dashed toward the door, but the motion detector was too slow. Dray was after me in a shot. I veered and ran down the corridor. It curved with the circular shape of the building, food stalls on one side, doorways to the arena on the other. Numbers were stenciled on the inside wall to identify entrances to the arena. Bare concrete walls. Nowhere to hide.

  With nothing else to do, I ran to the nearest doorway and up a dozen or so steps, finding myself on the second level of the arena. Far below was the court where the Australian Open is played.

  I didn’t have time to admire the view. I climbed upward, four, five, six rows, until I thought Dray would have reached the stairs, then ducked in behind the seats. My heart was going like a jackhammer. I crawled silently on my hands and knees deeper into the row, crouched low to the floor and waited.

  It took less than five seconds for him to figure out where I’d gone. I heard him swear as he entered the arena, imagined him looking around, not seeing me, and starting to hunt. His voice sounded so close, I almost jumped up and started to run again. Basic survival instinct of the hunted. But I resisted the urge and was rewarded with the sound of his footsteps moving off the other way.

  Cautiously, I poked my head up and peered over the top of the seats. He was going down the next aisle, searching each row one by one. It wouldn’t take long for him to figure out I was on this side of the entrance. Then he would be back.

  I crawled farther down the row to the next aisle, holding my breath although I didn’t know how that would help. When I reached the end, I poked my head up again. Dray had finished searching the first section of seats and was headed toward the walkway. I ducked out of sight.

  Go farther down, I commanded silently, hoping he might somehow obey. One more section.

  No such luck. He reached the center aisle and paused. I imagined him looking both ways, making a decision. Then he started toward me.

  My brain went into overdrive. What could I do? Where could I run? What would he do when he caught me?

  That’s when I heard the voices. A woman’s voice, amplified over a sound system. The so
fter murmur of other voices oohing and aahing over the arena. It was the tour group, down on the tennis court.

  It was exactly what I needed. Witnesses.

  I jumped up and raced down the steps. Dray spotted me straight away. With a shout, he thundered after me.

  The group seemed miles away. Little action figures moving around on the blue surface of the court. I saw them glance up, point in our direction. It was enough to spur me on.

  My feet pounded on the stairs as I sped downward, faster and faster. For once I was glad for all the footwork drills Hugo had insisted we do day after day. No training session went by that we didn’t speed step through a ladder or sidestep around hoops or do sprint trials. Now I saw why. My feet were flying. I only hoped Dray had been a bit slack in his training. I felt like he was breathing right down my neck, but I didn’t dare look behind me to find out. I didn’t dare take my eyes off those concrete steps that seemed to go forever.

  At last I caught sight of the walkway at the end of the stairs, and the barrier blocking it from the court. Ten more steps. Five. I glanced up. The court was right below me, maybe two or three meters below the seats. The tour guide was moving in my direction, a concerned and somewhat annoyed look on her face.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. Or maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. I just knew I had to get down to those people. Tell them what was happening. Get them to take me to the administration office, where I could hand over the evidence and keep it out of Dray’s hands. I reached the walkway and vaulted straight over the barrier.

  The court was farther below me than I’d thought. I’d seen it on TV, during the Australian Open. Seen the winners reaching up to sign autographs after a match, being hoisted up to embrace family members. The barrier between the court and the seats had never looked that high. Now I felt myself dropping down, down and down some more. I landed with a jolt that jarred me right through my spinal cord. My ankle rolled, and pain shot up my leg.

  Faces converged around me. The tour guide, with her headset on. Tourists in caps that had Melbourne or Australian Open blazoned across them. Choruses of “Are you all right?” and “Are you hurt?” and “You poor dear” rang in my ears.

  My ankle felt like it was on fire, and it was all I could do not to cry and moan and roll around in pain. Instead, I gritted my teeth and looked straight at the tour guide. “I need to see the tournament director,” I panted.

  “You’re hurt. We need to get you to a hospital,” she said. “I’ll phone an ambulance and—”

  “No!”

  I lowered my voice as everyone stopped to stare at me.

  “No, thank you. I don’t need an ambulance. It’s just a sprain. I’ll be fine.” I struggled to my feet to demonstrate, biting back the scream I wanted to let out as I tried to put weight on my foot. It was probably broken. “I need to see the tournament director,” I said, standing on one foot and trying to sound calm. “About the drug testing. For Hamish Brown. He’s been set up.” I was aware I was spitting things out in telegraphic sentences, but that was all I could seem to manage. “It was Dray Yule,” I added and glanced up into the stands.

  “Was that the boy who was chasing you?” a man asked. He sounded American.

  I nodded, searching the seats for some sign of Dray.

  “He took off as soon as you got close.”

  Of course he did. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to hang around and let these people take him in for questioning.

  “But I got a great video,” the man said proudly. “Man, are you quick.”

  He pushed Play, and I watched myself racing down the stairs. Dray had been only a few steps behind me right up until I reached the last section of seats and he could see what I was intending to do. Then he’d stopped, looked around and taken off back up the stairs. I saw myself jump, and then the camera honed in on the ground as the man lowered his hand and ran toward me.

  I smiled at the man. “Would you mind coming with me to administration?” I said. “I think your video could seal this case up.”

  “Gladly,” he said.

  chapter sixteen

  The next day, I crutched my way up the steps to the front row of seats on court 1 and settled in next to Hugo to watch the boys’ final.

  It had been a long night. After one look at the videos, everyone involved had been hauled in for questioning. Dray, Colby, Miri and, of course, me. The story had been pieced together bit by bit, and once Dray’s bag and locker had been searched and his hidden stash of marijuana discovered, Hamish had been cleared of the charges and reinstated in the tournament.

  I’d tried to keep the photos of Miri from surfacing. But when Dray pointed the finger at her for being involved, there was nothing to do but come clean about the whole thing. Dray had blackmailed her into helping him. There was no doubt about that. Of course, the photos put suspicion on Miri for substance abuse, and she was drug tested as well. She passed with flying colors, and because the photos of her drinking were date-stamped prior to the start of the tournament, she was allowed to continue playing.

  It was all over for Colby and Dray. I had no idea when, if ever, they would be allowed to compete again. Dray would be facing court for possession of cannabis. As for Colby, his locker and bag were clean when searched, and his drug test was negative for any banned substance. I think we all believed he knew nothing about the drugs. All of us except, perhaps, his father.

  I propped my foot up on the railing in front of me. A hairline fracture. I’d be in the cast for six weeks. Hugo had had four long hours in the hospital emergency department with me to express his disappointment. In Miri especially, but in me as well. We should have gone to him in the first place, he’d said. Trust was the basis of all relationships, and if he couldn’t trust us, how could he continue to coach us? He needed to know everything that was going on. Everything. No matter how small. It affected our game. How could he help us win if he didn’t know what was going on? I didn’t know if either of us would survive this. Because let’s face it, if Hugo dropped Miri, he wouldn’t need me anymore, and I’d be out of a coach.

  And that left Hamish. He was mad. Fighting mad. And confused and disappointed and hurt. Miri said they’d had a huge argument after Hugo and I left for the hospital. She’d only just gotten to bed herself when I got back to the hotel. Hamish hadn’t said a word to either of us at breakfast that morning, not even when I’d presented him with a half dozen of the energy bars he liked. I’d found them, of all places, in the hospital cafeteria. He looked like hell. His eyes were puffy, and he’d obviously had no sleep. Somehow he’d made it through the semis though, squeaking through on the tiebreak against the number-five seed, a guy from South Australia. So here we were. At the grand final.

  Miri edged her way past a couple of spectators and flopped into the seat next to me.

  “So what happened with the girls’ final?” I asked. Hugo didn’t even glance her way, but I got the feeling he was listening.

  “Georgia Mason won six to two,” she said. “But it wasn’t like she was brilliant or anything. I could have beat her. The other girl was crap.”

  “You didn’t beat her,” growled Hugo.

  Miri had lost to Georgia Mason that morning in the semis. She’d been all over the place. As I said, it was a long night. For everyone.

  “You’re right, I didn’t beat her. But I could,” said Miri. She leaned forward to look past me at Hugo. “Hugo, you know I could. With everything that’s happened, none of us have played like we should have this weekend. But this will never happen again. It was a stupid mistake, and it all spiraled out of control. I won’t ever do something stupid like this again. I promise.”

  Hugo glared at her, and she rushed on. “I’ll do whatever you say. Eat what you want me to eat, train whenever you want me to train. You’ve got to give me another chance.”

  He continued to look at her until the silence became almost unbearable, then turned his eyes back to the court. “I’ll think about it,” he said.


  It was the best we could hope for. And it wasn’t a no, so I was happy.

  Hamish put in a valiant effort. He managed to get quite a few aces in the first half, hit some beautiful winners down the line and volleyed spectacularly. But in the end, exhaustion took over and unforced errors started accumulating. His opponent, Ronan Keen, was fresh. He’d won his semis 6–2 and had energy to burn. And as the number-three seed, his skills were almost on par with Hamish’s. After the previous night’s drama, Hamish just couldn’t compete. He lost 6–4.

  He looked exhausted rather than disappointed during the trophy presentation. When he came off court, he shrugged.

  “It’s not all bad news,” he said to me when I offered my condolences. “I still made the number-one ranking. Ronan was a few points behind me, so getting second still leaves me on top. If I can hang on to that, I’ll be in good stead for the Australian Open Juniors in January.”

  We gathered our gear from the hotel and hopped into a cab to the airport. Hamish sat in front with the cabbie, probably to avoid sitting next to Miri. He still hadn’t said a word to her. We rode in silence until we got on the freeway and the cab picked up speed, weaving in and out of the traffic. Hugo started talking about a tournament in Sydney in December.

  “You mean, we’re going? Like, with you? You’ll still train us?” I said, hardly able to get the words out.

  “You’ll train in the gym until that cast comes off, and then it’s back on the courts. If you can get back up to speed in time, then we’ll talk about it,” he said.

  Miri and I exchanged glances. I felt like high-fiving her but settled for a really cheesy grin.

  “One foot out of line, and you’re both out,” he added.

  We arrived at the airport, and I hobbled through the sliding doors. It seemed like a lifetime ago that we’d arrived in Melbourne. The airport was still as busy as ever, the smell of jet fuel and fast food was the same, but I wasn’t the nervous little amateur I’d been four days earlier. I knew I’d be back sometime, if not in the next couple of months, then next year. And I knew I’d be able to face whatever the tournament threw at me. Because how could it be any worse than what had happened this time? Cheating, blackmail, drugs? A mere competition would be nothing. As long as I remembered to eat.