Game. Set. Match.

by Jennifer Iacopelli

  “I don’t care,” Jasmine scoffed, her anger skyrocketing. “I know you don’t give a shit about it, but do you get how big of a deal this tournament is for me? Whoever wins is a shoo-in for major wildcards. If I win I won’t just be playing juniors at the French Open, I’ll be in the main draw. Indiana is my competition, Teddy. She’s the one standing in my way.”

  “I was just being nice.”

  “Right, nice and if she wasn’t gorgeous and blond, would you still have been nice?”

  “She was having a hard time. Most of the girls in this place have been acting like real bitches to her. Nice of you to step in.”

  Jasmine pursed her lips, glaring at him. “I don’t control what those girls do.”

  “Please, one word from you and they would’ve stopped. What did you think? If you let them bully her, it would improve your chances to win this thing?”

  The truth was she hadn’t even thought about it, but she was too angry to defend herself.

  “Screw you. You’re supposed to be my friend. That’s what we said, that we’re better as friends.”

  His cheeks flushed red and his jaw muscles clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest. There was no sign of his easy smile now. “We are—”

  “Some friend, trying to hook up with my competition,” she said, trying not to let the bitterness seep into her voice. She was unsuccessful.

  He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as Roy appeared in the doorway, walkie-talkie crackling at his hip. Jasmine’s shoulders sagged as the argument came to an abrupt end. She didn’t want to know what he would’ve said next.

  “Jasmine?” Roy glared at Teddy, who shrunk back against the wall. She didn’t know how much the old man heard, but it made Jasmine feel a little better to know he was on her side. “You ready to go?”

  “I’m all set, Roy.”

  Five minutes ago, she was ready, mentally prepared and focused. Now, she was a mess of anger and frustration, her heart racing and her blood at a boil. She had to get herself under control. She pushed past Teddy, leaving him in the locker room and followed Roy down the hallway. Indy was already waiting at the door to her changing room, eyes wide, fists clenched against the straps of her racket bag, knuckles white.

  Though it felt like hours ago, her father’s advice from just minutes earlier popped into her head. Indy’s got power, but she’s sloppy. Be patient like always and you shouldn’t have any problems. If Indy was nervous then she’d be even more careless than usual. The more controlled and conservative Jasmine played, the more likely Indy would be to overplay and make an error.

  Jasmine inhaled through her nose, feeling the anger flow out of her body as her game plan took hold. Then she let the air spill out from her lungs and her nerves with it. She didn’t have time for nerves right now; she could worry about everything later, like after her victory party.

  The radio crackled again as Dom’s voice came through. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Alright, ladies, if y’all are ready, let’s get goin’.”

  The hum of the crowd swirled around them like a tornado building to a roar. The stands were full, coaches and players, sponsors and the media, all parties eager to catch a glimpse of the future of tennis. There were cameras surrounding the court from every angle. The match was being streamed live over OBX’s website.

  Her eyes flew over the stands, finding Harold Hodges sitting beside her father, notebook at the ready. The tournament would be a huge part of the Athlete Weekly feature. She found her dad and he gave her a thumbs up.

  Just a few rows away, Teddy was walking down an aisle toward his brother. His face was drawn and serious. Jack said something to him; Teddy shrugged, then threw himself into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

  Since she’d known him, Teddy was always on her side. He was always a voice in the crowd cheering her on, supporting her. Now their friendship was torn to pieces and she wasn’t sure if they could repair it or if she even wanted to. Was it worth it? Would she be able to stand watching him go back to his old ways, jumping from girl to girl or worse, committing to someone else?

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final of the Outer Banks Classic.” Dom’s voice, enhanced by the microphone he held in the center of the court, broke through her thoughts. “Today’s Girls’ Final features two athletes from right here at OBX, Indiana Gaffney and Jasmine Randazzo. Ladies, please approach the net for the coin toss.”

  Jasmine tore her eyes from the crowd and pushed all thoughts of Teddy Harrison out of her mind. She glanced over at Indy and if it was possible, the blonde looked even more nervous than she did in the tunnel. There was no way to predict how a player would respond to the pressure of an important match. Some players, like Penny, were immune to it. Others battled with nerves until they learned how to deal with them, and some players, no matter how talented, never overcame their fear of the big moment.

  It was time to prove to the world—and Dom—what kind of player she was and while she was at it, show Indiana Gaffney she was in way over her head.

  ***

  “Out!” the line judge called, arm shooting out wide.

  “Game, Miss Randazzo,” the chair umpire said.

  Across the court, Indy stood, hands on her hips, staring at the ground beneath her feet. Her shoulders rose and fell with every breath, coming hard and heavy as they neared the end of the first set in a best of three set match.

  Jasmine spent the days leading up to this match shortening her reaction time and prepping her return game in anticipation of facing Indy’s killer serve. So far, all that preparation was proving unnecessary. She was playing well, but her 5-1 lead in the first set was due more to Indy self-destructing than anything Jasmine was doing. Indy’s serve was all over the place and the rest of her game was just as inconsistent, spraying forehands and backhands with plenty of power, but no accuracy, and planting herself behind the baseline, leaving the front court wide open.

  Indy was playing right into her hands as Jasmine forced her to scramble all over the court. The weather was cooperating too. The sun was beating down on them and slowly, but surely, the velocity of Indy’s serve was dropping, giving Jasmine an even larger advantage.

  She checked the clock in the corner of the court. The match was only twenty minutes old. Jasmine was serving and after she won this game, she would take the first set.

  “Quiet, please,” the chair umpire said, admonishing the crowd, most of who had lost interest in the one-sided match and started conversations.

  Jasmine approached the baseline and waited for Indy to do the same. She had the mental edge in the match and she wasn’t about to relinquish it. Solid shots, nothing too crazy, allowing Indy to make the mistakes and the first set would belong to her.

  Finally, Indy stepped up to the baseline, bending at the waist, racket held out in front of her as she shifted her weight left to right.

  Jasmine tossed the ball into the air, then, instead of hammering through the back of the ball, she hit through the side. It was a subtle adjustment, no more than a millimeter or two, creating a slice spin on her serve and forcing Indy to lunge out wide.

  Indy got there just in time, blocking the ball back. Jasmine charged the net, taking a swing on the run and smacking the weak return into the opposite corner, giving Indy no chance to retrieve it.

  “15-Love,” the chair umpire said.

  The crowd applauded politely.

  Jasmine pulled a ball from the hidden pocket under her tennis skirt and compared it to the offering from the ball girl. She returned the fluffier of the two and looked to Indy, once again bent at the middle, physically ready to receive the serve, but mentally all over the place.

  This time Jasmine stuck to her flat serve. She didn’t have a ton of power, but what she lacked in velocity, she made up for in control. The serve drew Indy to the center of the court, allowing her to return it, but opening up the corners. Jasmine shifted her feet, angling her body as she hit a forehand.
Then as Indy’s momentum carried her across the court, she moved up again, taking the next shot off Indy’s racket and burying it deep into the opposite corner.

  “30-Love.”

  Jasmine couldn’t hold in her smile as Indy chucked her racket against the ground in frustration. Tennis, at the highest levels, was more a mental game than anything else. If a player couldn’t keep her head, she didn’t have a chance against one who could.

  She served again, a measured, solid serve right down the middle of the court. It was even slower than her last. Indy’s body buckled as she misjudged the velocity. She stepped into the forehand, a harsh grunt forcing its way out of her lungs as she sent the ball sailing long and deep across the court.

  Jasmine stepped out of the way, letting the ball fly by her.

  “Out,” the line judge shouted.

  “40-Love.”

  She had three set points, three chances to close out this set and be halfway to the championship.

  Across the court, Indy stood flat-footed, racket ready, but her shoulders slumped and back stiff. She looked beaten. Jasmine fired a serve as hard as she could down the middle of the court, but Indy didn’t even react. She just turned and moved back to her chair at the side of the court.

  Jasmine pumped her fist. Looking up into the crowd, she found her dad, applauding like a madman, a large, silly grin spread across his face. One more set. All she had to do was keep steady for one more set. Defense, patience and a cool head, that’s all it would take.

  “Game,” the chair umpire said. “Miss Randazzo leads, one set to love.”

  Chapter 10

  May 20th

  Pathetic, totally pathetic. Indy fell into her chair and took her towel from the ball girl. She buried her face into it, muffling a scream, before tossing it over her head, trying to create some shelter from the blistering sun; the heat and humidity were teaming up to torture her.

  She rubbed at her eyes, trying to clear her head, before sitting up and letting the towel fall around her shoulders. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a sports drink. She needed to replenish the electrolytes she lost in the last—she glanced at the match clock in the corner of the court—twenty-three minutes. Twenty-three pathetic minutes and she was already down a set. It was the nerves; she just couldn’t shake them.

  It began in the locker room. Teddy stopped by and wished her luck as she got her wrist taped. After he left, followed by the trainer, the pre-match jitters showed up, just butterflies in her stomach, anticipation, not anxiety.

  Then she heard the voices carrying down the tunnel from the locker room across the hall, Teddy and Jasmine’s voices. They were fighting about their friendship and a hookup and her. Everything made sense; Jasmine was in love with Teddy.

  Indy refused to blame herself. She wasn’t interested in Teddy and it wasn’t her problem that Jasmine liked him. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little guilty and that just jangled her nerves more. Then Roy was at the door and they were walking onto the court, louder than earlier in the week, the heavy bass of the music pounding out from the speakers, pulsing through her chest and the crowd buzzing with excitement. This match wasn’t just about beating Jasmine Randazzo or winning the Classic; it was about proving to herself that she belonged here. She caught sight of Caroline and Mr. Franklin from Solaris Beachwear in the stands. When Dom called her and Jasmine to the center of the court for the coin toss, her hands started to shake.

  They were still sitting together now, but Solaris Beachwear wouldn’t want anything to do with her after this performance. Maybe Caroline wouldn’t either and that would be the only positive thing about her performance so far.

  Nothing was working. Her serve was a mess and her rally strokes were out of control. Also, there was no denying it. Jasmine Randazzo was flat-out awesome. She could track down almost any shot, her quick feet eating up the court like a roadrunner. She also had the uncanny ability to force mistakes. Indy didn’t know how she did it. The point would be rolling along and then out of nowhere her ball would find the net or spin wide.

  Indy’s grip on her racket tightened, the urge to slam it into the ground rushing through her as she sat, leg bouncing, waiting for the second set to begin. She held in the frustration and closed her eyes.

  She had to stop being stupid. Dom wouldn’t have brought her to OBX if he didn’t think she could hack it. He wouldn’t have ranked her fourth if he didn’t think she could win. Her leg stopped shaking and the tightness in her neck and shoulders ebbed away.

  Forcing her eyes open, she stared at the scoreboard. The match was best of three. She still had time to fix this. She would serve to start the second set. Goal one, win that first game. The question was, how?

  She had to change it up. Like Coach D’Amato taught her on her first day with her Einsteins, doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result was insane. It was time to try something new.

  Maybe serve and volley. She’d been focusing on her footwork since she got to OBX, but despite that, she still wasn’t totally comfortable up at the net, where footwork was the most important thing. The idea did have one major advantage though. It would shock the hell out of her opponent. What was the worst that could happen? She was already losing, halfway to a crushing defeat. Anything was better than what she suffered through in the first set.

  “Time,” the chair umpire said through his microphone, calling an end to their break.

  Indy glanced over at Jasmine, who was digging through her bag, probably confident she’d already won the match, maybe thinking about the party her parents would throw to celebrate the victory.

  She leapt to her feet. This set would be better than the first and that started with better body language. Sometimes standing up tall and lifting your chin could help make a long, uphill battle seem just a little easier.

  Jasmine took her time, examining her racket as she walked to her side of the court. Indy was ready and waiting at the baseline.

  Finally, the other girl was ready to receive, twirling her racket in her hands, bent at the waist just a few steps into the backcourt.

  Indy slammed a serve and as it left her racket, she raced forward, careful not to get too close to the net. Jasmine blocked it back easily, but Indy was right there waiting. The ball touched the strings at the perfect angle and with a quick flick of her wrist she hit a short volley winner, while Jasmine stood stunned behind the baseline.

  “15-Love.”

  Indy turned to the ball girl, signaling for her towel. The heat was still crushing the court. Wiping her face and her arms, she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to see Jasmine’s face. She could imagine the expression, mouth agape, holding her racket down at her knees, one hand propped on her hip, wondering where the hell that came from.

  A murmur spread through the crowd. Indy had their attention. Now she had to get them on her side. Everyone loved an underdog and right now, the rich girl from Beverly Hills was an underdog. The universe was totally weird sometimes.

  She’d confused Jasmine with the last point. Tennis was a game of adjustments, but it was tough to adjust on the fly. If she piggybacked that serve and volley with another one, attack the same way, Jasmine probably wouldn’t be ready for it.

  Firing a bullet up the T again, Jasmine returned it the same way and again, Indy raced up the court to meet it, slicing another volley beyond Jasmine’s reach.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice echoing through the court, as the crowd was still quiet, respectful of the silence necessary to play the game.

  “30-Love.”

  Her eyes met Jasmine’s and she almost smiled at the hard expression on the other girl’s face.

  Now it was time to switch it up. Jasmine would think she knew what was coming. She’d be ready to attack Indy’s serve and volley, the same way she attacked her power game in the first set. Indy fired a serve and Jasmine returned it, but this time she stayed back at the baseline as Jasmine took a few hesitant steps in anticipating a volley. Instead, Indy
wound up and shot a forehand past her, skimming it off the white line for a clean winner.

  “40-Love.”

  The crowd cheered the point, not just indifferent, polite applause, but loud voices engaging in the match. They were rooting for her, acknowledging her making an effort after such an awful showing in the first set. Tennis fans were all alike, and what they wanted was very simple: more tennis. If Indy won this set, the match would go to a deciding third set and that’s what they wanted to see.

  “Quiet please,” the chair umpire said. The crowd noise faded to a soft hum, but the buzz was there, like electricity flowing through the air. As she ran her towel over her forehead, she let that energy wash over her, drawing it into her. She looked back over the net. Jasmine was ready, but the confusion was written across her face. She had her. Now all she had to do was execute.

  Confidence flowed through Indy’s veins. Her serve felt good for the first time in the match and she was ready to unleash it. She rocked forward and then back, her body coiling powerfully as her racket swung down and then up, whistling through the air and launching the ball as hard as she could. A split second later, the ball ricocheted off the wall behind Jasmine.

  “Come on!” Indy shouted, pumping her fist and then looking up into the crowd. They responded, the noise growing to a roar. Her adrenaline spiked, drawing energy off them, despite the heat and the mountain she still had to climb.

  “Game, Miss Gaffney.”

  ***

  # 1 Randazzo, Jasmine (USA) 6 5 6 (5)

  # 4 Gaffney, Indiana (USA) 1 7 6 (5)

  The second set was close, really close. As soon as Indy jumped to a lead, Jasmine came storming back, adjusting to the new style of play. The third set was even closer. They were locked at five points all in the third set tiebreaker. The match could bounce either way, both of them two points from a win. One way or another, it was almost over.

  The crowd rose to their feet, giving them a standing ovation, showing their appreciation for such a hard-fought match, regardless of who won or lost.