Tennis Ace Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2000 by Catherine M. Christopher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09438-2

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Matt Christopher

  The #1 Sports Series for KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER

  To Julia Catherine

  1

  Steve Greeley wiped his face with a towel. His throat was dry, and he wished he had a gallon of cold water or lemonade right now. He felt exhausted … and all he was doing was sitting in the bleachers, watching his sister Ginny play a tennis match. It was an awesomely steamy day.

  Ginny, who was fourteen, was playing a quarterfinal in the girls’ fourteen-and-under class of the State Junior Tennis Championship. She didn’t seem to mind the heat at all. Ginny had amazing stamina, and at the moment she was running her opponent, a tall, slender girl, back and forth across the baseline with perfectly placed forehands. Ginny looked cool and in control. Steve, twelve, was due to play his own match in a few minutes: a quarterfinal in the boys’ twelve-and-under class. He was hot and uncomfortable enough for both of them.

  Next to him, his father nudged him with an elbow. “I used to love playing on days like this,” Mr. Greeley said. “I’d make my opponents run around until they were ready to drop, just like Ginny’s doing to that poor kid now”

  Ted Greeley had been the star of his college tennis team when he was younger. In fact, as both his kids knew, he had been considered a good prospect for the pro tour. He believed that he might have gone on to have a great career and become a household name, but a knee injury had put an end to his dreams of stardom. He had made it clear he wanted to see his son accomplish what he hadn’t been able to do.

  Steve shrugged. “I won’t have to work that hard today. I’m playing Charlie Silver, and I beat him twice already this year.”

  Mr. Greeley frowned at his son. “Don’t take Charlie for granted. He’ll be psyched up today. He’ll go all out to win, and you’d better plan on doing the same thing.”

  Steve wiped his face again. “I’ll take care of Charlie, don’t worry. I have to pace myself, that’s all. The semis are tomorrow, and it could be just as hot.”

  Ginny smashed a cross-court forehand just out of her opponent’s reach, and the crowd applauded.

  “Game to Miss Greeley,” the umpire announced. “She leads the first set, five games to two.”

  Mr. Greeley clapped, too, but he was studying his son and looking anxious. “It’s important that you play your best today. I don’t want you to just get by. You should dominate this match.”

  Steve stared at his father. “Huh? How come today is so important? It’s not the finals.”

  “Well,” said his father, “there’s a special reason, but it’s a surprise. You’ll find out after your match. For now, you’ll have to trust me that you’ll really be happy about it. But you should give it all you’ve got, believe me. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Steve didn’t feel like arguing. He knew that he could beat Charlie. He wondered why his dad was being so mysterious. Maybe Dad was going to give him the CD player he’d been wanting, as a reward for doing well. He decided that there wasn’t any point in thinking about it now and turned his attention to the court below, where Ginny was about to serve for what could be the game that won the set.

  Ginny had been perfecting a topspin serve that jumped away from an opponent, and she used it now. Sure enough, the ball hit the corner of the service box, then darted away like a startled rabbit.

  The other player seemed to know that she was beaten. Clearly she was feeling the heat, even though Ginny might as well have been playing on a cool day in Alaska, for all the weather seemed to affect her.

  Steve sometimes wished that he had his sister’s steely determination and her ability to focus completely on tennis. On the other hand, he liked his life the way it was. Tennis was fun, but there was so much else to enjoy: good music, movies, hanging out with his friends …

  His father cut off his train of thought with a tap on his arm. “Let’s go. You have to get ready for your match.”

  “Now?” Steve pointed to the clock on the clubhouse wall. “I have lots of time. We can watch Ginny for a while yet.”

  “You need to warm up,” his dad insisted.

  “In this weather?” Steve started to laugh, but the laughter died in his throat when he saw his father’s expression.

  Mr. Greeley stood up. “I know you, Champ. You need a lot of time to get your head into the game. Don’t worry about Ginny; she’s got this match all sewn up and she doesn’t need us to sit here rooting for her. She’ll understand that you have your own worries to deal with. Let’s go.”

  Steve knew that there was no point in trying to change his dad’s mind once it was set. He sighed and followed his father as they edged their way to the aisle.

  On the court, Ginny looked up and caught her brother’s eye. She frowned. Steve shrugged and pointed to their father.

  Ginny smiled, letting Steve know she knew why they were leaving. Steve gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  As they headed toward the clubhouse, Steve heard the solid thwack of Ginny’s serve and applause from the crowd. The umpire said, “Thirty—love.”

  Her match would be over in seconds. They could easily have stayed to see her win. It didn’t seem fair to Steve. But that’s the way it was.

  You just didn’t argue with Ted Greeley when it came to tennis.

  2

  When Steve and his dad entered the club locker room, there were only a couple of men at one end. Charlie Silver, Steve noted, was nowhere in sight yet. Apparently, Charlie didn’t need that much time to “get his head into the game.” But Steve kept his thoughts to himself. He wondered again what his dad’s surprise might be and went to get a drink of water from the fountain at the end of the room.

  “Don’t drink too much,” cautioned Mr. Greeley. “You don’t want to get bloated.”

  Steve, who had known that without being told, straightened up and smiled at his father. “I sure don’t,” he said.

  Mr. Greeley sat on a bench and stared hard at Steve. “You remember your other matches against Charlie?” he asked. “What were his weaknesses?”

  Steve, who had been through this kind of grilling before, was careful not to show his impatience. And who knew, maybe it was helpful.

  “He rushes the net too much, so I can win a lot of points with passing shots. If he gets behind quickly, he can get discouraged and lose his concentration. When his first serve is a fault, his second serve can be real weak. And he wears dorky clothes.”

  His dad had been smiling, but he looked annoyed at Steve’s last statement. “How about trying to be serious? All right?”

  “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

  His dad nodded. “Okay. What are his strengths?”

  “Strong first serve, killer backhand, real tough at the net. If I don’t
hit a passing shot while he’s coming in, I have to try to back him off with high lobs or he’ll kill me.”

  Mr. Greeley smiled again. “Good.” He looked around. “Where is Charlie, anyway?”

  Steve shrugged and picked up a racket. Charlie, he thought with a touch of envy, knew better than to show up any earlier than necessary on a day like this. They weren’t due on the court for half an hour, and it wasn’t going to help his game at all to sit around like this, whatever his dad thought.

  Mr. Greeley moved over next to his son and sighed. “I envy you, Steve. You know why?”

  Steve knew exactly what was coming, but also knew better than to say so.

  “I envy you because you’ve got a chance. A real chance. The thing that really gets me,” his dad went on, as he had done a hundred times before, “is that I’ll never know. Maybe I would have been a major star, and maybe not.

  “But I would rather have been a complete flop as a pro than never to have had my shot.” His father shook his head sadly. “At least that way, I’d be sure that I just didn’t have what it takes. It would have been tough at first, but I would have gotten over it, and I would know that I had given it my best and failed.”

  He laid a hand on Steve’s leg. “I don’t want you to feel that way when you’re my age — wondering what might have been, ’if only.’ What worries me about you, Champ, is that you’ll blow your opportunity and then wake up when it’s too late and start kicking yourself.”

  “I know, Dad,” Steve replied. He couldn’t look his father in the eye. His unspoken thought was, It won’t happen to me, because making it as a pro doesn’t matter to me the way it did to you, or the way it does to Ginny. But I can’t tell you that. I wish I could, but I just can’t.

  “How about giving me a hint about your big surprise?” he asked his father. “Is it something that plays CDs?”

  Mr. Greeley smiled and shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t say anything yet. All I can tell you is, you want to look good out there today.”

  “Hey, Steve, how’re you doing?” Charlie Silver, with a smile on his face, walked down to where the Greeleys sat. “Sure is hot out there. Hi, Mr. Greeley.”

  Mr. Greeley nodded but didn’t smile back. Steve saw that his father had his “game face” on, as if he were the one who was going out to face Charlie in a little while.

  Steve managed to keep a straight face at the sight of Charlie’s ugly shirt with big diamond-shaped patches of purple and green. No one who dressed like that could ever be a champion, he decided. Who picks those shirts? Maybe he’s color-blind.

  “I’m doing great,” Steve said, standing up. “Tell you what, I’ll make sure we’re not out in the hot sun too long, all right?”

  Charlie laughed. “You mean you’ll let me whip you real fast today? Is that what he means, Mr. Greeley?”

  Steve’s father scowled. He didn’t like to joke about tennis matches.

  But Steve grinned. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  A minute later, a man stuck his head into the locker room. “Steve Greeley, Charlie Silver? You guys ready?”

  “Right here,” said Steve.

  “All set,” Charlie called out.

  “Good, we’ll be ready for you in five minutes,” the man replied. “I’ll come and get you. Stay in here and keep cool as long as you can. It’s brutal out there.”

  Steve snorted. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  Nobody said anything for the next few minutes. For all that he’d been joking around, Steve thought Charlie looked nervous. He himself was mostly thinking about how hot and uncomfortable he’d been just sitting and watching his sister. Now he’d have to hustle … well, a little, anyway.

  The tournament official returned to the locker room. “Okay, guys, let’s go. Your turn in the steam room.”

  3

  The stands were more than half full when the two players came out on the court, and there was some cheerful applause. Steve blinked in the bright sunshine and looked around. His father yelled something about hanging tough and headed for a seat. Steve heard a few voices call out his name as he put down his spare rackets, a windbreaker (totally unnecessary), and several towels (very necessary). He did a few stretches to limber up.

  As hot as it had been in the stands, it was even hotter on the court, he decided. Either the temperature had gone up or the all-weather surface of the court was acting as a giant sun reflector. Whatever the reason, he would have to make sure he drank plenty of liquids today, to make up for all the sweating he’d be doing.

  The umpire spun a racket and Steve called, “Up.” The racket came down with the logo on the end of it facing up, which meant that Steve would serve first.

  He and Charlie began warming up, hitting balls back and forth, using both forehand and backhand, not working too hard at it. Steve felt loose and ready to go in a couple of minutes. He called to Charlie, “You ready?”

  Charlie nodded. Both boys turned and signaled the umpire, who was now sitting in his chair at one side of the net, that they were all set to go.

  The umpire turned on his microphone. “This is a quarterfinal match in the boys’ twelve-and-under class. The players are Charlie Silver, on my right, and Steve Greeley, on my left. Steve will serve first. The players may begin.”

  Steve decided to start off by testing Charlie’s backhand. He bounced the fuzzy green ball a few times, paused, then tossed the ball high. His racket flashed as it swung around and connected. It was a hard serve into the far corner of the service box, right where he’d wanted it to go.

  Bet you don’t get a good piece of that, Steve thought as he charged the net.

  Sure enough, Charlie’s return was soft and right in the middle of the court. Steve drove a hard overhead smash into the opposite corner. Charlie didn’t even try to reach it.

  “Fifteen—love,” said the umpire.

  Maybe this will be over fast, Steve thought as he ambled to the other side of the court to serve again. He aimed for the centerline to work on Charlie’s backhand again.

  This time, however, Charlie was expecting it and hit a nice return that Steve had to hustle to reach. Steve’s return hit the top of the net and dropped over, but Charlie had been coming in and hit a high lob toward the baseline. Steve circled around to use his forehand and drove it straight down the line. Charlie lunged but just got the edge of his racket on the ball. The ball bounced harmlessly off the court.

  “Thirty—love,” said the umpire. Steve’s face was flushed and damp with sweat as he prepared to serve again. He spotted his father sitting in the stands, with Ginny next to him. Mr. Greeley pumped his fist in the air in a gesture of encouragement and turned to say something to a man on his other side. Steve didn’t recognize the guy, who looked to be somewhat older than his dad, with a deep tan, wearing metallic sunglasses. The stranger nodded at whatever his father had said but looked serious and hard to read behind the shades.

  Charlie won that point, but Steve hit a service ace — a serve his opponent couldn’t even hit —then walloped a shot that just nicked the baseline to take the first game. The two boys switched sides, as per the rules of play. Switching sides after every odd-numbered game meant neither player was forced to play the entire match at a disadvantage —with the sun in his eyes or on a cracked or uneven surface, for example.

  Charlie’s first serve sailed long, well out of bounds.

  “Fault!” called a linesperson.

  Remembering that Charlie’s second service was often weak, Steve crept in a few feet, inside the baseline. Sure enough, the serve was soft. Steve hit a wicked cross-court forehand that Charlie couldn’t get to.

  Love—fifteen.

  Then Charlie found his stroke and hit a sizzling service ace that caught Steve by surprise. Charlie methodically began to run Steve back and forth on the baseline, the way Ginny had done with her opponent earlier. Steve lost the game and found that he was beginning to huff and puff a bit.

  Both boys held t
heir service for the next four games. Steve decided that he had to pace himself and not run out of energy. At three games apiece, Steve faulted on his first serve, hitting it wide, and then hit one into the net.

  “Double fault,” the umpire announced. “Love—fifteen.”

  Steve was angry with himself. His game plan had been to get ahead of Charlie early so that the other boy would lose confidence, then coast to a win. But Charlie wasn’t folding; in fact, he was making Steve work for most of his points.

  Wiping his face, Steve glanced into the stands. His father was glaring at him. The stranger next to him wore a bland expression. Only Ginny gave a smile of encouragement.

  He took a deep breath and tried to focus on what he had to do. From the left side of the baseline, he served down the centerline, hoping to get a weak backhand return. But Charlie saw it coming, shifted around, and hit a dynamite forehand that kicked up chalk in the corner.

  Love—thirty.

  Steve hit his next serve just beyond the other baseline for a fault, and followed it with a tentative, weak second serve. Charlie pounced on it and hit a winner down the line.

  Love—forty. Charlie needed only one more point to take the game.

  Steve bent over and rested his hands on his knees. Was it possible that he could lose this match? In this heat, did he really care? Did tennis matter to him all that much?

  4

  Steve tried to hit an ace on the following serve, but it was long again. Then he doubled-faulted. Charlie had broken his serve and led, four games to three.

  Steve knew he had to break Charlie’s serve — to win the game even though Charlie was serving —but he didn’t know if he had the energy or the will. The two boys walked to the chairs to sit for a moment before changing ends. As Steve slumped. in his chair, wiping his face with a towel, he heard Ginny’s voice behind him.

  “Hey, suck it up, bro. You can beat this guy, and you know it.”

  Slowly Steve lifted his head and stared at his sister. He didn’t say anything, but he knew he must have looked beat.