Tennis Ace (2 page)

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 their 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?

S
teve 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.

Ginny stood in front of the stands and leaned forward. “Just remember, he’s hot and miserable, too. Look at him.”

Steve glanced at Charlie, who sat with his shoulders hunched forward and a towel over his head. His ugly shirt was dripping.
When he removed the towel, Charlie’s face was flushed and shiny with sweat, and his hair was plastered down. Ginny was right:
Charlie looked just like he felt.

He looked up into the stands, where his father was talking to the man in the next seat, pointing in Steve’s direction. The
man nodded but said nothing, and his expression never changed.

I have to win this, Steve thought. I can’t disappoint Dad. He stood up and walked to the baseline, twirling his racket, trying
to psych himself up. I can beat Charlie, he told himself. He must feel about as bad as I do. I just have to get the momentum
back.

He set himself for Charlie’s serve, bouncing lightly on his toes. Charlie smashed the ball, which hit the top of the net …

“Let!” called an official.

… and bounced back on Charlie’s side.

“Fault!” called the umpire.

Steve moved in a few steps, knowing Charlie tended to be cautious with his second serve. He was right. He returned the serve
with a hard cross-court shot, racing toward the net as he did so. Charlie’s return was weak and Steve hit a volley that Charlie
just missed returning.

It was love—fifteen.

Charlie followed his next serve to the net, but Steve hit a high lob that forced him to retreat to the baseline. Both players
remained on the baseline, smashing groundstrokes and waiting for the other to make a mistake. Charlie won the point when Steve
mis-hit a shot that went wide.

Then Charlie double-faulted, making the score fifteen—thirty. It looked to Steve as if Charlie was tiring fast.

On the next point Steve tested him. He moved him from side to side with well-placed strokes, then rushed the net for a beautiful
overhead smash to Charlie’s backhand. Charlie couldn’t return it and Steve led, fifteen—forty.

When Charlie charged the net on his next serve, Steve hit a perfect shot down the line that Charlie’s desperate lunge didn’t
reach. Game to Greeley. He
had broken Charlie and the set was tied, four games apiece.

Over the applause of the crowd, Steve heard his father’s shrill, approving whistle. He grinned up at him, and Ginny gave him
a big smile.

Steve took the next game without Charlie getting a point and pulled ahead in the match, five—four.

If I win the next one, the set is mine, Steve thought as he waited for Charlie’s first serve. Then I just have to win six
more games and I can call it a day.

Charlie bounced the ball a few times, then socked a solid serve down the line. He tried to come to the net, but Steve forced
him back with a lob and kept him there by smashing his next two returns to the baseline.

When Charlie stumbled after the second return, Steve hit a soft drop shot that barely cleared the net. Charlie rushed forward
but couldn’t reach the ball. The score was love—fifteen.

Charlie took a lot of time before his next serve, trying to get his breath and his energy back. But his first serve went into
the net for a fault, and Steve put the easy second serve away with a cross-court
backhand into the corner. Steve thought Charlie looked beat, mentally and physically.

But he was wrong. Charlie surprised Steve with a sliced serve that spun away from him into the corner for an ace. He wasn’t
finished yet, obviously.

The score was fifteen—thirty. Steve wanted to finish the set quickly, ideally by breaking Charlie again, right now.

Charlie hit a serve straight at Steve, apparently hoping that Steve wouldn’t react fast enough to return effectively. Steve
jumped to his left and hit a forehand that nicked the top of the net. Charlie was caught leaning in the wrong direction and
couldn’t get to it.

Fifteen—forty. Steve now had three chances to take the set point, the point that would win him the first set. Then Charlie
hit a topspin serve that took an extralong bounce. Steve mis-hit it, bringing the score to thirty—forty. But Steve still had
one more chance to score the winning point.

This time, when Charlie tried the same kind of serve, it landed outside the service box for a fault. On the second serve,
Charlie played it cautious.

Steve smashed a return that forced Charlie back
behind the baseline. Charlie returned it right where Steve had hoped he would. It was in a perfect position for him to put
it away in the opposite corner, far out of Charlie’s reach.

“Game and set, Greeley,” the umpire called. “He leads one set to none.”

The players could now go to the air-conditioned locker room, towel off, put on dry shirts, and take a short rest. Sitting
down and taking deep breaths, Steve decided that he was in control now. Charlie had seemed to fold under pressure in their
past matches, and he would again. Steve wouldn’t have to work as hard in the next set. He hoped.

H
ey, Champ!” Steve looked up to find his father peeking in at him around the locker room door. Mt Greeley came over and punched
his son lightly on the arm. “You had me worried there for a minute,” he said quietly. He squatted down facing Steve and kept
his voice to a whisper so Charlie wouldn’t overhear him.

“Now let’s see you kick it into overdrive for the second set. You have him on the ropes. Don’t let him get back into the match.
I know you can do it.” He stood up and looked down at his son. “Right?”

Steve smiled and nodded. Kick it into overdrive, he thought. It’s easy for
you
to say, you’re not out there broiling on the court.

“I’ll do my best,” he assured his father, who smiled and left the room.

An official came in to get the boys. “Okay, guys,” he said, “time to go. You two feel all right? No problems with the heat?”

Steve and Charlie exchanged a glance and a tired smile.

“
What
heat?” asked Charlie.

“Never felt better,” said Steve.

The official chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

Back on the court, Steve could swear that it had gotten even hotter. The people in the bleachers were waving their programs
like fans. They were too hot to applaud the players as they reached the court, except for Ginny and Mr. Greeley, who clapped
and whistled. Only the mysterious stranger beside his father looked cool and calm behind his mirrored shades.

Since Charlie had served the previous game, Steve served to open the second set. Wanting to conserve his energy, he stayed
behind the baseline instead of charging the net. Charlie was content to stay back, too. The game went on and on as the boys
stroked the ball back and forth. Finally, Steve won the game when Charlie’s attempted passing shot went wide.

Charlie won the second game, although Steve thought he might have been able to, if he had been willing to chase every ball
and fight hard for every point — which he wasn’t.

Charlie must have gotten a second wind, fueled by winning that game, because he suddenly began to play more energetically,
coming to the net to volley and racing after Steve’s attempts at passing shots. He broke Steve’s serve to go ahead two games
to one.

Sitting and toweling off before switching to the other end of the court, Steve concentrated on psyching himself up and finding
the energy he needed to come back and win the match. He didn’t look forward to facing his father if he lost. That, more than
the possibility of losing, was what he wanted to avoid. Even having to go three sets to win would upset his dad. Got to win
this set somehow, he told himself.
Got
to.

Charlie seemed to be feeling the heat again and started missing first serves. Steve took two quick points by coming in on
the soft second serves and slamming passing shots out of Charlie’s reach. A double fault by Charlie made it love—forty.

Charlie finally got a first serve into the box and charged the net. Steve forced him back with a lob and raced after Charlie’s
overhand smash, making the return with a desperate dive. Charlie netted his forehand return, and Steve had broken back to
tie the set at two games apiece.

That shot was the turning point. Steve held his own serve, bringing the score to three games to two. Then Charlie lost his
cool, even losing a point on a foot fault. Steve took that game to go up by four games to two. Three games later, he’d won
the set six—three to take the match.

He took a deep breath and went to the net to shake hands with his opponent, and the two boys walked off, hot and tired. The
remaining crowd seemed to be more interested in finding some shade than in applauding, except for Ginny.

Mr. Greeley came down to meet Steve as he was toweling himself off. Steve looked up, hoping to get congratulations on the
win, but his father just frowned.

“You have to work on that killer instinct, son. You almost let him off the hook there. I don’t think you showed a lot of ‘want-to’
today. Also, you should
have anticipated some of his moves, especially in the second set. I have some notes for you, some stuff we have to work on,
but we can save that for tonight, after dinner. Right now, there’s someone I want you to meet. Come on.”