Nine

THAT WAS IT. It was over. I was trying to cram my swollen foot back into my shoe so I could get on the court and my coach was conceding the match for me. My coach. My lover. The one person in the world I trusted more than anyone else. She had asked me and knew I wanted to go to Nationals. But she threw it all out anyway. I guess I didn’t mean as much to her as I thought. How could she do this to me?

Bree was leading my makeshift cheering section in a cheer of appreciation or something. My dad was saying something to me about pulling it together. Sam was repeating that he needed me to represent SCU and show great sportsmanship. And Lissa kept trying to touch me. I flinched away from her and mopped my eyes on Dad’s shirt before I turned to face the crowd. I stepped out and winced as I put pressure on my ankle. Everyone cheered as I raised my hand and waved at them.

I’ve heard of bittersweet moments. I wanted to hear them cheer. It pounded in my heart. How can you be down when so many people are showing love? But they were cheering for my effort, not my victory. “The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat.” ABC’s Wide World of Sports. I could see that skier dude crashing off the jump every weekend.

I limped over to where Rob and his coach were talking to his own excited fans and held out my hand. He took it and smiled.

“You okay, man?” Rob asked. “After the first serve I thought I was a goner. I hope you know it was an accident.” I looked into his eyes and nodded my head. I could see that it had been an accident. We were both playing crazy aggressively and I ended up on the short end of the stick. It could just as easily have been him who got injured.

“Congratulations, Rob. Good luck at The Ektelon.”

“You keep playing like that and I’ll need all the good luck I can get.” Well, that was a compliment, but it didn’t make much sense. I figured he must be talking about next year. “Hey, if you get a chance, I’d love one of those sketches you do. They’re like the most popular keepsake here at the competition. You should be selling them.”

“I’ll try to knock one out during the final round tomorrow,” I said. What a turn-around in opinions from this morning when the other guys seemed ready to crucify me for drawing pictures of them. “Just don’t stop to pose on the court. It’ll wreak havoc with your game.” We bumped fists and I turned and headed toward the locker room. All I wanted now was a shower and bed where I could curl up in a ball and cry. I threw an arm around Dad as I walked for support. Damn! That ankle hurt a lot more than I thought now that the adrenalin was seeping out of my system.

Lissa put an arm around me from the other side. I had a jolt of fury at her. I couldn’t snub my coach in front of the stands. I had just enough sense left to keep good sportsmanship and my scholarship in mind, but I wouldn’t look at her and didn’t put my arm around her. She kept talking to me in a low voice, but I was turned toward my dad and wouldn’t listen. Sam had gathered up my equipment and met us at the locker room door.

Another player was standing next to the locker room door when we got there. Karl Higgendorfer, the guy I would have met in the finals.

“Hey, Ames. Tough luck tonight. I was really looking forward to playing you in the finals. Next time, eh?”

I shook his hand and wished him luck.

Dad let go of me because the locker rooms are limited to competitors and coaches only. I made to escape into the refuge and was surprised to find Lissa walking right in with me.

“You can’t come in here,” I said in surprise.

“I have an injured athlete. I can go anywhere I need to.”

“I don’t need you.” That was harsh. It grated on my own ears. My voice caught and I couldn’t get anything else out. I sure wasn’t prepared for what came next.

Lissa practically threw me against a locker, grabbed my head, and turned me toward her. I thought, This is really stupid. She’s going to try to kiss me after that? But kissing wasn’t on her mind.

“Tony! Look at me! Darling, listen!”

“How can you ‘darling’ me? You just conceded my chances after you asked what I wanted.”

“Exactly. I got you what you wanted.”

“What?”

“You said the most important thing was to get to National Singles. So, would you rather win this match or go to Nationals?”

“That doesn’t make sense, Lissa. Sam said he’d send me if I was top tier. I can’t afford to pay my own way.”

“That’s what I was talking to Sam and the Director about. I wanted a witness when Sam said that he considered ‘on the podium’ to be top tier. You won third. You are on the podium.”

“So, I got bronze. That isn’t the final bracket.”

“Tony! Wake up. Sam agreed you are qualified and he’ll pay your way. You’re going to the Nationals, Tony.”

No. I must have hit my head when I fell on the court. I was hearing things—making up a fantasy. Sam had been specific about what he thought top tier was—final bracket. But there was Lissa, in my face, telling me that I was going to National Singles. Lissa, who I trusted. Lissa, who loved me. I was such an ass. She did love me. She did what I asked. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to say it. I just looked at her with tears flowing down my cheeks. I was totally overwhelmed.