Five

SCHOOL WAS SCHOOL. I was finding it more tolerable now, partly because I was playing racquetball almost every day, and partly because Melody had moved into my dorm room. Twice, we’d managed to get Lissa to come and stay with us, and we were at her house all weekend.

We were seeing more of Kate now, too. She was joining our little group for lunch most days and was proving to be more sociable than I ever imagined. She was still pretty shy, but every once in a while, she’d catch one of us off guard with a zinger that showed she had a great sense of humor.

I stretched canvases, helped unload a huge block of marble for the sculpture studio, dabbled in different media, painted the new picture of Lissa at the bath, and went to class. On Monday, when I handed in my Art History paper two days early, Brian actually looked at me as if I had grown an extra head. I explained that I’d be missing class Wednesday to go to the tournament and he wished me luck.

Dr. Henredon had already given me a release from class for the week and Prof. McIntyre told me my final project was complete and graded as far as she was concerned and that attendance at the remaining classes for the year was optional. Not that I was going to take full advantage of that. Figure painting was my favorite class. I stopped to see Ms. Brock before class that afternoon and she said she had received word that I would be unavailable for the week and as far as she was concerned, I didn’t need to be there this afternoon. Suddenly, I had nothing to think about but the tournament, so I headed for the gym.

I was surprised to find Lissa already on the court when I got there. She was returning serves from John and battering each of them past him no matter where he served. He has a strong forehand, but he’s nowhere near her level and she had no difficulty returning everything he served. Still, something looked odd. I stood there and studied the action through the glass wall. It finally hit me and as soon as John missed the next return I pounded on the glass. They turned to look and Lissa motioned me in. I slipped my shoes off and opened the door.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

“You’re here early,” Lissa answered.

“Yeah. I was just watching. Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”

“Shoot,” Lissa said.

“Lissa, you can return anything John serves. No offense, John; it’s the way she is. But you’ve got a gap in your stance, Lissa. We’ve talked about this before. You can’t let yourself get sloppy just because John isn’t as good as you. You’re supposed to be preparing for Opens. You’re leaning into your backhand to your left before he ever serves. You know you can switch back to the right to catch anything he serves. But a power-serve low at the stretch of your forehand would leave you watching the ball go by. You’ve got to square yourself up while you’re waiting for the serve. We talked about that once before.”

“Wow,” John said.

“No kidding, wow,” Lissa responded. “It was a strange day when we had that practice, but I see what you’re saying. Let’s run a few more serves. Tony, make sure I’m on target. If I’m developing a bad habit, I need to correct it now. And thanks.”

She smiled at me and gave me a little kissy face as I backed out of the court. I watched a few more rallies and then Lissa turned to look at me and raised an eyebrow. I went back in.

“Better?” she asked.

“Definitely better, but you’ve got to get up on your toes more when he brings his racquet back to serve,” I explained. “You’re delaying because you know he doesn’t have the power. Stop thinking of him as John your trainer and start thinking of him as Yuri Gedov. You can’t let him slip one by on you.”

She absolutely beamed at me and turned back to the game as I went back outside to watch. About every five to ten rallies, I’d pop back in and tell them what I saw. I gave a couple pointers to John on how he was serving, too. By the end of an hour, they’d both broken a sweat and were working hard. They came off the court talking about how it had gone.

“That was so helpful, Tony!” Lissa said. “There’s no way I could see that on the court.”

“Thanks for the pointers on my serve, too,” John said.

“Is there anything else, coach?” Lissa asked. I looked at her blankly.

“Umm ... You’re my coach,” I stated the obvious.

“It’s a fair trade,” she said. “Go get ready and I’ll get you a partner to warm up with.”

John raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. They were discussing who they could get to warm me up as I entered the locker room to change.

For me, practice was light. Tomorrow, Lissa and I would fly down to Tempe and sign in. Competition started Wednesday at 9:00 a.m. I knew some of the competitors would be coming from farther away than me, so I hoped everyone was planning to get there on Tuesday. There was a welcome banquet that night and I wanted to get a first look at the competition. I worked on form and Lissa kept pacing back and forth on the court behind me as I returned serves from Rod and tried to get my serves past the big guy. It was a good practice.

A small crowd was outside the court when we quit. I knew Melody and the girls would be there—they’d said they wanted to cheer me on to Tempe—but Sam Jacobson and Dean Peterson were there, too. So were a bunch of other kids from school and a few that I didn’t recognize. They called Lissa and me over to face the gathering.

“We’re happy to have Tony Ames representing the combined student bodies of Pacific College of the Arts and Design and Seattle Cascades University at the USAR National Intercollegiate Championships in Tempe this week,” Dean Peterson addressed the crowd. “We want to make some introductions so you’ll all know who you’re cheering for. I’m Nathan Peterson, Dean of Students at PCAD. On my right is Sam Jacobson, Athletic Director at SCU. On my left is Coach Lissa Grant, the reigning Women’s US Open Racquetball Champion. And finally, this is Tony Ames, representing our schools on the court.” There was a quick shuffle and Melody led Amy, Sandra, and Kate out in front of us. They were dressed in black leggings and sweaters and did a little jump then yelled.

“T-O-N-Y. Goooooo Tony!” They were waving black pompoms. I cracked up.

“And that is the self-appointed PCAD cheerleading squad,” Dean laughed. “Is there anyone at SCU who can give them some pointers?”

Everyone was laughing and applauded the effort.

“Tony, we want you to know that we’re behind you on this and wish you well in the tournament. But win or lose, we know you will represent our schools with good sportsmanship and your best efforts. Now I think Coach Jacobson has something for you.”

Sam Jacobson motioned me over to stand beside him.

“We’ve never had a racquetball club at SCU. I have a feeling, though, that you may have some others on the court with you next fall. This is an unusual way to launch a new sport at the university, but we want you to know that SCU is also behind you. I’d like to introduce Tim Kost, a senior, captain of SCU’s basketball team, and president of the student athletic association. Tim.”