“I’ll be up there soon.”
She was already picturing her name on a brass plate with a huge tournament name next to it.
Roy’s eyes twinkled at her. “You win a tournament, Indy, and that’s where it goes, up on the Title Wall.”
She repressed the urge to hug the old man. She barely knew him.
“Come on, now,” Roy continued. “Let’s get you out to the training courts. Workout’s started and Coach D’Amato hates tardiness. Especially on the Classic rankings day.”
“Lead the way,” she said, giddy at the thought of her standing in the center of OBX’s main court holding a trophy aloft as the crowd cheered her victory. Now she just had to go out there and prove she belonged in the Classic.
Indy’s breath came heavy and hard. The knot crept back up her throat, choking her as she scrambled to keep up with the dozen or so other athletes racing back and forth, sideline to service line, sideline to alley line, and then finally sideline to sideline. Assistant Coach Giulia D’Amato watched them like a hawk as their sneakers pounded from ad to deuce and back again.
“All the way through.” The smooth Italian accent echoed off the hard surface. “Do not stop, run through the line. Andiamo!” The tiny woman barked orders like a drill sergeant.
Their feet skidded to a halt near the fence that surrounded courts eleven through fifteen. According to Roy, these were the training courts for all the female athletes who hadn’t yet given up on the idea of playing on the pro circuit, either at the lower Challenger level or, like Penny Harrison had, making the jump straight to the top.
Indy knew it was an honor to train on these courts, but right now they were being used for torture.
“This is ridiculous,” she mumbled under her breath. As soon as she arrived, fifteen minutes later than Coach D’Amato had expected her, the entire group was instructed to complete fifteenEinsteins.
Nothing had ever winded Indy so fast, not even the drills her former coaches made her do. She thought she’d kept herself in decent shape over the last couple of years, running, lifting weights, swimming, but apparently it wasn’t enough.
“Eccellente,” D’Amato called. “Take some acqua and then rackets for serving drills.”
They jogged to the fence behind the far baseline to grab some water. It seemed no one walked anywhere at OBX. Everything was done at a run. Indy’s one consolation was that most of the others looked as out of breath as she felt.
That was her first goal, then: step up her conditioning so she could surpass everyone purely on an endurance level.
They drank greedily from their water bottles and waited in a cluster for Coach D’Amato to call them back to practice.
“Why does she call them Einsteins?” she asked the girl next to her. Shorter than Indy, she had a natural tan, and her long dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Strikingly pretty, she was one of the very few athletesnotpanting.
With a roll of her brown eyes, she said, “Einstein’s definition of insanity, not that Einstein ever actually said it. Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. She makes us do one for every minute anyone is late.”
“Sorry,” Indy muttered, and the other girl’s cool facade wavered a little.
“It happens. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“I’m Indiana Gaffney, by the way, but everyone calls me Indy.”
“Jasmine Randazzo. Welcome to OBX.”
It took Indy a moment to realize why she recognized that name, but then it clicked. Jasmine Randazzo was the daughter of John Randazzo and Lisa Vega, serious tennis royalty and founders of this facility.
Jasmine wasn’t quite as tall as she looked on TV and her frame was a lot slighter.
“Oh, you’re… That’s so cool.”
“What?” Jasmine frowned.
“That you’re…” Indy began, but then realized her mistake. “I’m sorry. You probably get that all the time, your parents being who they are.”
Parents who cared about their daughter’s career. Indy had that once, with her mom. Her dad couldn’t give less of a shit—he barely remembered she existed most of the time, only ever popping up into her life when it was convenient to have a daughter, usually to make himself seem more human to whoever he was doing business with that week.
Jasmine shrugged. “They’re my parents, no big deal.”
The group standing near them buzzed. Clearly Indy’d said the wrong thing.
