“Right, and you’re totally following in their footsteps. You played in Madrid last week.”
“The Spanish Federation asked me to play.”
“Wow.” Indy smiled. “That’s such an honor.”
“It was nice of them, but the competition wasn’t all that great.”
“I mean it must have been pretty good, you were out after one…” The words slipped from her tongue before Indy even fully thought them. The others gasped. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Wow, bitch,” Jasmine muttered, and stalked away, racket in hand. Silently, the others followed her, like little drones trailing their queen bee, most of them without enough guts to meet Indy’s eye—except the last two, a short blond and a tall redhead, who stared at her hard, then turned and pointedly walked away.
Indy pursed her lips. Her mouth always got her in trouble, but it wasn’t like she was wrong. Jasminehadlost in the first round.
“Allora andiamo!” Coach D’Amato called. “Line up for serves. Indy, you first.”
Indy caught the ball the coach threw in her direction.
“Power it up the T,” Coach D’Amato said, moving off to the side to observe.
Indy bounced the ball a few times until she felt comfortable, tossed it in the air, and put everything she had into firing the ball up the middle of the court. Her serve wasn’t quite at the level it had once been, but it felt really good to let it fly.
Indy stood tall as someone let out a whistle and another added a “whoa.” She turned, let her eyes linger on the line of girls behind her, and smirked.
Coach D’Amato cleared her throat, drawing Indy’s attention back around. “Again.”
She obliged, grunting with the effort of her serve. It had been clocked at speeds averaging around 115 miles per hour,sometimes more. It was the most dominant part of her game and what convinced her mother she could become a professional tennis player. When she started playing big junior tournaments a few years ago, she’d never been broken on serve. It’s what caught Dom’s eye at a regional championship when she was eighteen and the reason he’d invited her to train at OBX.
Hopefully that would be enough to get her apparently out-of-shape ass into the Classic.
Five more serves and the line behind her buzzed again, the worker bees getting agitated.
“Grazie, Indy. Jasmine, next.”
Jasmine sent her a snooty glare. Indy ignored her and moved to the back of the line. She watched as Jasmine hit solid, steady serves. Indy recognized the technique from Jasmine’s mom, Lisa Vega, two-time French Open Champion. Her serve was good, really good, and suddenly Indy couldn’t wait until she and Jasmine went head-to-head. Tennis royalty or not, to prove to everyone she was the best, Jasmine Randazzo was who she had to beat.
EASY, AGEVOLE, EASY,” COACH D’AMATO CALLED AS JASMINEjogged around the practice court with the rest of the group, cooling down from their practice session. “Va bene, va bene. That is all, eccellente.”
Leading the line, Jasmine slowed to a walk and then went for her racket bag resting against the fence. She’d had a decent practice and her muscles were tingling, a good hurt. It was the perfect way to start off Classic rankings day.
“Good practice,” Coach D’Amato said as everyone began to leave the court. “Indiana, uno momento, per favore.”
D’Amato pulled the new girl aside and seemed to be explaining something about her footwork, demonstrating a simple crossover step.
Jasmine smirked. Indiana had a massive serve to go along with her ridiculous name, but not much else. Her footwork was a mess. Her forehand was okay, but her backhand wasso weak, decent players would attack that instead. And of course she was starting at OBX just before the Classic. She wasn’t the first player to try that strategy. They would show up thinking Dom would be so floored by the talent oozing out of their pores he’d hand over the Classic trophy and all prestige that went along with it, though Indiana was the first to actually show up on ranking day. It didn’t make her any less delusional, but still, it was a gutsy move.
No, Indiana Gaffney wouldn’t be giving her any trouble. Jasmine let her eyes wander over the rest of the training group gathering up their things, almost all of whom looked ready to drop. In truth, none of them would give her a problem. Since Penny started full-time on tour, Jasmine was easily the best player at OBX. Years of hard work had brought her to this point, and now it was her time to shine. Time to live up to her parents’ legacy.
“Lookin’ good out there, Randazzo.” A voice carried from the other side of the fence, breaking into her thoughts. She would know that voice anywhere. Teddy Harrison. Her eyes flew open wide, looking around for an escape route, but the fence surrounding the courts only had one other exit, and it was four courts away. She briefly considered sprinting in that direction, but it was too late.
“What’s up?” she asked, forcing a smile onto her face before turning to look at him. He was outside the court, both hands up against the top of the fence rail.
“You ready?”
“For what?” she asked, stalling, looking around for someone, anyone to latch herself on to and give her a plausible excuse to leave, but everyone else was already off the court,headed for the locker rooms. The only one left was Indiana, and hell would freeze over before she asked her for anything.
“It’s Monday, Jas,” he said. “We have a hitting session.”
“Oh, right, I uh, I forgot.”
