The Underdogs (23 page)

 

After

Evie was looking fit and healthy now, and she was tanned, with glints of sun-infused highlights in her silky hair, and her bangs had grown just long enough that she was forced to clip them back with a barrette so her eyes were finally exposed. Celia had told her she looked a little like Taylor Swift, with those delicate features and great skin, and I had to agree. All in all, Evie, along with the rest of us, had managed to get on with things since Annabel's death. That's not to say we weren't grieving and uneasy about a killer being at large, but we were making do.

Still, Evie could
not
catch a break. Tad Chadwick was tormenting her again in front of everyone in the lobby when she made the mistake of stopping by the TV to see “Summer Cool” sung live on
The Brenda Lampley Show
. Tad, munching on ham on white, was asking her what she had on tap for the afternoon:
Sitting, or more sitting? When will you find time to feed your face? Ha-ha-ha.
In front of the counselors he wouldn't call her his usual list of names, but he could still pick on her. I really wanted to teach him a lesson, but Will saved me the trouble.

“That's enough,” Will commanded. “You're here to play tennis.” He took a large bite of his turkey sandwich, and an uncooperative piece of lettuce tumbled down his chin.

“But she's always hanging around here and she doesn't
do anything
,” Tad sniped, defying Will with the confidence of a kid whose life was already laid out for him on a red carpet. A classmate of Evie's eating lunch with Serene guffawed; Serene shot the classmate a warning look.

Will finished chewing his last bite with great gusto. “Mr. Chadwick,” he said. “I'll tell you what. Let's wipe that smirk off your face. Since we can't seem to shut you up, I'm going to make a deal with you.”

Now Tad was a bit shaky; having Will's complete attention was intimidating, whether he shone down his approval or shot through you with his laser of disdain. The lobby had fallen silent. Tad was turning red and focusing on his lunch.

Will stood up. “You,” he said, jabbing his index finger toward Tad and then toward Court 1, “are going to go one set against Evie Clement.”

I think I saw Evie dry heave.

Tad just looked utterly confused. “One set of what?”

“Of
tennis
, you blithering buffoon,” Will snapped. “I'm offering you a chance to play a set against her. But if you lose, you will not only apologize to her, you will be her best friend for what's left of the summer. If she wants you to fetch her some juice, you'll say ‘Grape or cranberry?' If she tells you to go away, you get outta her face.”

Tad's smirk had crept back. “You've got to be kidding.”

Will crossed his arms, and he and his bulging biceps got in Tad's space. He jerked his chin toward Court 1. “Do I look like I'm kidding?” He did not.

Tad let out one sharp little cackle:
Ha
. But no one else joined in and he quieted abruptly. They were fascinated by what the heck Will had to do with Evie, and why he was sending this poor lamb out to slaughter. It was bizarre to the point where Celia stood up and quietly made her way to Will's side. She whispered something in his ear and Will patted her on the arm. I saw him mouth something like,
It's okay, it's fine. Trust me.
Celia paused and glanced over at Evie, who was standing frozen. Celia still wasn't convinced, and stayed put next to Will. Serene, on the other hand, had a strangely calm look on her face. Like maybe she wasn't so shocked by this turn of events.

Tad was getting more nervous. “How much do I have to win by? I have to, like, beat her 6–0, or what?”

“You have to
win
, Tad,” Will said as if he were talking to a simpleton. “Like with any opponent. That's the rule in tennis.”

Tad's little adolescent brain was running at full speed, trying to figure out what the catch was. “What do I get if I win?”

“All the praise and glory you deserve.”

Tad managed an even snottier expression than he normally mustered. “No problem.”

*   *   *

Word spread quickly, and before Evie even had her racket in hand, the lobby had filled up. Everyone knew Tad because he was here all summer, every summer, and most people couldn't stand the little brat.

Speaking of Evie, she'd found her way behind the front desk and was crouched down, her eyes scared like a trapped mouse. I personally thought Will might have gone a bit overboard. Evie's first match ever—against her biggest nemesis? On
Court 1
? I felt a wisp of doom, but then blew it away. She was my friend. I had faith in her.

Will found us behind the desk. “Let's go,” he said to her.

Evie slowly rose, her pink Volcano X in hand, and followed him to the door to Court 1. I felt someone behind us, and the person leaned past me and grabbed Evie by the shoulder. We both turned and saw Goran standing there in all his tennis god–like splendor. He broke into a grin and squeezed Evie's shoulder.

“Go get him,” Goran said. “You've got ten times the talent of that little dork. Remember that—and keep your eye on the ball.” And he was off.

“You've got this, kid,” Will said to Evie. “Remember what we've been practicing. Keep that grip firm and snap your wrist on your serve—and
keep your feet moving
. His backhand is his weak spot, so
don't
hit to his forehand. Don't let him rattle you. Don't double fault. And remember—don't aim for the lines. Got it?”

Evie was in shock. Will added quickly, “Oh, um—you know how to score, right? You know the rules?” She nodded. You watch the elites long enough, you figure it out.

I don't know how she found the strength to accept this challenge. But then again, maybe her path to courage started with Will Temple; he'd shown her the way, removed the brambles, and laid the bridges. I hoped Evie remembered while she was quaking in her sneakers that Tad was no elite, and never would be. He played tennis because his rich parents wanted him kept busy. Tad wasn't a
tennis player
. Of course, Evie's measly one month of training with Will would now be pitted against tens of thousands of dollars' worth of coaching. I stayed behind until Evie and I were alone. Her eyes met mine, and I tried to channel my faith and confidence to her. She leaned down and hugged me tight.

Then she rose up, and I watched her walk out into the hallway toward Court 1, head held high, until she disappeared behind the curtain.

 

After

Tad walked to the net, put the tip of his racket on the court, spun it, and let it fall. Evie won the spin and opted for him to serve. Tad walked back to the baseline and I saw it in his eyes for a brief second: he almost felt sorry for Evie. He bounced the ball a few times and let loose a pretty good first serve down the middle, which Evie managed to slam into the net. Tad was already waiting to serve again.

This time he hit his first serve long, and Evie called it out. His second serve was pretty lame, and Evie ran around her backhand and whacked a forehand to Tad's backhand. Her shot sprayed a foot wide of the sideline, and Tad didn't even move for it. He stepped quickly to the baseline to serve, which was what tennis coaches called rushing. In 99 percent of cases in amateur tennis, rushing is due to poor mental conditioning.

I closed my eyes and prayed, but Evie lost the first game 40–love without a single rally. They switched sides, and Tad gave a semi-grin to his friends through the window that said something like,
It'll be over soon, but I can't gloat because it's too pathetic.
Meanwhile, there was murmuring in the lobby about how Evie could even hit the ball, let alone serve. She moved to the baseline, evening out her racket strings with her fingernails like the pros did.

Tad took his place near the service line. Evie took time to stare at her racket as if it held the answer to unlocking the win.
Good one, Evie,
I thought. Tad didn't like her setting the pace; he was already jumpy as he waited for her serve. She was controlling things now. She finally served, and snapped her wrist as Will had commanded—so much so that the ball hit the court on her side before it even got to the net.

Even so, Patrick, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and mouth agape, said, “Look at her
move
.” He glanced up at Will. “She looks like a tennis player. Who knew?”

So far, Will had been unperturbed by the
oof
noises the crowd was making every time Evie made a humiliating error. He stood twelve inches from the glass, watching without emotion. I was standing next to him with my face pressed against the glass, feeding her my energy. I knew Will's philosophy: it usually took a few games for players to warm up and lose the jitters. He wasn't going to worry. Yet.

Evie's second serve was a cream puff. Tad stepped in and whaled on it—so hard, in fact, that it would've flown halfway to Cleveland if the back curtain hadn't stopped it. Evie looked shocked, then happy. She glanced up at Will, who gave her a curt, almost imperceptible nod. She stepped to the other side of the service line and nailed a first serve deep in the box. Tad took a swing with his backhand, nailing it crosscourt to hers; Evie didn't get it back. A few more points later, Evie was down 3–0 and they were changing sides again.

Serene said quietly to Celia, “Holy cow. Look how much weight she's lost. I didn't even notice before now.”

I was watching her nail a serve down the line that Tad couldn't touch. The first ace of her life, and Evie looked as startled as anyone. I caught Will making a subtle fist. Then we had some rallies, with Evie scrambling to return Tad's shots, scooping under the ball and whipping it up with killer topspin. Goran threw a glance to Will.

Then stuff really started to happen. The next three points got everyone riled up. There was a cracking crosscourt forehand, three first serves in, a crafty defensive lob hit off an approach shot. They were great points
.
Unfortunately, Evie lost every one of them.

It was suddenly 4–0. Evie had little chance of beating Tad now, not when she'd never played a set in her life, but she was fighting. Tad, all knobby knees and bored arrogance, wiped his entirely dry brow with his wristband before letting loose on his first serve. It went in, hard, straight to Evie's forehand. She danced over to the ball, brought her racket back, and hit a shot down the line to his backhand. Tad glared at the spot as if wanting to call it out, but everyone knew it was well on the line and Evie ignored him and waited for his next serve. He shook his head and continued glaring.

Tad's pal Marcus said, “What's his problem? That was clearly in.”

Tad proceeded to miss his next first serve, after which he looked up to the heavens and mouthed something to the effect of,
Why, God, why?
but he quickly recovered and served up a softball: a big, fluffy cloud of yellow. Evie positioned herself to meet the ball at its crest, and slammed a backhand winner down the line. Will pumped his fist and met Evie's eyes. She was
treeing
, which in tennis means you cannot be stopped.

And what was happening to Tad? He'd gotten overconfident, and Evie had seized the moment, absorbed his momentum. Evie won that game. When it was her serve again she hit another ace. Next up, she slammed one down the middle, and while Tad was busy celebrating over his flat, hard return, Evie was running to the ball and relaying it back even harder so that a startled Tad actually ran
into
the ball and got hit in the ribs.

Evie won that game. I could see she immediately took to the feeling of victory, and won the following game 40–0. This wasn't an entirely uncommon turn of events in tennis. As the momentum shifts, there's a vacuum that can be created, and you can't stop the momentum of a comeback any more than you can stop gravity. I saw Will crack a proud smile. Tad was still winning, but now he was mad. I took stock of the lobby and it was clear Evie was a hero.

With the set tied at 4–4, Lucky turned up. He squinted and said nothing as he watched. No one bothered to fill him in; I guess most people figured he already knew. Patrick sensed his presence and asked, “Where've you been? She's killing it.”

Lucky said, “Wow,” but it was not a
wow
of excitement.

Evie was nailing every shot and was suddenly up 5–4. Patrick rose from his seat and stood next to Will. He put his hands flat on the glass, and started banging in a slow rhythm. Serene hopped up and fell in next to them, then Celia and Goran. Will unwound his arms and put his hands up. Everyone else, including Harmony, joined them until there was no more room at the window. The pounding created a rumbling thunder that reverberated through us.

Evie tuned us out to focus on winning, and stared Tad down as he stood frozen until the pounding stopped. When it did, she rocked back and let off a serve right into the box. Tad hit a shot that didn't turn out to be too bad, but Evie nailed her return out of his reach. It was clear Tad was getting really upset, so the crowd collectively ceased their thumping on the window for good. The score got to 5–4, 40–0, triple match point for Evie. A rally ensued, and she nailed a forehand crosscourt. Tad hit it back short, drawing her to the net. He hit a lob over her head. Will winced. An overhead smash for a beginner under pressure was a lot to ask.

Evie turned sideways, galloped backward with her head tilted up and her finger pointing at the ball like she was calling it to her, bent her elbow back, and smacked that ball down. She hit the ball so hard that it flew off the court far above Tad's head, and he heroically jumped for it but he never had a chance; it disappeared behind the curtain. The entire lobby erupted in whoops and screams and more pounding on the window.