Chapter 11
FOR AS LONG AS JASMINE COULD REMEMBER, HER DAD would give her a last-minute pep talk before each match, and the final of the Classic was no exception.
It was hard for him, after so many years of playing, to sit in the stands and watch with very little control over the outcome.
So he would create a strategy for every match.
Most of the time it was helpful, especially if she didn’t know much about her opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.
At most tournaments she was too busy playing to scout out the competition, but she’d watched Indy every day at training and all week during the lead-up to the final.
She knew what she had to do. Of course, that didn’t stop her dad from giving his traditional pep talk in the locker room just minutes before she had to be out on the court.
“Keep your feet moving and don’t give an inch on her serve,” John Randazzo said as Jasmine packed her racket bag. “On change-over have a banana, and then after the first set, an electrolyte chew.” He handed her a plastic bag with the items already packed.
“Thanks.”
“If she plays a baseline game, make her move and force an error. She’s got power, but she’s sloppy. Be patient like always and you shouldn’t have any problems.”
“I know, Dad,” she said, trying to hide her exasperation. It was everything she’d observed about Indiana all week, and yet Dom was still gaga over the girl. Jasmine planned to put a stop to that today.
Her mom saw through her right away. “Okay, John. That’s enough, let’s go get our seats.”
“What?” her dad asked, looking at his wife and then back to Jasmine. “Okay. Good luck, Jas. You’ll do great. Just stick to the game plan.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Jasmine sent a silent thank-you to her mom as she led her dad from the locker room.
She let out a sigh of relief and checked the clock.
Her ankle was wrapped up tight. She’d sprained it last year and the wrap was a precaution, plus it gave her a little bit of extra stability.
Her rackets were ready and her bags were packed.
Fifteen more minutes until it was time to step onto the court and win her first Classic trophy.
A thrill shot through her body at the thought.
Shaking out her arms and then her legs, she tried to stay warm, but it was impossible.
The air-conditioning was pumping at full throttle as the temperature outside climbed into the mid-nineties, high for May in the Outer Banks.
Jasmine was counting on that as well. She was in better physical condition than Indy and the heat would expose it.
She planned to make her run, blocking back her shots, tiring her out.
That would help weaken her serve and whatever advantage she had.
She checked the clock again: ten more minutes.
A run in the hallway wouldn’t hurt, just a light jog to keep loose.
The hall was empty and she could hear the crowd echoing down from the main court through the door at the end of the tunnel.
The steady thrum of her heartbeat spiked, the pre-match adrenaline starting to flow.
She jogged in the opposite direction, swinging her arms around, trying to keep her body warm and her nerves under control.
“Hey, Randazzo.”
She turned to see Teddy striding down the hallway from the door to Indy’s changing room. Of course he’d go talk to her first, another girl on Teddy’s list of potential conquests. She knew it was mean, but it would make beating Indy that much sweeter.
“Hey,” she said, avoiding his eye and moving back toward the locker room to grab her bag.
“You don’t call. You don’t write,” Teddy quipped. “Did you get any of my messages?”
Jasmine bit her lip, a small bubble of guilt building in her stomach. She got his messages, all ten of them, and ignored every single one. It was too hard to pretend to be his friend when she wanted so much more.
“I wanted to wish you good luck,” he said, hovering in the doorway as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
Jasmine’s heart clenched in frustration. He was smiling like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just come from wishing Indy good luck and like he hadn’t crushed her heart into a million pieces. “Right,” she said, trying to push down the hurt. “Thanks.”
“What’s the matter?”
She used to find his obliviousness charming. Now it grated on her nerves. The hurt wrapped around her frustration, creating a knot of anger.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“No,” he said, shrugging. “Want to fill me in?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Teddy. You like Indy.”
He gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing, before finding his voice. “I barely know her, but even if I did, why do you care?”
“I don’t care,” Jasmine scoffed, her anger skyrocketing. “I know you don’t give a shit about it, but do you get how big of a deal this tournament is for me? Whoever wins is a shoo-in for major wild cards. If I win I’ll be in the main draw in Paris. Indiana is standing in my way.”
“I was being nice.”
“Right, nice, and if she weren’t gorgeous and blond, would you still have been nice?”
He rocked back on his heels and she saw the flash of guilt in his eyes. They’d been friends for too long for him to hide it, but then it was gone, replaced with annoyance.
“She was having a hard time. Most of the girls in this place have been acting like real bitches to her. Nice of you to step in and stop that, by the way.”
Jasmine pursed her lips, glaring at him. “I don’t control what those girls do.”
“Please, one word from you and they would’ve stopped. What did you think? If you let them bully her, it would improve your chances to win this thing?”
The truth was she hadn’t even thought about it, but she was too angry to defend herself.
“Screw you. You’re supposed to be my friend. That’s what we said, that we’re better as friends.”
His cheeks flushed red and his jaw muscles clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest. There was no sign of his easy smile now. “We are—”
“Some friend, trying to hook up with my competition,” she said, not wanting to let the bitterness seep into her voice. She was unsuccessful.
He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as Roy appeared in the doorway, walkie-talkie crackling at his hip. Jasmine’s shoulders sagged as the argument came to an abrupt end. She didn’t want to know what he would’ve said next.
“Jasmine?” Roy glared at Teddy, who shrunk back against the wall. She didn’t know how much the old man had heard, but it made Jasmine feel a little better to know he was on her side. “You ready to go?”
“I’m all set.”
Five minutes ago, she was ready, mentally prepared and focused.
Now, she was a mess of anger and frustration, her heart racing and her blood at a boil.
She had to get herself under control. She pushed past Teddy, leaving him in the locker room as she followed Roy down the hallway.
Indy was already waiting at the door to her changing room, fists clenched against the straps of her racket bag, knuckles white.
Though it felt like hours ago, her father’s advice popped into her head.
Indy’s got power, but she’s sloppy. Be patient like always and you shouldn’t have any problems. If Indy was nervous then she’d be even more careless than usual.
The more controlled and conservative Jasmine played, the more likely Indy would be to overplay and make an error.
Jasmine inhaled through her nose, feeling the anger flow out of her body as her game plan took hold. Then she let the air spill out from her lungs, and her nerves with it. She didn’t have time for nerves right now; she could worry about everything later, after her victory party.
The radio crackled again as Dom’s voice came through. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“All right, ladies, if y’all are ready, let’s get goin’.”
The hum of the crowd swirled around them like a tornado building to a roar.
The stands were full, coaches and players, sponsors and the media, all parties eager to catch a glimpse of the future of tennis.
There were cameras surrounding the court from every angle.
The match was being streamed live over OBX’s website.
Jasmine’s eyes flew over the stands, finding Harold Hodges sitting beside her father, notebook at the ready. The tournament would be a huge part of the Athlete Weekly feature. She found her dad and he gave her a thumbs-up.
A few rows away, Teddy walked down an aisle toward his brother. His face was drawn and serious. Jack said something to him; Teddy shrugged, then threw himself into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.
Since she’d known him, Teddy was always on her side.
He was always a voice in the crowd cheering her on, supporting her.
Now their friendship was torn to pieces and she wasn’t sure if they could repair it or if she even wanted to.
Was it worth it? Would she be able to stand watching him go back to his old ways, jumping from girl to girl or, worse, committing to someone else?
“Welcome, everyone, to the final of the Outer Banks Classic.” Dom’s voice, enhanced by the microphone he held in the center of the court, broke through her thoughts.
“Today’s final features two athletes from right here at OBX, Indiana Gaffney and Jasmine Randazzo.
Ladies, please approach the net for the coin toss. ”
Jasmine tore her eyes from the crowd and pushed all thoughts of Teddy Harrison out of her mind.
She glanced over at Indy, and if it was possible, the blond looked even more nervous than she had in the tunnel.
There was no way to predict how a player would respond to the pressure of an important match.
Some players, like Penny, were immune to it.
Others battled with the nerves until they learned how to deal with them, and some players, no matter how talented, never overcame the fear of the big moment.
It was time to prove to the world—and Dom—what kind of player she was and, while she was at it, show Indiana Gaffney she was in way over her head.
“Out!” the line judge called, arm shooting out, indicating wide.
“Game, Randazzo,” the chair umpire said.
Across the court, Indy stood, hands on her hips, staring at the ground beneath her feet. Her shoulders rose and fell with every breath, coming hard and heavy as they neared the end of the first set in the best-of-three-set match.
Jasmine had spent the days leading up to this match shortening her reaction time and prepping her return game in anticipation of facing Indy’s killer serve.
So far, all that preparation was proving unnecessary.
She was playing well, but her 5–1 lead in the first set was due more to Indy’s self-destructing than anything Jasmine was doing.
Indy’s serve was all over the place, and the rest of her game was inconsistent—she sprayed forehands and backhands with plenty of power but no accuracy and planted herself behind the baseline, leaving the front court wide open.
Indy was playing right into her hands as Jasmine forced her to scramble all over the court. The weather was cooperating, too. The sun was beating down on them, and slowly but surely, the velocity of Indy’s serve was dropping, giving Jasmine an even larger advantage.
She checked the clock in the corner of the court. The match was only twenty minutes old. Jasmine was serving, and after she won this game, she would take the first set.
“Quiet, please,” the chair umpire said, admonishing the crowd, most of whom had lost interest in the one-sided match and started conversations.
Jasmine approached the baseline and waited for Indy to do the same. She had the mental edge in the match and she wasn’t about to relinquish it. Solid shots, nothing too crazy, allowing Indy to make the mistakes, and the first set would belong to her.
Finally, Indy stepped up to the baseline, bending at the waist, racket held out in front of her as she shifted her weight left to right.
Jasmine tossed the ball into the air, then, instead of hammering through the back of the ball, she hit through the side. It was a subtle adjustment, no more than a millimeter or two, creating a slice spin on her serve and forcing Indy to lunge out wide.
Indy got there, blocking the ball back. Jasmine charged the net, taking a swing on the run and smacking the weak return into the opposite corner, giving Indy no chance to retrieve it.
“Fifteen–love,” the umpire said.
The crowd applauded politely.
Jasmine pulled a ball from the hidden pocket under her tennis skirt and compared it to the offering from the ball girl. She returned the fluffier one and looked to Indy, once again bent at the middle, physically ready to receive the serve but, from the look on her face, mentally all over the place.
This time Jasmine stuck to her flat serve.
She didn’t have a ton of power, but what she lacked in velocity, she made up for in control.
The serve drew Indy to the center of the court, allowing her to return it but opening up the corners.
Jasmine shifted her feet, angling her body as she hit a forehand.
Then, as Indy’s momentum carried her across the court, she moved up again, taking the next shot off Indy’s racket and burying it deep into the opposite corner.
“Thirty–love.”
Jasmine couldn’t hold in her smile as Indy chucked her racket against the ground in frustration. Tennis, at the highest levels, was more a mental game than anything else. If a player couldn’t keep her head, she didn’t have a chance against one who could.
She served again, a measured, solid serve right down the middle of the court.
It was even slower than her last. Indy’s body buckled as she misjudged the velocity.
She stepped into the forehand, a harsh grunt forcing its way out of her lungs as she sent the ball sailing long and deep across the court.
Jasmine stepped out of the way, letting the ball fly by her.
“Out,” the line judge shouted.
“Forty–love.”
She had three set points, three chances to close this one out and be halfway to the championship.
Across the court, Indy stood flat-footed, racket ready, but her shoulders slumped and her back was stiff. She looked beaten. Jasmine fired a serve as hard as she could down the middle of the court, but Indy didn’t even react. She simply turned and moved back to her chair at the side of the court.
Jasmine pumped her fist. Looking up into the crowd, she found her dad, applauding like a madman, a large, silly grin spread across his face. One more set. All she had to do was keep steady for one more set. Defense, patience, and a cool head, that’s all it would take.
“Game,” the chair umpire said. “Randazzo leads, one set to love.”