Tiebreaker
Ryan slowly tucked his white shirt into his tennis shorts and grabbed his racket. He slammed the van door behind him.
“Hurry,
Ryan,” his mother urged. “You’ll be late
for your first match.”
For the first time he could remember, Ryan did not want to play in the citywide tournament. Steven, his best friend and doubles partner, had moved across the country. Last year they had won the doubles competition. This year Ryan would be playing only singles.
Mr. Wilson, his tennis coach, had said, “Ryan, I know you miss Steven, but you’re playing great tennis. I think you have a good chance of winning singles this year.”
Tall and lanky for ten, Ryan had won most of the tournaments around the area. The citywide tournament, however, was the big one, and Ryan didn’t know his competition. He felt alone and a little scared.
Ryan hurried to Court 12 at the far end of the park, behind the concession stand. He slumped down on the bench inside the fence to wait for his opponent.
“Some court,” he thought. “Just look at that ragged net! And look at those cracks!”
Ryan bent down to retie his tennis shoes when he heard the gate clank shut behind him.
“Hi!” A skinny kid in cutoffs and a T-shirt walked onto the court carrying a worn tennis racket. He grinned. “I’m Mike.”
“Hi. I’m Ryan.”
“Guess we’re playing each other,” Mike said.
Ryan studied the boy standing in front of him, down to his scuffed and worn black tennis shoes. He noticed the shoelaces had been knotted together many times.
“You play a lot?” Ryan asked.
“A little. Never played in a tournament before.”
A few people gathered outside the fence, and a woman handed Ryan a can of new yellow tennis balls.
Ryan shook a ball out of the can and moved to his side of the court. “Guess I’d better get this over with fast so I can rest up for my next match,” he thought.
“Ten-minute warmup,” the woman said. “Make your own calls. Be fair. Have a good time!”
Plip! Plop! Plip! Plop! The two boys sent the ball back and forth.
“He’s not too bad,” thought Ryan as he scrambled to make a backhand shot.
Plip! Plop! Plip! Plop!
“You ready?” Mike yelled from the back court.
“Ready.”
Mike served first, a hard serve squarely into Ryan’s court. Ryan’s racket never touched the ball. An ace!
Ryan adjusted his grip and bounced on his toes as Mr. Wilson had instructed. He waited for Mike’s next serve. Whomp! A spin serve close to the outside edge. Ryan slammed the ball into the net, losing the point.
Mike won the first game. Ryan won the next two. When they had each won six games, they played a tiebreaker to determine the winner of the set. Ryan squeezed out a win.
Sitting on the bench for a minute between sets, Mike grinned and tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re good.”
Ryan wiped his forehead with his towel and leaned back against the fence. “You’re not bad yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“Where did you learn to play like that?” Ryan asked. “Haven’t seen you around before.”
“Lessons here in the park this summer. Mr. Nicholson, the coach, used to play on the pro tour.” Mike bounced the ball on his racket. “He said he thought I had some talent.”
“I’d
say he was right,” Ryan said. “You’re tough.”
Mike won the second set. It was down to another tiebreaker in the third and final set.
“I have to win,” Ryan thought. “Can’t lose to someone who has only played one summer.”
The tiebreaker was close, but Ryan eventually managed to take a 6-4 lead. One more point would win it for him.
He waited for the serve. Mike bounced the ball a couple of times, then stretched and tossed it high. Whomp! The ball skimmed over the net and spun to just catch the center line.
For a split second Ryan wanted to say the ball was out so he would win. It was so close that Mike probably wouldn’t question the call. Then the image of Steven, his best friend and partner, flashed in his mind. He could see Steven’s honest, open expression. He knew what Steven would do.
“Was it in?” called Mike.
“Uh—yeah! Good point!” Ryan called.
“That was close!” Mike yelled from across the net.
“Right on the line,” Ryan said as he jogged to the back line to serve. “Score is 6-5. I’m leading.” He could still take the match if he won the next point. He looked across the court at Mike, bouncing on his toes, ready to receive the serve. He thought about the close call on Mike’s last serve. Would Mike be as fair?
Wham! The ball skittered just inside the service line and bounced past Mike.
“You win!” Mike called. Without hesitation, Mike ran to the net. “Nice match!” he said, giving Ryan a high five. “But watch out next time. I’m going to win!”
Ryan followed Mike to the bench. He tucked his racket into his bag and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It’s hard to believe that you’ve never played in a tournament before,” he said, looking at Mike. “You almost beat me.”
“Almost, but I didn’t.” Mike twirled his racket. “I learned some things, though.”
“So did I.” Ryan paused, then said, “Have you ever played doubles?”
“Nope.”
“Want to?” Ryan offered Mike his towel. “Maybe we could play together sometime. I could use a partner. We’d make a good team.”
Mike grinned. “Might be fun.”
“There’s a tournament in a couple of weeks,” Ryan said. “Maybe we can get together and practice.”
Mike paused, then held up his hand for another high five. “Sounds good—partner!”
