Second Chance (Sweet Valley High Book 53) Page 4

  Turning to Elizabeth, Kristin said, "I'm afraid I've messed things up for you, too," she murmured. "I really need to start practice soon, so we won't have that much time for your interview."

  "Oh, go ahead," Dorrie said, giving both girls a smile. "I don't see why we can't relax our schedule this once. I tell you what, Kristin. I'll go and have a cup of coffee with your dad while you two talk. We can get started in half an hour. How does that sound?"

  Kristin gave her a grateful smile. "Phew," she whispered when Dorrie and her father moved out of earshot. She turned to Elizabeth. "That was a close one. My dad is an unbelievable stickler when it comes to my practice schedule. He's always said, 'Stars aren't born, they're trained.' " She plopped down next to Elizabeth on the bench. "I'm not supposed to go out, and I had a date last night. I got home early, but it wouldn't have been early to him if he had known. But he was out."

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. She felt she was learning a lot more about Kristin Thompson than she had expected to. "Is your dad pretty strict about stuff like that?" she asked. She was wondering where Kristin's mother was but felt it wasn't right to ask.

  "Well—is this off the record? I wouldn't want any of this to go into the school paper," Kristin said slowly.

  Elizabeth nodded. "Fine. Why don't we just talk for a little while. I'll ask you questions, and when I've written up the interview I'll show it to you. You can veto anything that seems too personal."

  Kristin relaxed a little. "He is strict," she admitted. "Not strict because he doesn't want me to go out, but strict because he's a fanatic about tennis. He really wants me to turn pro." She sighed. "In fact, my dad's been more psyched about my tennis career than I've been—well, almost."

  Elizabeth was surprised. "That seems pretty unusual. Is that because he owns tennis clubs?"

  Kristin hesitated a moment, then said, "Well, partly. My mother played tennis, too," she blurted out. "She was killed in an accident when I was seven." She sighed and stared down at her hands. "Tennis was the one thing Dad and I had that made it seem like she was still around. Does that make sense?"

  Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, it makes sense," she said gently. "Kristin, that must have been so hard for you!"

  Kristin's face was perfectly composed as she faced Elizabeth. "It was hard," she said matter-of-factly. "To tell you the truth, that was why I was willing to help you in the Big Sister program. I thought Emily's situation was similar to what mine had been. I wanted to try to help her out."

  Elizabeth's eyes filled with compassion. "By the way, I have good news. Emily's counselor contacted us yesterday, and you've been made her official sponsor." She handed Kristin an envelope from her backpack. "Here's all the material you'll need on her—her address, her phone number, stuff about her school and her other interests. You can call her whenever you want to."

  Kristin thanked her. "I'll call her this weekend," she promised.

  Elizabeth glanced down at the list of questions she had prepared. After asking a few, she got the impression that Kristin was saying things by rote, rather than from her heart. For each of the questions she had prepared, Kristin had the expected answer. She described her training in a detached tone that made it sound like someone else's schedule. When Elizabeth asked, "Do you ever miss doing normal things, leading the kind of life most kids your age lead?" Kristin just shook her head.

  "No," she said automatically, squinting out at the tennis courts. "I want to be a pro. Tennis is my whole life. It's all that counts."

  Elizabeth detected a flat, slightly unnatural tone in Kristin's voice. She didn't believe it was all as straightforward as Kristin made it seem. Surely an enormous amount of hard work and many sacrifices had enabled Kristin to excel in tennis. Elizabeth couldn't believe that there weren't times when Kristin felt regrets or ambivalence about having tennis dominate her life.

  But Kristin certainly didn't reveal any of that to Elizabeth. "I hate to sound boring, but that's really all there is to it," she said when the interview was concluded. "About a hundred and ten percent tennis. Not too thrilling, right?"

  Elizabeth closed her notebook with a smile. "I wouldn't apologize for being dedicated, Kristin. I think you're a great example of what it takes to be a winner." She reached out to shake Kristin's hand. "And I think Emily Brown is going to learn a lot from you."

  As Elizabeth walked off the court, she couldn't help but wonder if Kristin was happy to be playing tennis. She could tell how devoted she was and how much it meant to her to win, but she couldn't tell whether tennis gave her any joy. Elizabeth had a suspicion that tennis filled a void in Kristin's life.

  Six

  Mr. Thompson was out on the patio, drinking iced tea and reading the newspaper, when Kristin got home from practice. Kristin joined him and plopped down on a chaise longue. "It's nice out here," she said, stretching out with a comfortable sigh. She felt good. Practice had gone better that day, and she felt as though she had really earned the praise Dorrie had given her.

  "Now, go home and rest up," Dorrie had instructed with a teasing smile, pretending to shoo her away. The first round of qualifying matches for the Avery Cup was being held on Tuesday, just three days away. That meant slowing down her practice schedule to store up energy.

  Mr. Thompson lowered his paper and regarded his daughter with a mixture of curiosity, concern, and annoyance. "Kristin, a boy called to speak to you. Twice, in fact. Bruce Patman."

  Kristin felt her cheeks turn red. "Oh," she said, half-pleased and half-embarrassed. "What did he want?"

  "He left a bunch of phone numbers and asked you to call him back. I couldn't keep track of which was which. I think one was his club, and unless I heard wrong, another was his car phone." Mr. Thompson was staring at her. "Who is Bruce Patman, Kris?"

  "Just a guy at school," Kristin said noncommittally. "He's a friend, Dad."

  "Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Mr. Thompson said, turning back to his paper. "I just wondered why you'd never mentioned him, that's all."

  Kristin knew she had hurt his feelings by shutting him out. Right now, however, she didn't want to share Bruce Patman with anyone. "I'm going up to take a shower," she said, getting up as casually as she could.

  Once in her room, she called Bruce, wrinkling her nose a little bit at the thought of a car phone. The Patmans seemed to have an unlimited amount of money, and Kristin was beginning to suspect that Bruce had an unlimited ego as well. She'd had a lot of fun the night before, but thinking about it later, she realized the conversation had centered mostly on Bruce.

  Still, it was flattering to think he was interested in her. His voice sounded warm and affectionate over the phone. "Kristin!" he exclaimed. "I've been waiting to hear from you. I want you to come over tonight to see the new set of speakers my dad just bought me. They're amazing. Top of the line—totally fantastic sound. And I just picked up some new compact discs, so you'll really hear some great music."

  Kristin fiddled with the phone cord. "Uh—thanks, Bruce, but I can't."

  "Don't tell me." Bruce groaned. "You're practicing tennis on a Saturday night."

  Kristin had to laugh at how outraged he sounded. "Actually, I'm not. But I'm having dinner with my coach and my dad. Besides, I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow."

  "So, you seriously can't come over tonight because you're having dinner with your father?" Bruce asked incredulously.

  "That's right." Kristin laughed at how shocked he sounded. "Try giving me a little more notice next time, OK?"

  Bruce was about to say something more, but Kristin cut him off. "I have to go," she said, picking up Emily Brown's telephone number. "There's somebody else I have to call."

  Emily Brown was sitting on her front porch waiting for Kristin when she arrived at eight-thirty the next morning. Emily was small for a nine-year-old. She had smooth brown hair, cut fairly short, dark brown eyes, and a shy, slightly closed-off expression. There was something sad about her that made Kristin's heart ache. Seeing Emily was like l
ooking back in time to the small scared child she had been.

  "Hi, Emily," Kristin said, walking toward the front steps with a warm smile. "I'm Kristin."

  Emily smiled shyly, afraid to raise her eyes. "Hi," she whispered. Just then, Mr. Brown came out and Kristin introduced herself. "I'm taking Emily to my dad's tennis club," she said. "I'll bring her back this afternoon."

  Emily gave her father a quick kiss goodbye, then ran down the porch steps to Kristin. "Are we really going to a tennis club?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  "We sure are," Kristin said, taking Emily by the hand. She was astonished by how small it was.

  Emily was staring at her. "Do you really play in tournaments?" she demanded.

  Kristin laughed. "Yep. I'll show you my trophies later on if you want."

  Emily's eyes lit up. "Yeah!" she exclaimed.

  Kristin chattered as they drove to the club. She told Emily how the club was run, how classes worked, and what her own training was like. Emily was quiet, but Kristin could tell that she was listening avidly.

  "Now, promise you'll tell me if you get bored. The minute you want to go home, we'll leave," Kristin said when they got to the club.

  "I won't get bored," Emily declared, her eyes shining.

  Sunday morning was magical for Kristin. Seeing the club through Emily's eyes reminded her of the way she had felt when she had first started playing—the thrill of meeting a real coach, the excitement of going into the pro shop and handling the balls and rackets, the newness of it all. Emily kept saying how "cool" everything was. And when they walked down the main hallway and Emily saw the signed photograph of Kristin taken at the Junior Open the year before, her eyes got as big as saucers. "You're really famous!" she exclaimed to Kristin. The next minute she slid her tiny hand back inside Kristin's.

  ''Looks like someone around here has a new friend," Dorrie said, giving Kristin a wink and bending down to ruffle Emily's hair.

  "Listen," Kristin said, bending down so she could look at Emily eye to eye. "I'm going to have to start practice in a little while. But before I do, how would you like to hit a few balls with me? That way I can see what stage you're at and maybe give you a couple of pointers."

  Emily was beside herself. "I get to hit balls with Kristin!" she cried to Dorrie. She was practically hugging herself from the excitement.

  Kristin grinned down at her. It was amazing how much the little girl had come alive during their first morning together. Becoming Emily's big sister was one of the best decisions Kristin had ever made.

  "Bruce called again," Mr. Thompson commented when Kristin opened the front door early that evening. Kristin had ended up spending the day with Emily. After calling Mr. Brown to tell him they would be late, Kristin had taken Emily to dinner at the club.

  "Oh, thanks," Kristin said, hoping her voice sounded casual.

  "Listen, doesn't a father get to hear the details anymore?" Mr. Thompson joked. "Bruce must be pretty interested if he's called you three times in one weekend."

  Kristin blushed. "I guess so. But it's hard to tell, Dad." She shrugged out of her jacket. "Bruce is a senior. He could go out with anyone he wants to. I don't understand why he's calling me."

  Mr. Thompson shook his head. "Kristin, Kristin," he said with a sigh. "Didn't I tell you that when you hit sixteen you'd have more requests for dates than you'd know what to do with?"

  Kristin sneaked a glance at herself in the hallway mirror. She saw the same old Kristin—baggy sweats, her face showing a few freckles from the sun—not exactly a glamour girl.

  "Anyway," Mr. Thompson went on, "you probably don't need my advice, but I hope your new friendship won't interfere with the Avery Cup."

  Kristin's jaw squared slightly. She had been just about ready to say that she was too busy right now to see Bruce, but the fact that her father had said it first irritated her. Didn't he think she knew her training schedule well enough to make her own decisions?

  "I can't really see how it would," she said lightly, her voice cool. Mr. Thompson didn't answer. She could tell she had hurt him, but Kristin couldn't help it. The Avery Cup was her tournament, not his! She didn't see why her father couldn't give her a little more space to make her own decisions.

  "I'm going to call Bruce back," she said, trying to keep her expression neutral. Only her shaking hands revealed how much the exchange had upset her. Ever since she could remember, she and her father had been arguing about her schedule. Deep down they both wanted the same thing, but Kristin wanted the freedom to choose tennis, not to have it chosen for her!

  Ten minutes later she had reached Bruce.

  "I happen to be having an amazing ice-cream fit," Bruce told her. "If I don't get a massive amount of mocha-double-Oreo-fudge into my system within twenty minutes, I might self-destruct."

  Kristin giggled. Bruce might be arrogant and spoiled, but she liked his sense of humor. "I'm not supposed to eat any ice cream," she said wistfully. "My favorite is double-cheesecake with nuts."

  "Why aren't you supposed to eat ice cream? A girl like you needs energy!" Bruce cried. "Look, I'll be over in five minutes. That means if we drive really fast, we'll make it to Casey's before I explode." He hung up before she had time to turn him down.

  Kristin was still giggling a few minutes later. She went over to the dresser and brushed her auburn hair. Then she went downstairs to tell her father where she was going.

  "Ice cream? Is that on your diet?" Mr. Thompson asked mildly.

  "I can probably manage one scoop," Kristin said lightly. "I'll be home really early, Dad. We're just going straight there and back. I probably won't be gone more than an hour."

  Mr. Thompson frowned. "Just don't be late," he said, not meeting her eyes. "You know how much you need to get a good night's sleep right now. The first match is only two days away."

  "I know, Dad," Kristin said patiently. It took all her self-control not to add, "After all, I'm the one in the tournament, remember?"

  "Listen, Casey's is totally beat," Bruce said as soon as Kristin had snapped on her seat belt. "I've got a much better idea. There's an incredible little café in the canyon that's also a jazz club. A tenor sax player from L.A. is playing there tonight. I've been wanting to hear him. Let's go there instead."

  Kristin frowned. "I really shouldn't, Bruce. It sounds like fun, but I really can't be out very late. And—"

  But Bruce was already turning the key in the ignition. "Trust me," he said cheerfully, pulling the car out of the driveway. "We'll be back before you know it."

  Kristin sat back, feeling helpless. There wasn't much she could do to stop Bruce. She would just have to hope it didn't take more than an hour.

  "Kristin?" Mr. Thompson was waiting for her in the living room. The mantel clock was just chiming the half hour: ten-thirty.

  "Dad, look, I'm so sorry—"

  "I've been worried sick," Mr. Thompson cut her off. "You promised me you'd be back in an hour, and then you show up three hours late."

  Kristin took a deep breath. "We ended up going somewhere different than—"

  "I'm disappointed in you, Kristin," Mr. Thompson interrupted again. "I didn't think I needed to say this, but maybe I do. I've watched you work for years and years for the opportunity to join the pro circuit. Now I'm seeing you throw it all away. You aren't even bothering to take care of yourself before the biggest tournament of your life. Doesn't this tournament matter to you anymore?"

  Kristin felt as if she had been slapped. She couldn't answer.

  "That's all I have to say to you. Now, I'm going to bed," Mr. Thompson said heavily. "And I suggest you do the same."

  Kristin didn't say a word. She just stared at his back as he walked out of the room. If only she could explain that the tournament did matter to her—more than anything in the whole world—but that she also wanted to see what it felt like to be a normal teenager.

  Seven

  Kristin took a deep breath. For as long as she could remember, she had had her own special way of gettin
g psyched up before a match. She tried to block out every single thought in her head and just focus on how badly she wanted to win.

  Mr. Thompson and Emily were among the crowd that had gathered to watch the first round of qualifying matches. Emily held up a Go Kristin sign and waved it around in the air.

  Kristin took another breath. She had ten minutes before her match.

  "Betsy shouldn't give you any trouble," Dorrie said confidently, her arm draped around Kristin's shoulder as they walked back and forth on the side of the farthest court. Betsy Weber was seeded well below Kristin, and everyone was confident Kristin would win.

  Kristin narrowed her eyes, trying not to watch Betsy warming up and talking to her coach. She knew she shouldn't exert too much mental energy trying to size up her competition until she had her racket in her hand and was squaring off at the net.

  "I'm glad Emily's here," she said suddenly.

  Dorrie smiled at her. "She's a sweet little girl. I think you're doing her a world of good, spending some time with her."

  A strange thought came to Kristin then. "Maybe she's doing me a world of good," she said. Dorrie looked surprised, but there wasn't time to say more. The referees were calling them over. It was time for the match to begin.

  Usually Kristin relaxed after the first serve, but today it seemed to take her longer to get into her rhythm. She missed several easy shots and ended up losing the first game.

  "Just relax," Dorrie instructed, hurrying over with a towel before the second game. "Is the sun getting in your eyes? You looked uncomfortable to me."

  Kristin shook her head, wiping her hands furiously on her white shorts. "I'm OK. Just a little tense," she said uncertainly. She could see her father frowning from the sidelines.

  "Well, take it easy," Dorrie said lightly. "Remember, you've played Betsy before—and beaten her easily. Just take your time and have fun out there."

  Kristin nodded, but her mouth felt dry. She tried to remember what it felt like to have fun on the court. Reporters had always said she made winning look like child's play, but today it was incredibly hard work. Kristin won the first set, 7–5, but she was completely worn out, her face red and her breathing ragged.