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I miss Charlie’s game against South East because Mum has to take me to the doctor for a check-up. And then I have to go through another check-up with the tournament doctor. Both of them give me the all clear but Karen insists on me sitting out today’s game as a precaution. She doesn’t even let me run on the drinks, so I sit on the bench and watch as my team beats Far North Queensland pretty soundly.
Ashley even scores the winning runs. I congratulate her along with the rest of my team but she’s a bit stand-offish with me. Charlie must have told her what I said about them cheating.
That night, I watch the first innings of Charlie’s game against North Queensland, but after not being able to play today, I’m itching to hit a cricket ball. I ask Karen if I can go to the indoor sports centre to train and, after consulting with the tournament doctor and Mum, she agrees.
“Tennis balls only,” Karen says. “And no bowling machines. I’ll give you a list of drills you can do, and that’s it, okay?”
I reluctantly agree, and when I get to the centre, Jazz is pulling apart the bowling machine.
“It’s going to the dump,” she says as I walk past. I don’t say anything, and just push my way into a vacant net.
Jazz follows me in. “Had a bit of a stinker yesterday, huh?” she says.
I pull on my gloves. “You could say that.”
Jazz nods. “Happens to the best of us. Want me to give you some throw-downs?”
“That’s not going to help,” I reply. “My technique is fine.”
“Oh, you’re a coach now, are you?” Jazz says, but she’s got a hint of a smile, so I know she’s joking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“About the Express?” Jazz asks, as she pulls tennis balls from the bucket and puts them on the ground beside her. “It was confidential until it was made official.”
“I wouldn’t have told anyone,” I say.
“Not the point,” Jazz says, pointing at me. “Besides, I’m only the assistant, so don’t get too excited.”
“It’s still pretty big though, isn’t it?” I ask.
Jazz smiles and nods. “Yes, it’s pretty big. I haven’t coached outside of private one-on-one for a long time. Now,” she says, slapping her hands together. “Less talk, more action. How about some throw-downs with some added spice?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t move,” she says, and heads off the court and into her office. She comes back with one of those tennis ball throwing sticks for dogs. “Face up,” she says. “Your normal stance.”
She makes me wear my helmet, even though we’re playing with tennis balls, and I take my stance with my back foot on the crease.
The first ball comes fast, hitting just in front of my feet. I jam my bat down onto it and it bounces away into the netting. Jazz throws down a couple more balls, all at the same speed and all hitting around the same place. She lands a couple in my hitting zone but I don’t middle them, skewing them off or snicking them behind instead.
I step back off my mark. “They’re too fast. Can you slow them down? I don’t have time to even think before I have to play a shot.”
“Take a step back into your crease,” Jazz replies.
I do as she says and she throws the balls again, exactly the same. This time I don’t feel so rushed. I know it’s only a split second but I feel like I have heaps more time. And the ball seems to be landing closer to my sweet spot.
“How did that feel?” Jazz asks when the bucket is empty.
“Better,” I reply.
We pick up the tennis balls from around the court. Jazz says, “Paris rushed you yesterday. She set her fields and then just steamed in, didn’t leave you with much time to think or even move your feet.”
I drop another armful of balls into the bucket. “I thought I knew what shot I wanted to play but I just couldn’t.”
“The trick is to slow her down, however you can, and one way to do that is to step away from the pitch for a couple of seconds and take a look around at the field. Get your bearings.”
“Even when the field doesn’t change?”
“Especially when the field doesn’t change,” Jazz says.
I think about that for moment and nod.
“Also,” Jazz says, walking to the crease and facing up using her hands as a bat. “Take a step back into your crease, like this. It will give you a little more time on the ball. It doesn’t feel like it, but just changing where you stand can make a good ball into one you can hit.”
“Thanks,” I say. We push out of the net and sit on the bench. I take a long drink from my water bottle.
“Have you apologised to Charlie yet?” Jazz asks.
“How did you—?”
“I talked to your Mum at the hospital. She said she heard you two arguing after the game last night.”
I look at the ground but don’t know what to say.
“Alice, Charlie’s your friend, but she was just doing her job for her team. Just like you were trying to do your job for your team.”
“I know,” I reply. And I do know. I just want to do well so I can impress the coaches. I don’t get to say any of this to Jazz, though, because right then the front door squeaks open and in walks Ravi, Troy, Charlie, and Ashley. I guess now I have my chance.