The next day, I crutched my way up the steps to the front row of seats on court 1 and settled in next to Hugo to watch the boys’ final.
It had been a long night. After one look at the videos, everyone involved had been hauled in for questioning. Dray, Colby, Miri and, of course, me. The story had been pieced together bit by bit, and once Dray’s bag and locker had been searched and his hidden stash of marijuana discovered, Hamish had been cleared of the charges and reinstated in the tournament.
I’d tried to keep the photos of Miri from surfacing. But when Dray pointed the finger at her for being involved, there was nothing to do but come clean about the whole thing. Dray had blackmailed her into helping him. There was no doubt about that. Of course, the photos put suspicion on Miri for substance abuse, and she was drug tested as well. She passed with flying colors, and because the photos of her drinking were date-stamped prior to the start of the tournament, she was allowed to continue playing.
It was all over for Colby and Dray. I had no idea when, if ever, they would be allowed to compete again. Dray would be facing court for possession of cannabis. As for Colby, his locker and bag were clean when searched, and his drug test was negative for any banned substance. I think we all believed he knew nothing about the drugs. All of us except, perhaps, his father.
I propped my foot up on the railing in front of me. A hairline fracture. I’d be in the cast for six weeks. Hugo had had four long hours in the hospital emergency department with me to express his disappointment. In Miri especially, but in me as well. We should have gone to him in the first place, he’d said. Trust was the basis of all relationships, and if he couldn’t trust us, how could he continue to coach us? He needed to know everything that was going on. Everything. No matter how small. It affected our game. How could he help us win if he didn’t know what was going on? I didn’t know if either of us would survive this. Because let’s face it, if Hugo dropped Miri, he wouldn’t need me anymore, and I’d be out of a coach.
And that left Hamish. He was mad. Fighting mad. And confused and disappointed and hurt. Miri said they’d had a huge argument after Hugo and I left for the hospital. She’d only just gotten to bed herself when I got back to the hotel. Hamish hadn’t said a word to either of us at breakfast that morning, not even when I’d presented him with a half dozen of the energy bars he liked. I’d found them, of all places, in the hospital cafeteria. He looked like hell. His eyes were puffy, and he’d obviously had no sleep. Somehow he’d made it through the semis though, squeaking through on the tiebreak against the number-five seed, a guy from South Australia. So here we were. At the grand final.
Miri edged her way past a couple of spectators and flopped into the seat next to me.
“So what happened with the girls’ final?” I asked. Hugo didn’t even glance her way, but I got the feeling he was listening.
“Georgia Mason won six to two,” she said. “But it wasn’t like she was brilliant or anything. I could have beat her. The other girl was crap.”
“You didn’t beat her,” growled Hugo.
Miri had lost to Georgia Mason that morning in the semis. She’d been all over the place. As I said, it was a long night. For everyone.
“You’re right, I didn’t beat her. But I could,” said Miri. She leaned forward to look past me at Hugo. “Hugo, you know I could. With everything that’s happened, none of us have played like we should have this weekend. But this will never happen again. It was a stupid mistake, and it all spiraled out of control. I won’t ever do something stupid like this again. I promise.”
Hugo glared at her, and she rushed on. “I’ll do whatever you say. Eat what you want me to eat, train whenever you want me to train. You’ve got to give me another chance.”
He continued to look at her until the silence became almost unbearable, then turned his eyes back to the court. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
It was the best we could hope for. And it wasn’t a no, so I was happy.
Hamish put in a valiant effort. He managed to get quite a few aces in the first half, hit some beautiful winners down the line and volleyed spectacularly. But in the end, exhaustion took over and unforced errors started accumulating. His opponent, Ronan Keen, was fresh. He’d won his semis 6–2 and had energy to burn. And as the number-three seed, his skills were almost on par with Hamish’s. After the previous night’s drama, Hamish just couldn’t compete. He lost 6–4.
He looked exhausted rather than disappointed during the trophy presentation. When he came off court, he shrugged.
“It’s not all bad news,” he said to me when I offered my condolences. “I still made the number-one ranking. Ronan was a few points behind me, so getting second still leaves me on top. If I can hang on to that, I’ll be in good stead for the Australian Open Juniors in January.”
We gathered our gear from the hotel and hopped into a cab to the airport. Hamish sat in front with the cabbie, probably to avoid sitting next to Miri. He still hadn’t said a word to her. We rode in silence until we got on the freeway and the cab picked up speed, weaving in and out of the traffic. Hugo started talking about a tournament in Sydney in December.
“You mean, we’re going? Like, with you? You’ll still train us?” I said, hardly able to get the words out.
“You’ll train in the gym until that cast comes off, and then it’s back on the courts. If you can get back up to speed in time, then we’ll talk about it,” he said.
Miri and I exchanged glances. I felt like high-fiving her but settled for a really cheesy grin.
“One foot out of line, and you’re both out,” he added.
We arrived at the airport, and I hobbled through the sliding doors. It seemed like a lifetime ago that we’d arrived in Melbourne. The airport was still as busy as ever, the smell of jet fuel and fast food was the same, but I wasn’t the nervous little amateur I’d been four days earlier. I knew I’d be back sometime, if not in the next couple of months, then next year. And I knew I’d be able to face whatever the tournament threw at me. Because how could it be any worse than what had happened this time? Cheating, blackmail, drugs? A mere competition would be nothing. As long as I remembered to eat.
I passed my crutches to the security guard and hopped through the metal detector on one foot. Miri picked up my carry-on for me and we headed for the gate.
“You know, I was thinking,” said Miri.
“About what?” I asked.
“About you,” she said. “And me.”
I waited for her to say something about us making good doubles partners after all, or to thank me for helping her out that weekend, or for being supportive like a friend should.
“If we’re going to hang out at tournaments, you really need to get some new tennis outfits,” she said. “I don’t know when those things you were wearing were fashionable where you come from, but over here we like to update our wardrobe once in a while.”
I stopped and stared at her. Was she serious? Then I shook my head. Of course she was. Dead serious. Miri was back.
I did a couple of skip-hops on the crutches to catch up to her, and we hurried on to meet Hamish and Hugo for our flight.