Game On (9 page)

“There you are,” Renee said. “I've been looking all over for you!”

“Hey,” Maya said. “Great party.”

“It is great, right?” Renee asked with a huge grin.

“Great,” Maya repeated. She already lacked social graces, but being around Nicole, especially after everything that had gone down between them, had her more tongue-tied than when she had been on the balcony with Travis.

Renee turned to Nicole. “I don't know if you know my friend Maya. …” Maya looked at Nicole like a deer in
headlights. What would Nicole say to her? What would she do? Finally, Nicole spoke.

“Nice dress, Maya,” Nicole said pleasantly. Then she motioned for Renee and walked on. Renee followed, gesturing to Maya that she'd be back.

Maya's brain went into overdrive. Had Nicole not recognized her all made up? Was she being polite because Maya was friends with Renee? Ultimately, Maya didn't care. Nicole King had called her by her name and complimented her dress!

Maya's cleavage vibrated. She pulled out the cell phone she'd tucked away in there. She'd replaced the last one with a refurbished one, using the credit card her father had given her “for emergencies only.” If not having a phone wasn't an emergency, she didn't know what was.

Maya found a text from Cleo: “SAW GIRL I KISSED. PANICKED. TOOK OFF.”

Maya's eyes suddenly darted everywhere. The girl Cleo kissed was here? Which one was she? Maya was dying to know. More important, though, was the fact that someone, anyone, had made Cleo panic. Maya didn't think that was possible. Obviously, her friend needed her.

Then she thought of Travis. Upstairs.

It was no choice at all. She wanted to be there for Cleo. She needed to be. She decided to go upstairs, say good-bye to Travis, and leave. And pray he'd want a rain check.

Maya climbed the stairs and made her way back to Christine's room. When Maya had left it, the lights were on and
Gone with the Wind
was playing. Now everything was off. She'd gotten there before Travis.

Or so she'd thought. To her side, in the moonlight, she could just make him out. Her king of clubs, standing in the dark, waiting for her!

“Hi …” Her voice was barely audible.

“Hey …,” he said back, in a whisper that made her toes curl. Before she could stress out over what to say next, he stepped closer, took her face in his hands … and kissed her.

It wasn't just any kiss. It was epic. Which is why Maya, though at first surprised, gave into it. She was in this spectacular villa in this gorgeous dress, and she was kissing Travis Reed! This might just be the most amazing moment of her life. No, there was no
might
about it. This was it. This was it right here. And she wasn't going to blow it with her own cracked-out neuroses.

As they turned and stepped into the moonlight, everything Maya saw began burning into her brain. The gold threads in the seams of his sleeve, the white sash leading down his chest, the giant black spade fixed onto his shoulder …

Spade? That's not right.
Travis was the king of clubs. Wasn't he? She shifted him full-on into the moonlight.

Jake.

Maya leaped back and threw on the lights. There was Jake, her Scarlett-red lipstick smeared across his face.

“What do you think you're doing!?” Maya fumed.

Jake was glassy-eyed. Drunk.

“Turn off the lights. Come on,” Jake pleaded. “I have a splitter.”

“I couldn't care less!” Maya yelled. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Travis was pulled into an ice run,” Jake said. “He sent me up here to entertain you until he came back.”

Maya couldn't even blink. “This is how you entertain someone?”

“Well, that depends on you,” he said. “Are you entertained?”

“No!” she huffed.

“Really?” he replied. “You seemed entertained.”

“I … ! You … !” Her brain seized. “This … !” she stammered, fists clenched, until she finally just stormed out.

She passed Renee at the base of the stairs.

“Maya!” Renee said. “Finally, now we can hang out!”

Maya just blew past her, careening toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Renee asked.

But Maya was already gone.

It was 7:30 a.m., and Maya and Cleo were still in bed. They were wide awake, but neither of them could face the day. Not now, and maybe not ever.

“I ran away,” Cleo said. “Like, people say ‘I ran,' but I
literally
ran. I knocked a flamenco dancer on her ass.”

“What's her name?” Maya asked.

“The flamenco dancer?” Cleo asked.

“The girl you kissed,” Maya said, exasperated.

“Svetlana.” Cleo said it into her pillow, but Maya could speak muffled.

“Oh, Svetlana,” Maya said with a sexy smirk. “She is Russian, no?”

“Please stop,” Cleo said, throwing her pillow at her. “Yes, she's Russian. She runs track. And I'm pretty sure I out-clocked her last night.”

“Cleo kissed a Russki,” Maya sang.

“I swear to God I'll break your fingers,” Cleo said.

“I'm sorry,” Maya said, fighting to rein it in. “Did Svetlana see you?”

“Yes,” Cleo said.

“And?” Maya asked. Cleo was twisting her bedsheet around her fingers so hard they were turning purple.

“And she smiled,” Cleo said. “She smiled. I ran.”

Maya wasn't used to seeing Cleo so raw. Or confused. She knew she'd have to tread delicately here or risk losing not just a finger but an entire limb.

“Well, you know …,” Maya said. “Maybe running wasn't the answer.”

“Oh no?” Cleo asked. “How did your night end?” She raised her eyebrows at Maya.

“Okay,” Maya said. “Point taken. What I'm saying is, if you're confused about … everything … maybe you should, I don't know, spend a little time with Svetlana. See how you feel.”

“It's not that simple,” Cleo said, sitting up. “It's complicated enough not fitting the image of a typical Chinese girl. Having a girlfriend on top of that? That would just be …”

“Worry about that stuff later,” Maya said. “Right now you're a nobody.”

“Thanks,” Cleo shot back.

“Well,” Maya said. “What better time to figure this out, while you're still a …” Maya looked at Cleo eyeing her, ready to strike. “… an unknown?”

Cleo breathed deep.

“So, what?” Cleo asked. “Go on a … date? Or something?”

“Or something,” Maya said. “It doesn't have to be that serious. Just hang out. Go to the Underground. Maybe she likes playing pool …?”

Cleo was quiet for a minute. “I'll consider it,” she said finally. Then she looked at Maya. Though she was trying to hide it, her face gave way to an ever-so-slight appreciative smile. Maya knew not to make a big deal out of it. That'd be a good way to lose a limb.

“You're lucky,” Maya said, tossing back her pillow. “Kissing a girl is a dream compared to kissing Jake Reed.”

“Okay, come on,” Cleo said. “How did you not know it was him?”

“It was dark!” Maya cried. “Same height, same build. They were both dressed as playing cards!”

“That's the dumbest costume I've ever heard,” Cleo said. “Were bingo cards not available?”

“Focus!” Maya said.

“Okay, okay.” Cleo calmed her down. “How was it? The kiss?”

Maya didn't even want to think about it.

“Horrible,” Maya said. “I can still taste the alcohol on his breath.” That's all she needed to get up and grab her toothbrush. She slathered on some toothpaste and began maniacally dry-brushing her teeth.

“You okay there, champ?” Cleo asked, amused.

“You know what?” Maya said through her brushing. “This was nothing. What happened to you and me last night? Not even worth remembering.” She grabbed the trash basket and
spit toothpaste into it like a madwoman. “There were people at that party who have a lot more to be embarrassed about. One guy, I think he was the son of a congressman, he barfed over the side of the balcony.”

Cleo laughed. “You're lying.”

“Nope!” Maya said as she continued brushing. “There was this second cousin of a British royal—”

“Who?” Cleo asked.

“I don't remember who. I don't follow that stuff.” Maya spit, then got back to feverishly brushing. “I do remember the girl was so wasted she danced on a table for money.”

“Shut up!” Cleo screamed.

“And all she got were coupons,” Maya said.

Now Cleo nearly spit. “You're definitely lying. As if someone at that party had coupons.”

“Ask Renee, I swear!” Maya laughed.

“Those people are hot messes!” Cleo said, wiping her eyes. They were still wet.

Maya gave up on brushing. She couldn't have gotten rid of last night's kiss any more if she gargled with bleach.

“I bet you can't wait to get out of your makeover, right?” Cleo asked.

Maya had somehow crawled out of her dress, but her makeup and hair were still camera-ready.

“Eh,” Maya said. “A couple more days of this could be good for a laugh. Something we could obviously use. Now, come on, the day's a-wastin'.”

Cleo hurled her pillow at Maya.

Maya grabbed Cleo's foot and forcibly dragged her out of bed, with Cleo kicking and screaming the entire way. Finally, she was on the floor.

“I hate you,” Cleo said to her.

“I hate you, too.” Maya smiled back.

“Yesterday really happened, didn't it?” Cleo said.

“Yes, it did.”

Things got broken at the Academy. Bones, records, spirits. Tennis strings were right up there on the list. Kids hit with ferocious brutality here, which meant having a stringer with a walk-up window right by the courts wasn't just a convenience; it was a necessity.

Maya was at the window collecting one of her rackets when she spotted a woman waving her arms on a court. She was in a Prada suit. What would possess someone to wear a suit on a tennis court? And in ninety-five-degree heat, no less? The woman waved again. Maya realized she was waving at her. Confused, Maya grabbed her racket and made her way over.

As she got closer, she saw a small crowd. Then she saw someone else on the court. Nicole.

“I'm Jordan, Nicole's agent,” the woman said in a British accent as stylish as she was. No hello, no “What's your name?” If possible, this woman dispensed fewer pleasantries than her client. “Nicole's hitting partner came down with a touch of something. Can you fill in?” There was a question mark at the end of that sentence, but it wasn't a request.

“Um, sure,” Maya said nonchalantly. Or as nonchalantly
as she could muster. She kept her head down as she walked past some spectators and onto the court.

Nicole looked over. She was in total business mode. Obviously, it had been her idea to call Maya over, since Jordan had no way of knowing who she was, but it wasn't exactly a social call. Nicole just needed a warm body. Maya, on the other hand, just needed to make sure she didn't make a total fool of herself. Especially not in front of Nicole.

“No time for warm-up,” Jordan said. “Things to do.” And with that, Jordan took a call.

Maya shoved a few balls into her pocket and, with her freshly restrung racket, fed one to Nicole. Nicole returned it, clocking it past Maya like a bullet. Maya was going to have to adapt fast or this would be over before it began.

Nicole crushed the second ball, but this time Maya at least got her racket on it. Maya was able to return the third ball back to Nicole, and with the fourth ball she was able to rally. Spectators were gathering on the sidelines, and it distracted Maya enough to get pegged in the chest by a volley.

“Ow!” Maya winced, winded. Nicole held up a hand as an apology. It would've meant more if she hadn't made the gesture over her shoulder while walking back to the baseline.

If Maya was going to have any hope of hitting the balls, she needed to tune out the crowd, and her own brain chatter. She focused harder than she had on anything in her life. The rallies got longer. The crowd got larger. But Maya couldn't celebrate, because it seemed the better she did, the more vicious Nicole became.

Maya fed another ball, which Nicole hammered with purpose. Maya got it back, but that only made Nicole hit it harder to the other side of the court. Maya somehow managed to run that ball down, too, and Nicole blasted it to the opposite side of the court. Nicole had Maya on a string, but Maya was, fantastically, still holding on.

The point took on marathon proportions as it became a clash between an irresistible force and an immovable object. No one hit harder than Nicole—not just at the Academy, but in the world—which made Maya's defensive skills look positively elite. But Maya wasn't used to a single point going on this ruthlessly long, and she was running out of gas fast. Pulled so wide off the court and knowing she'd never be able to run down the next ball, she went for broke, hitting a tweener lob and sailing into the back fence. When she looked back, she saw the ball fly over Nicole … and touch the back corner of the baseline. If there had been a cone there, it would've gone flying. It was a clean winner.

And the crowd went nuts.

She didn't know if it was the victory or the total lack of oxygen in her brain, but Maya was suddenly flying awfully high.

Nicole, who had barely broken a sweat, simply fed another ball.

Maya's moment of triumph was followed by a million moments of humiliation as she helplessly watched ball after ball fly past for the next forty-five minutes. She didn't touch a single one of them. Maya was totally drained, and Nicole made her pay.

The crowd went from cheering for Maya to praying for her to totally giving up on her. Before she knew it, her time was up.

Maya barely had the strength to make her way to the net. She won a battle, but Nicole won the war.