Author's Note: Hey look! It's a new story! Not to worry, if you were starting to have a panic attack or something, I shall still be updating "Those Fitch Girls", this story was just filling my brain up and making writing that story impossible until I had at least started this one. So I'll be writing them both. At the same time. We are taking bets on how long this takes to kill me. Anyway. I hope you like tennis puns, 'cause I am so ready to throw them out all through this story.
Naomi sighed as she looked herself over in the mirror. It was going to be another long, long day. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tied back in a high pony tail. Her frost-blue eyes were crystal clear and almost emotionless. That was okay. It was best if everyone thought she was a hardass. You don't get any respect if people think you're a softy. Her short green exercise shorts showed off her long, muscular legs, her calf muscles clearly defined, but still smooth. She had a white t-shirt on, which fit loosely, but still managed to flatter her subtle curves.
She walked out into the open kitchen area of her flat. It was a small space. Just a simple, one bedroom place; but she had it all to herself and it suited her just fine. There was a small kitchen, with a two-seater breakfast bar which faced out towards the living room. She had one big, comfy, wrap-around sofa, and an overstuffed chair both facing the decent sized television. Behind the seating was a wall of bookshelves, filled to the brim with classics like Emma and Jane Eyre as well as collections of poetry by e.e. cummings and Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost and the like, plus things like photo albums and framed pictures. To the right of the telly was the bathroom, and opposite the bathroom was Naomi's chamber. She had a big, soft, queen-sized bed and a nice desk with a fancy computer perched on top of the wood. She supposed it was a pretty nice place, considering her age and the prices of such flats, but it was easy to indulge in the finer things when you had a steady income as she did.
Being a children's tennis instructor did have its benefits. Yes, the little buggers were more often than not annoying as fuck, but the pay was unbelievable. Some parents really would reach all the way down to the bottom of their pockets to see that their kids learn to play/become good at a sport. Her job wasn't so bad, either. Once she actually got the kids' attention, that is. She swore those kids had the attention spans of squirrels. If she could get them to watch her for more than five seconds, all she had to do was show them the right way to hold their raquets, then she could just feed them easy balls over the net for them to try to hit back at her. She had all sorts of games up her sleeve to play with the littles, but they were only really applicable to large groups, and her lessons tended to be one on one, so her ideas went generally unused. That's not to say she wasn't good. Not at all. Naomi was one of the best. She knew the game and she knew how it was played. If they were willing to listen and practice, the kids she taught came out at the tops of their games. Tennis was yet another one of those games where practice really did make perfect. With some good instruction, all the really needed was a place to play and someone of reasonable skill to hit with. Naomi did her job well. If the kids listened, she could show them all the little tricks and give all the right pointers that would make each individual a better player.
She fished a water bottle out of the back of one of the overhead cabinets. She filled it quickly in the sink, making sure the tap was running cold before putting the mouth of the bottle under the faucet. Screwing the cap back on, she shoved the water bottle into her gym bag, along with her sneakers, cell phone, and a granola bar for later.
Checking again that she had everything, Naomi slung the strap of the bag over her shoulder and exited her quaint studio apartment. She walked out into the car park, pressing the button on her keychain that unlocked the doors for her. Her vehicle wasn't anything special. Just something to get around in. The only things she knew about the car were that it got good gas mileage, it drove smoothly, and it was black and shiny. And also that the dealer kept insisting it was "sleek but sensible. The all-around car." She never paid car dealers much attention. They played everything up too much and tried to make sales on charm alone. That wasn't helped by the fact that most of them had the charm of an angry puffer fish. She strapped herself in, checking all of her mirrors like a good driver does.
Satisfied, she pulled a slightly battered iPod touch out of her pocket and plugged it into the car radio with the adapter cord she'd bought. She turned the volume up and headed out on her way. Naomi supposed she had what other people would call strange taste in music, but she didn't care. She had always preferred to be different from the others of her age group anyway. Her mum had taught her from a young age that it was better to be unique. Unique gets you places. Conformity leaves you sitting in the middle of a group, all of you indistinguishable from each other. That thought had made her coming out in college that much easier. She was used to being the odd one out, and being gay just gave her one more thing that most other people she knew didn't have. Naomi liked being different. She was proud of her oddities. So the peroxide blonde went on listening to her indie and 80's electronica style music, not giving a fuck when others scoffed at her playlists.
When she arrived at the fitness club, she found that she still had about half an hour before her first lesson. She said a quick hello to the receptionist, Pandora, who waved back enthusiastically, before walking behind the front desk and into the staff lounge. She put all of her belongings carefully into her assigned cubby and found her clipboard, looking over who was due to come in today and going over in her head what each of the young players should work on.
There were three lessons lined up for the day. The first two were easy. They were both very much beginners, and would spend the entire time just learning to hit ground strokes and volleys correctly. The last would likely prove to be more interesting, however. The young teenager who came in every week for private lessons with Naomi was really quite the character. Naomi couldn't help wondering what kind of family this kid must come from with all of the stories he told. Not to mention all of the blatant perving he did when he assumed she wasn't looking. You'd think he'd never seen a pair tits before the way he drools over hers.
Naomi chuckled to herself. As annoying as his undressing her with his eyes was, anyone could tell that the kid had a good heart. He had the most genuine smile she thought she'd ever seen on a teenager, and all of the crude jokes he made were cracked in the most good-natured way possible.
There was also the fact that the boy seemed to actually want to get better at tennis. Naomi had been surprised by how many of the kids only came to her because their parents were making them play a sport and they thought tennis would be an easy option. The kid had definitely earned a lot of points with Naomi when he'd shown that he was actually interested in playing the game, and doing it well, rather than just wasting an hour of her and their lives trying to please someone else. He paid her close attention, and seemed honestly focused on becoming a great player. It was all topped off by the fact that he called her "Coach Campbell." It had a nice ring to it, and certainly put some delicious buttercream icing on the cake. She knew she couldn't ask people to call her that, but it was a nice sentiment coming from her favorite student.
The first lesson went by almost agonizingly slowly. During the first, she had to spend fifteen minutes of their hour-long session trying to explain the best way to grip the raquet for forehand and backhand to a six year-old girl, because she kept getting distracted by the adults playing on the court next to them. Eventually she had lost her temper a little bit and snapped at the girl. "Dora! If you want to be good at tennis like those grown ups, you have to listen to me so I can show you how!"
The words themselves weren't all that harsh, but her tone was, and little Dora burst out in tears right there in the middle of the court, causing the players on the courts on both sides of them to stop and stare as she made enough noise to raise the dead and kill the zombies again.
Naomi had panicked a bit at this. She had no idea how to deal with children when they threw tantrums like this. She stood, frozen for a moment, before snapping out of her trance and running to her bag in the staff room. She knew it must have looked bad, her just running out of the room when there was a small girl standing and wailing in the middle of the tennis court, but she soon returned with a diminutive but brightly colored package in her hand. She held it out to show Dora, and the howling quieted a bit. "Tell you what: how about if you can show me the right way to hold your raquet, I give you a Lifesaver? Would you do that for me?" Naomi watched as the six year-old wiped her face, all tears stopped, and looked down at her raquet, searching her brain for the answer that would earn her a candy. She got it on the first try, and smiled brightly up at Naomi, now sucking on her brightly colored treat, all upset forgotten.
Naomi heaved an internal sigh of relief. Maybe she was onto something with this whole handing-out-candy-as-a-reward business.
After her little revelation, Naomi had no trouble keeping Dora's attention on tennis. She wasn't fond of the fact that it was done only for the candy, but it was better that than any more of those awful little meltdowns.
The second lesson went fairly smoothly. After discovering that following instructions and doing things well would earn a Lifesaver, the 10 year-old boy she was teaching eagerly went all out on every single hit, though that caused most of them to fly off astray. Eventually the sugar-crazed young man calmed himself down a bit and managed to get more of his shots in, and Naomi was thrilled that she was finally getting through somewhat.
Naomi had a bit of a break between her second and third lessons, so she made her way back up from the courts into the staff lounge. She took her granola bar from her bag and bought a packaged sandwich from the vending machine, and plopped herself down on one of the three sofas arranged in a little square in the middle of the room, resolving to have a quiet, peaceful lunch, and savor the feeling of her candy breakthrough. She put her feet up on the wood coffee table positioned in the middle of the couches, considering taking a quick nap after finishing her food.
Unfortunately, it was not to be, as Pandora poked her head in the door. "Hey Naomi, whatcha up to?" Naomi grinned at the girl before her, dirty blonde hair done up in pig tails, goofy smile in place.
"Not much, Panda, just eating lunch. Want to join me?" she asked, secretly hoping the answer would be no. She loved Pandora to bits, but when Naomi wanted some time to relax, the girl's energy was a bit much for her.
"Oh, thanks Naoms, but no can do. I've got to get back to the desk. I was just comin' to tell you that the boss wanted a word with you." Pandora's head disappeared back behind the door and Naomi gulped, slightly nervous. Was she going to get in trouble for giving the kids candy? She hadn't thought it would be a problem, but perhaps it was against some kind of code. She brushed the crumbs off herself and stood, walking back out of the tranquil staff room and towards the director's office.
The door was already open when she reached it, but she thought it a good idea to knock first anyway. His chair was faced away from her, but she could see the top of his head and the tennis ball that he kept throwing up and snagging out of the air, playing catch with himself. The familiar voice stated, monotone, "Well come in then." Naomi stepped cautiously forward and sat in one of the two chairs that faced the large mahogany desk. She noticed vaguely that the tennis ball had stopped flying upwards at its regular intervals. Suddenly, the high-backed leather chair whipped around, causing Naomi to jump, and the gruff voice said, "I've been expecting you." Cook's face was serious for a moment before his lips twitched and he broke out in his famous, raucous, and infectious laughter. "Ah man, I've always wanted to do that."
Naomi blew out a huffy breath, a tiny grin appearing on her own mouth. "Jesus, Cook. Give me a heart attack why don't you? I thought I was in trouble for something."
"Nah, Naomikins, why would you be in trouble. Have you ever done anything bad, like, ever? I don't think so."
"Well, I gave some kids candies as rewards during their lessons today. I wasn't sure that would be completely acceptable." Naomi bit her lip, afraid that she might have just given herself up when she was getting off the hook.
"Oh, please Naomi, that's the oldest trick in the book. Everyone does that. It's no big deal." He reached under his desk, pulling out his own bag of Jolly Ranchers.
"Oh," she stated simply. "So what did you want to see me about then?" The formality in the room dropped a level as Cook propped his feet up on the desk, and Naomi slumped down in her chair a bit. Now that she knew she wasn't in any kind of trouble, the two could go back to being casual, carefree friends. Naomi and Cook had known each other for years, long before Cook had opened his fitness center and hired Naomi. They had been partners in crime all throughout college, pulling their fair share of pranks on both classmates and teachers. They still managed to get together with their old friends every few weeks to drink and laugh and relive the good ol' days.
"Well babe, I've had a fucking bril idea. It came to me in a vision," he laughed his trademark laugh, and not for the first time, Naomi had absolutely no idea if he was serious or not. "I think you're gonna like it."
"Really." Naomi raised her eyebrows rather skeptically. She had seen Cooks ideas play out, and they could either end very well or very badly. It was usually the latter, especially when they involved her.
"Yeah, really. You'll love it. I think we should expand our tennis program beyond just personal, one-on-one lessons. What I'm thinking is we start like, a clinic sort of thing. All ages. Anyone can sign up, and we just have a few facilitators. Y'know, have them play group or team games instead of just hitting the ball with one other person. I bet we'd get a bunch of people for something like that."
Naomi thought about it. She was a bit shocked how well thought out this plan was; most of the time they could be summarized in three words or less. It was a simple idea, but it was a very good one. "Well this is unexpected. That's actually a pretty great idea."
He hit himself in the chest, over his heart in faux emotional pain. "Ouch. Hey, I have good ideas Naomikins."
"Aw, of course you do, sweetie," she cooed, feigning consolation.
"Ay, who was it that came up with the plan for this whole fucking establishment, huh?"
Cook let a look of mild triumph fall over his face before Naomi replied, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, hon."
Cook leaned back in his chair again, continuing with their sarcastic banter. "Yeah, yeah. Just 'cause you went to university you think you're so clever."
Naomi had herself a little laugh at that. "Uh huh, you can take that bullshit right back and eat it, Cook. You were the one who fucking told me I was clever, remember?"
"Alright, fine. You win. Jesus, Naoms. You really are something, you know?"
She smiled to herself a bit sarcastically. "Yeah, people do say that about me, don't they?" She winked and made to get up.
"So you will do it, right? The all ages clinic thing? You'd be perfect for it," he called as she neared the door. It was the most genuinely curious and sanguine she thought she'd ever seen him. It was nice.
"I'm sure I could make it work."
Before she knew it, it was time for the last lesson of the day. The lad walked in, a few minutes early as usual, his large smile plastered on his face. "Hello Coach Campbell." He set his bag down and took off his jacket before unzipping the case that held his raquet.
"Good afternoon, James. Ready for your lesson?" She set her clipboard down and picked up her own raquet.
James did his best attempt at a flirty wink and replied, "Always."
Cheeky little fucker. "You know, somehow I knew you were going to say that." Naomi couldn't help but chuckle at his feeble endeavors to win her heart. He really was a sweet kid. She hoped he would find a nice girl to fill that space.
She grabbed the cart with the tennis balls in it and rolled it over to one side of the court. "Was there anything specific you wanted to work on today?"
Naomi had been teaching long enough to know when her students were able to tell when they needed more practice with certain aspects of their game. James seemed to know his abilities pretty well, and she trusted him to be confident enough to come right out and tell her where he would need help. With some of the other kids, especially teenagers, they would say that there wasn't anything in particular that they wanted to practice because they thought if they did that, people would see them not be good at it at first, and would be extremely self-conscious of their lack of skill at the beginning. With those players, Naomi most often had them run simple drills at the beginning of the lesson so she could see herself where their games needed improvement and could go on from there. With players like James, if they came knowing what they needed to work on, they could get right to it instead of just going through the motions. The fundamentals were important. Of course they were. But it was nice to know where the focus would be without having to spend too much time looking for it.
"Well, I was playing with my friend, Gordon McPhearson, at school the other day, and I can't seem to hit my overhead smashes quite right anymore. I used to get them perfectly, but recently they keep flying off randomly whenever I try to hit them. I'm not sure what I'm doing differently, but I can't get them anymore."
Naomi liked it. Straight to the point; no beating around the bush. "Okay, well, why don't you show me how you've been hitting them, and we'll see if I can't spot where you're making your mistake."
She directed him towards the other side of the net, where he was to stand in ready position. She went over to the cart of balls and pulled out a few. She hit him one, sending it off in a high arc. He held his raquet in his right hand, using his left to point up at the oncoming tennis ball, which was good, but when he went to swing at it, something was off. Naomi could see from that first swing where his mistake was, but she decided to let him hit a couple more just to be sure that that was where the problem was consistently occurring. After he'd hit five balls and made the same error on each, she held her hand up and called him over to the net.
"Well, I can see where you're going wrong, but not to worry, it's an easy fix." She saw him nod seriously, taking her words in without question. "You know when you hit an overhead, you want to hold your arm at a ninety degree angle, and break your wrist so that your raquet rests just above your head." He nodded again. "Well, when you get ready to hit your overheads, you let your raquet fall too low behind your head, which means it takes you longer to bring your raquet up to hit the ball, which means you've been hitting the balls about that far too low." She held up her hands about a foot apart to show how the distance between where he was hitting the balls and where they should be hit. "Just be a bit more conscious of where you hold your raquet before you go to swing for the smashes, and I think you'll be fine."
Naomi motioned for the teen to step back again so he could hit some more overheads with her advice in mind. She walked back over to the cart and picked one out, hitting it high above their heads towards him. He squared himself, pointed up with his left hand, and brought his raquet up with his right, this time using the correct technique. He brought the strings down on the ball, swinging with perfect form, and Naomi watched in fascination as the ball bounced sharply down and flew well over the ten foot high fence into the screened-off hallways behind the courts. That was quite a feat, especially for one as young as he. Naomi herself only knew a handful of people who could do that. For the most part overhead smashes hit the fences at the five foot or lower mark.
She turned back to James with a slightly astonished grin on her face, which was more or less mirrored in his own dumbfounded face. Recovering her voice, she announced in a somewhat awed voice, "Like I said, easy fix."
They spent the rest of the lesson just practicing all of the basics. She had him hit twenty ground strokes from behind the baseline, twenty volleys at the net, and thirty more overheads in what was normally referred to as "no man's land", the area between the net and the T where the boxes met. She had him practice his serves. He was partial to the spin serve, rather than flat, which was less common. He didn't have any trouble with that. His serves were very accurate, although he could do with a bit more speed. Naomi had no doubt that it would come with a bit more practice. They played out a few matches with the remaining time, and before long the lesson time was up. As they picked up the balls that lay strewn around the court, Naomi made meaningless chit chat. It didn't hurt to get to know her players.
"So what's going on in your life, James? Any big plans for the weekend?"
He smiled brightly, his eyes lighting right up. "Actually yeah. My sister's just come into town. I'll get to hang with her all weekend."
Naomi frowned slightly in confusion. "Wait, I thought you lived with your sister. Isn't she the one who picks you up from here every week?" In all actuality, Naomi had never met James's sister. His ride always waited in the car in the lot for him to get out of his lessons. She could have sworn she remembered him saying something about living with his sister, though.
"Well, yeah, I live with my sister Katie. My other sister, her twin, actually, Emily, just moved here from Bristol. She's got herself a flat right around the corner from us, so now I'll get to see her all the time." He looked so thrilled, Naomi couldn't help smiling with him. She must be great if he's so ecstatic to be seeing her.
"Sounds great, little man. You'll have to bring them both around sometime. I'd love to meet them." The words were out of her mouth before she processed them. Sure, it wouldn't be a bad idea to meet her student's family. Couldn't be bad to have someone to give updates on the kid's progress.
"That'd be great! I know Emily would love you. She plays tennis too."
"Really? That's awesome. You know, we're going to be starting an all ages tennis clinic soon, you should both come. I bet you'd both enjoy it."
"Whoa, that's fucking awesome, Naomi!" he suddenly blushed, "I-I mean, that's awesome Coach Campbell."
Naomi threw her head back and laughed. "It's alright, James. You can call me Naomi if you want to. I don't mind at all. Though, if you do want to call me Coach Campbell, I like that too." She smiled at him reassuringly.
He grinned back at her, relieved, probably more about not getting bollocked for swearing than the name slip-up. "Okay, cool. So when's this tennis clinic thing happening?"
Naomi bit her lip in thought. "I'm not sure yet, kid. It's a pretty simple idea, shouldn't take too long to set up. We'll probably have it going in a couple weeks or so. I'll keep you posted, 'kay?"
"Cool. Emily and I will be there, for sure."
"Looking forward to it."
A/N: Well, what do you think? Am I crazy for making them tennis players? No, I already know I am. But let me know what you think anyway! :)
