A/N: This story was written in one of my notebooks while I was on a plane home from Mexico. I own most of the characters, but there will be some instances where Sarah Dessen's characters will make an appearance...maybe. I don't know yet. I'm still writing. I love reviews, and suggestions. Chapter Two will be up in a matter of hours.
Melinie slid her sunglasses on to the top of her head and looked into the truthful mirror. Brown thick hair, pulled into a messy, loose bun, green bloodshot eyes, accessorized with bags underneath from lack of sleep. She was wearing an old pair of jeans with a baseball jersey and red track jacket. She had to admit, she looked like crap.
The silence of her room was rare, yet golden, as those wise men had once said. She savored it for a few more moments before slipping her shoes on and grabbing her duffle. Melinie walked to the kitchen where her mother was immersed in an article in Oprah's magazine. "Ma, I'm off to work," Melinie stated while standing at the arch doorway waiting for a response. Her mother mumbled a few words and waved her hand.
On the drive to Greenlake Country Club, Melinie played the loudest, angriest music, like she had for five days a week, for 3 months out of the summer. Melinie looked at her watch, and cursed the elderly couple ahead of her on the highway. When she arrived at Greenlake CC, Mr. Polin was waiting for her, tennis racket in toe. He yelled from across the parking lot, "Miss Keel, You're late for the third time. How much do I have to pay for you to come in on time? I've barely learned anything this summer, because our lessons are always cut short. What do you have to say?" Melinie calmly walked across the parking lot without a word. She was letting his words sink in. She finally approached Mr. Polin as he asked, "Are you going to say something?"
Melinie took a breath in, "Mr. Polin, how long have you been alive?" She knew the answer, "Twenty-nine, almost thirty, years. I'm seventeen; I've been playing for almost 12 years. You're learning from me. You know the stories, but what you don't know," She paused and took a step closer, studying his confused face, "Is if they are true or not. What you also don't know is why I am late. Have you even bothered to ask me?" Melinie waited for his response. Mr. Polin shook his head in uncertainty, as two teenage girls walked by gawking at the very loud dispute. "Well, can I ask you, do you think it's excusable for a seventeen-year-old to be late, all of three times, because her younger brother needed help with his leukemia medications?" Melinie stared him straight in his suddenly ashamed eyes. Mr. Polin opened his mouth to apologize, but she stopped him, putting her hand up, "Save it. Go warm up Mike."
As she walked to the staff locker room, Mrs. Korova patted her back, saying, "Good job, dear. Way to stand up for yourself." Melinie smiled at the older woman, "Thanks, see you at lunch." Mrs. Korova took a left turn as Melinie stepped into the locker room. She changed, and redid her bun. She threw her street shoes in the duffel, wondering if her standing up for herself would cost her.
Melinie ran out on to the tennis court, and spent an hour and a half receiving poorly executed serves, yelling at Mr. Polin to stop trying so hard, and watching a grown man cry after he tripped and cut his knee. Melinie was sweating buckets in the heat when she told Mr. Polin to go home, and buy some shoes that fit. She went back to the bathroom and washed her face. Melinie looked in the mirror once more, tracing her raccoon like tan line.
Her next "victim", was a 13-year-old teeny bopper who was always running away from the ball. "Christ Bella! The ball will not hit you in the face this time, unless you intentionally run for it. Return the damn ball! Hit it, dammit!" Melinie yelled at Bella, often cursing in frustration, the entire lesson. She was glad to take her lunch break with Mrs. Korova, like she always had. They
chit chatted in the air conditioned greenhouse, and laughed at the everyday happenings at Greenlake CC. Melinie took off for the courts and ran into Bella's parents, along with Steve, the tennis director. She slowed her pace and asked what was up. "Melinie, Bella's parents have decided to change instructors, they think it will be best for Bella." Steve explained as Jessica and Thomas, Bella's parents, stood with crossed arms. Melinie hated couples that did everything alike. They wore matching colors, which really irritated her. She shrugged, "If it's what she wants." Jessica responded quickly, "What is that supposed to mean?" emphasizing the word that. "Well, Bella had told me she wanted to be as good as Anna Korcova, and I believe she has the potential to be." Thomas nodded. "But, with Harry as a trainer, she won't progress. There are only two of us you know. Harry's got all the young-uns. They range from 6 to 12, while I have 13 to 35. His training isn't as rigorous. She won't build any more skills. She'll get bored." Melinie said this lightly, knowing a 13-year-old easily gets bored, and parents love to push things upon them.
"Bella thinks you're training is too rigorous, and you're a little too strict." Thomas said as nicely as he possibly could. Melinie nodded, "I get that a lot. It's what she needs. It's what the sport calls for. But go ahead, she can switch. My Tuesday midmorning won't be open for long though. If you'd excuse me, I've got another client." She shook their hands, and continued walking to the courts. Harold the 19-year-old college student was waiting. He had a nice pair of eyes, and was very kind. He asked how she was doing. "I'm fine. Just got a lot of work stuff." Melinie warmed up with him. He nodded, and they finished warming up. "Grab your racket. Can we play a match this time? I think I'm ready." Harold flexed his arms, and gave Melinie a dazzling smile. "Negative, you aren't ready." Melinie wasn't fazed by his smile, or his good
looks. He was just another student she was paid to train. Men were especially hard to train because they showed off a lot, and hated to learn.
Melinie and Harold stopped a few times during the session so Harold could rest, when finally Melinie sighed. "Do the cooling down exercises I showed you last week." Harold looked up from his seat on the bench and tried to argue. "Dude, you've been doubled over for 10 minutes. You're not up to par today. Go home, practice, and I'll see you next week." Harold agreed. "If you absolutely feel the need text me, and I'll see if we can make an appointment on Saturday." She left him sitting on the bench as she jogged back to the locker room to change. She loved Tuesdays, such a light work load. She changed and drove home, listening to industrial rock music.