Game. Set. Match. Read online

  Dedication

  Begin the story

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Georgetown Academy, Book One (Exclusive Excerpt)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  Acknowledgements

  About Coliloquy

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Game. Set. Match.

  by

  Jennifer Iacopelli

  Palo Alto | San Francisco

  Dedication

  To Mom, Dad and Annie.

  Prologue

  May 11th

  St. Catherine’s Preparatory School for Girls – Los Angeles, California The classroom desks were the old-fashioned kind with a small compartment beneath the writing surface. There was just enough room to fit a book or two plus an extra pen or pencil. It was also the perfect height and width to prop up a cell phone on its side, completely out of sight.

  Indiana Gaffney glanced up at her physics teacher, Mrs. Lopez, standing just a few feet away, oblivious to the rebellion going on just inches below the scraped and scarred wood of Indy’s desk.

  “The first part of Newton’s first law,” Mrs. Lopez said to the class, letting her voice trail off, allowing silence to hang in the air, a cue for one of her students to fill it with the answer.

  Indy slouched in her seat, her blue eyes darting to the phone balanced between the lip of the pencil holder and the calculus textbook she’d need for next period. A young female tennis player with a long, brown braid walked across the screen, bouncing a ball against her racket face into the red clay surface of a court in Madrid.

  “An object at rest stays at rest,” Indy said, glancing back to her teacher, hoping her contribution would be enough to keep Mrs. Lopez’s focus on the rest of the class while she watched this final game.

  Rolling her neck, Indy flipped her long hair over her shoulder. She leaned her hand against her cheek then slid it beneath the blonde curtain and plugged the small white bud into her ear. Mrs. Lopez was a hard ass and she’d probably get a week’s worth of detention for watching a tennis match in the middle of physics, but if Penny Harrison was going to beat Zina Lutrova, Indy wasn’t going to miss it.

  The commentator was shouting over the raucous crowd. “Penelope Harrison, just eighteen years old, is up a set, a break and 15-Love. Two more serves like that and she’ll have three match points.”

  “It’s amazing,” the other announcer chimed in. “If you didn’t know who Penny Harrison was before today, you sure do now. She’s going to take down the number one player in the world and defending champion in the final of the Madrid Open—a huge win in her young career.”

  Indy felt a small pang inside her chest. Last year she and her mom had watched this tournament on TV together. Her mom had been sure Indy would be playing there one day on that court in Madrid or one in Paris or New York, winning a major tournament. After her mom died, winning tennis matches really didn’t seem to matter much anymore. Nothing mattered except she was gone and wasn’t coming back. Though she’d probably be pissed as hell at Indy for giving up.

  The thought came unbidden from a place in her mind she’d locked away for way too long. Was it time to start again? It was what her mom would have wanted, wasn’t it?

  The camera zoomed in on the stands where Dom Kingston, Penny’s coach, sat, his hands clasped together like he was praying. He was one of the best coaches in the world and he’d wanted Indy to come train at his facility in North Carolina. If she had, that could’ve been her standing across from the number one player in the world right now. Or maybe she would’ve been number one already. Indy bit her lip, wondering if Coach Kingston’s offer would stand more than a year later.

  “Does anyone know the rest of Newton’s law?” Mrs. Lopez asked.

  The camera focused on the court again and Indy slipped farther into her seat just as Penny tossed the ball into the air. Her serve was up into Lutrova’s body, an attempt to handcuff the Russian, who managed a sharp return, grunting with the effort, sending Penny scrambling.

  It was a furious battle, a blistering exchange from the baseline, each girl pounding away like a heavyweight boxer, neither giving an inch. Then Penny seized upon a short backhand and sent a rocket into the corner, perfectly placed. All Lutrova could do was watch the ball cut through the air as it passed her by.

  “Yes,” Indy said under her breath. If she wanted it, if she wanted to be on that court in Madrid, then AP Physics wasn’t going to help her. Neither was playing tennis at St. Catherine’s. Maybe she’d put in a call to Dom. After all, what did she have to lose?

  “Indiana?” Mrs. Lopez asked, cutting into her thoughts.

  Indy glanced at up at her teacher and grinned sheepishly as she provided the answer. “A body at rest stays at rest and a body in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”

  “And an example?” Mrs. Lopez asked, her eyes twinkling knowingly, darting down to the desk and then back up to meet Indy’s gaze.

  “A tennis ball during a match.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Lopez said, holding out her hand. Indy grinned and shrugged, handing over the phone. “Detention this afternoon.”

  30-Love.

  ***

  Estadio de Tenis – Madrid, Spain

  Blinking down at the red clay and the white tips of her sneakers, Penny Harrison swiped her wrist across her forehead and brushed away rivulets of sweat. She tucked the wayward strands of dark brown hair escaping her braid behind her ears. The pleasant breeze swirling through the stadium was overpowered by the tons of hot air expelled from the stands as the crowd squawked their approval. Steadiness was difficult with everyone still roaring. One deep breath and then another, she filled her lungs and exhaled, slowing her heart rate, bringing herself back under control or at least trying to—it was a lot harder than in the past. Then again, she’d never been in a situation this big before, so that made sense, but she couldn’t think about that now. Penny reeled herself in, focusing on her next serve, just her racket and the ball, no crowd, no opponent, no TV cameras. Nothing else.

  Shuffling footsteps brought a shadow toward her, smaller than her own. The ball girl, expectant, but patient and not much younger than herself, held out her towel and two tennis balls. Penny took the towel first and wiped at her palms and wrists. The last thing she needed was for her racket to slip out of her hands. Now that would be embarrassing, especially since she was so close, just two points from a win against Zina Lutrova, the best tennis player in the world, ranked number one for most of the last two years. This would easily be the biggest win of Penny’s career and she would prove all the naysayers wrong. All the so-called experts had blasted her after her loss in Australia. They said she wasn’t ready for the big time. Just two more points and they would be eating their words.

  The crowd was still buzzing after her last point and she could feel the rush of excitement flowing through her body. A shiver followed, goose bumps rising across her skin. She’d been working for this moment her entire life, and now she was here, on the precipice of something great. Penny took another deep breat
h, doing her best to quell the adrenaline-fueled instinct to speed up and just be done with it. Rushing led to mistakes and a match could turn on the smallest hiccup, especially a match against the number one player in the world. Her coach was sitting in a box just behind her. She could practically hear his words burning into her from the stands, his voice echoing in her head with the words he’d say if the rules allowed him to shout down to the court. Once you have her down, you can’t let her up again. Never give an opponent hope. Finish her, Penny. Finish her now.

  The first ball was pretty beat up, bits of fluff sticking out of it like a neon green cowlick, red clay wedged into every crevice available. The second was almost new, ready to do whatever she commanded. She tucked the first into the hidden pocket under her traditional white tennis skirt.

  Across the net, Lutrova waited, bent at the waist and crouched low like a cobra ready to strike. Facing Zina would cripple most people. Their game would go to hell the second they caught the icy-blue gaze of the Russian superstar, but Penny wasn’t scared, at least not anymore. She was about to prove she was as good as the world’s number one.

  The crowd murmured, an anxious wave of sound, equal parts hope and dread.

  The umpire, high atop his chair, said, “Silencio, por favor.”

  Penny approached the baseline; the crowd’s collective voice faded to a distant hum, but they were behind her, pulling for her, willing her to win. Everyone loved an underdog. Her entire body felt loose, almost relaxed and the world slowed down around her, nice and easy, just the way she’d been taught.

  One bounce, then two, three and four in perfect rhythm. Her body weight shifted forward and then back, arms up, racket ready, the ball suspended above her head. She pushed into the ground then sprung up and out, racket face hammering a clean stroke, skimming it off the white chalk T in the center of the court.

  Penny’s feet hit the ground together, balanced and ready for a return that never came. The ball whistled by Lutrova’s desperate lunge and pounded into the wall behind her, missing the line judge’s ear by inches. An ace.

  40-Love.

  ***

  Harrison Residence – Ocean Hill, North Carolina

  “And Penny Harrison has three championship points!” The announcer’s voice roared through the television set.

  Jasmine Randazzo grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by its neck and tried to yank off the cap. As much as she was rooting for Penny to win, it still stung a little that the other girl was off winning a huge pro tournament and she was sitting at home after losing in the first round. A warm hand surrounded hers and pulled the bottle away from her.

  “Easy there, Jas,” Teddy Harrison said, twisting the cap off and handing it back.

  “How are you not drunk?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m drunk.”

  Teddy snorted softly. “I’m not drunk because I do this more than you. Some of us have actual lives off the court, you know.”

  “I have a life, sort of,” she muttered, pouring herself another shot. The whiskey missed the glass, spreading out over the table and Teddy took the bottle away again. He poured out two glasses and handed one to her.

  “Yep, sort of.”

  “To Penny.” Jasmine saluted the TV set, then sent the burning liquid down the back of her throat.

  “You gotta stop worrying about my sister,” Teddy said, settling back on the couch beside her, his arm coming around her shoulders, squeezing tightly.

  “I’m not worrying about her,” Jasmine argued. “I’m happy for her and she better watch her back once I get on tour.”

  “How many shots have you had?” Teddy asked, snickering through another shot.

  The television camera zoomed in on the player’s box. Their coach, Dom Kingston, was there, applauding with the rest of the crowd, and one row behind him were Jasmine’s parents sitting beside the Harrisons, cheering on Penny.

  “Heaven forbid we make it through a match without my parents being on camera,” Jasmine grumbled, leaning her forehead against Teddy’s shoulder. He was so solid and warm. She snuggled closer.

  “It’s good for publicity,” Teddy said, probably for the hundredth time that week. “When people see Mr. and Mrs. Tennis out there, they want to come here and train at OBX.”

  “They aren’t nearly as cool as everyone thinks. They’re my parents. Totally dorky like everyone else’s.”

  “They’re pretty damn cool, Jas.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Not whatever,” Teddy said, taking another shot. Jasmine frowned. When had he poured another shot? “Your Grand Slam winning, Olympic gold medalist parents are awesome and so are you.”

  “Damn right I am.”

  “You want another shot?”

  She shook her head and the world spun a little more than it should have. “No, I think I’ve had enough.”

  Teddy smiled widely, a dimple appearing in the corner of his right cheek. “No such thing.”

  Jasmine leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her nose trailed over his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled good, really good, like spices and ocean water and soap and Teddy, her best friend. It was nice to be that close to him. She decided that she should do it more often.

  There was a buzzing from across the room from the television, a crowd moving from silence to a raucous cheer, as the announcer shouted over them, “Game. Set. Match. Harrison.”

  “Teddy,” she whispered against his skin.

  A grunt rumbled through Teddy’s throat. “Yeah, Jas?” he asked, his mouth suddenly really close to hers, close enough to feel his breath against her lips. She answered by leaning forward ever so slightly until there was no space between them at all. The kiss was heavy and deep. She hadn’t done a lot of kissing, but this was definitely the best one ever. She could feel it in her fingertips, in her toes, and in a lot of other less innocent places, and then he was gone, flinging himself to the opposite end of the couch, staring at her, mouth agape.

  For a moment the only sound in the room was their breathing, and the announcer screaming over the crowd. “Penny Harrison has won the Madrid Open and the United States has found its newest star!”

  “Jas,” Teddy started, but she shook her head. “Shit, Jas, I’m…”

  “Forget it,” she mumbled, leaping to her feet, her shin brushing against the table, sending the now-empty bottle of Jack over on its side. She stumbled to the doorway and broke into a run. She heard Teddy call her back over the buzzing in her ears, but she didn’t turn around. She just kept going.

  Game. Set. Match.

  Chapter 1

  May 14th

  “Crap. Crap. Crap,” Indy muttered to herself. She pulled her long, blonde hair into a ponytail, not even sparing a glance for her reflection as she raced past the mirror hanging inside the closet door.

  The closet was still empty; its future contents still packed inside suitcases and boxes lining the floor of her dorm room. The walls were bare, no posters or pictures to brighten up the sterile, white sheetrock. The dorms at the Outer Banks Tennis Academy were functional, used as a place to sleep and that was about it.

  Besides, she didn’t have time to worry about decorating. After arriving the night before and unloading the back of her yellow Jeep Wrangler, Indy’d collapsed into bed, feeling like she could sleep for a week. Unfortunately, her travel-slogged mind hadn’t remembered to set her alarm and her body was still operating on California time.

  She was supposed to meet her new coach, Dom Kingston at eight, which meant she had five minutes. Indy grabbed her tennis bag, shoving her room key into a small pocket and slammed the door behind her. Then the real panic set in. Looking left and then right, she realized she had no idea how to find Dom’s office. Her brain had barely registered her room number the night before when the security guard had shown her the way, let alone memorized the zigzag pathway they took to get here. Then miracle of miracles, the door across the hall cracked open.

  “Thank God,” she said as a tal
l boy with a dark tan and even darker hair slipped from the room.

  He whipped around to face her, his eyes wide in obvious panic. Lifting a finger to his lips, he eased the door closed behind him. A bright pink, paper daisy was pasted in the middle of the solid wood with the name Katie written across it in glitter. Indy smirked. Apparently Katie, whoever she was, had company over last night. The guy standing across from her smirked back, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

  “Morning,” he said and then turned, starting down the hallway.

  Indy sniffed out a short laugh and then followed. “Wait,” she called out, catching up quickly. “I’m late.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, but didn’t break stride.

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m late for a meeting with Dom and I have no idea how to get to his office. Please, it’s my first day.”

  That made him stop, the smile creeping back onto his face. He stepped up to her. “A deal then. I take you to Dom’s office so you’re not late on your first day and you never saw me here.”

  Indy grinned. “Saw who where?”

  “Atta girl,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. He tossed his head in the opposite direction. “This way. It’s faster.”

  He led her out of the dorms and through a maze of practice courts. OBX had courts in all surfaces, though the blue hard court was the most common, many of which were already in use.

  “This is as far as I go,” he said, drawing to a halt just outside the main building. “Good luck, New Girl.” Then he was gone, jogging through the parking lot and down the street into the neighborhood that sat just next to the OBX property.

  Indy glanced up at the main entrance. OBX was written in huge block letters painted navy blue, darkly contrasting the light sand-colored stucco exterior of the building. It stood for Outer Banks Tennis Academy, the best training facility in the world. It looked exactly as it did the last time she’d been there, a year ago with her mom, and starting today, she would be a part of it. It was perfect timing. The junior tennis season was just starting to heat up, and if she could make a splash in OBX’s invitational in a couple of weeks, she’d be well on her way to the pro career she and her mother always dreamed of. That is, if she qualified.