2 Big Apple Hunter Read Free Page A

shoes, and gear in the back seat of his car.
     
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    By 10:00 on Sunday morning, I was so agitated, I was practically hyperventilating. Samantha and I were due on the court at 11:00 for our doubles finals, and I was still in street clothes. At 10:45, I finally broke down and headed for the club's pro shop to buy clothes and a racquet. It would me an several hundred dollars I didn't want to spend for clothes I didn't want to wear.
    As I was digging out my credit card, Reggie walked through the front doors with my bag in hand. If he wasn't such a lecherous jerk, I would have given him a hug; instead, I wanted to slug him. I marched over and jerked the bag out of his hand. “Thanks for bringing my bag,” I muttered.
    “What? What did I do?” he asked with a laugh. “You left it in the car. I knew you played at 11:00, and I'm here on time to watch you win some more money for me.”
    I flounced off and then ran to the women's locker room to get changed. After dressing as fast as I could, I took a quick look in the mirror. At 5' 7”, I was trim and liked the toning my arms and legs had from the strenuous sport. My shoulder-length blonde hair was loose today, and the barrettes on either side would hold my hair back from my face during play. My bangs were long but not in my eyes.
    I was wearing a baby blue outfit of soft cotton shorts with a white-and- blue striped matching tee top. I had on light blue socks with white shoes and white laces. I used to wear pink laces in my shoes as a kind of trademark, but gave up on the look a few months ago. I still liked to dress as femininely as possible o n the court, and found it gave me an edge I had never anticipated . An opponent once told me she had me pegged for a ditzy blonde in froufrou clothes with no ability. It threw her of f her game for at least half the match, and I easily won.
    I found our court and stepped inside. Samantha was waiting. “What happened to your clothes?” I asked her with a laugh. She was dressed in what appeared to be Larry's leftover clothes.
    “I guess I wasn't as confident as I should have been ,” she said . “ I didn't bring enough clothes , and I didn't want to find a laundromat last night, so Larry dressed me today.” She burst out laughing as she looked down at herself. Her s tocky build was actually cute in Larry's baggy shorts and shirt. Her long, dark curly hair was in its usual position piled on top of her head with clips sticking out as they tried to hold the hair in place.
    An hour later, we went down to defeat. We won the first game, lost the second, and then lost the third by two points. Maybe this match wasn't the time to stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but I did try harder to stay in my own quadrant. We both played well, and we weren’t ashamed to come in second. I still had my semi-finals match in singles, and then hopefully, the finals.
    There was only forty-five minutes until my next match, and I took the time to drink a bottle of water and cool down. Once again in the locker room, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and changed into the same style of outfit as before, but this one was pink shorts with a white top and pink cap sleeves. Pink socks, white shoes with white laces, and I was ready to go again.
    I nearly lost the match due a puffed-up, know-it-all, trying-to-make-me lose jerk!
    The referee gave the first game to my opponent by giving her an unearned point when the score was tied 14-14. If a ball passed me on the left side, he continually stopped play and either gave the serve or the point to my opponent. He refused to wait to see if I could return the shot off the back wall. By the middle of the second game, I had smoke coming out of my ears.
    “Come on!” I yelled up at the referee. “You aren’t even waiting to see if I can return the shot !” One of the shots I returned had just rolled out flat for a kill shot, but he was oblivious.
    My opponent, a small linebacker dripping