Free Break Point by Kate Jaimet

then a full step. I was tempted to speed ahead, to leave Rex in my dust for once. But how did I know he wouldn’t cheat, double back early and beat me to the club? I wanted to keep him in my sights. I wanted to push him. I wanted him to feel the run in every muscle tomorrow morning.
    We tagged the Laurier Avenue Bridge and turned. Heading back, I could feel him dragging down the pace. I played him like a fish on a hook. I slowed down a little to let him keep up. Then I sped up to make him push his limits. At last we left the bike path and wove through the side streets toward the club. Now I knew there was no shortcut he could take to cheat me out of a win. I put on the jets to pull ahead of him. Rex must have had some energy reserves left, though, because he pumped his arms and matched my stride. We rounded the last corner before the club. The girls were still hanging out on the front steps, drinking soda. I broke into a sprint. My thighs screamed, my legs burned, but I loved the pain because it meant I was winning. I heard Rex’s heavy breathing behind me, but I crossed the club’s walkway a full three strides ahead of him.
    The way I felt, you’d think I had won the Boston Marathon.
    â€œGood run, Connor.” Rex thumped me on the back. I was bent over double, trying to stop wheezing.
    â€œGood run,” I said. And I meant it.
    â€œHey, a bunch of us are going out tonight,” Rex said when he’d recovered his breath. “Want to come?”
    â€œNo thanks. Tournament tomorrow.”
    â€œOooh, yeah. Biiig tournament.” Rex laughed.
    I looked at him, so suave and self-confident. Maybe he didn’t believe the rumors about the hidden wealth in the Archibald Cross cup. Or maybe he was so rich he didn’t care. In either case, he waved as he took off on his bike with one of the girls hanging on behind him.
    Maybe the tournament didn’t matter to Rex. Since it was open only to club members, it didn’t affect his national ranking. Still, it mattered a lot to me. And I knew one thing—a five-mile run and an evening of partying tonight was going to make Rex a whole lot easier to beat tomorrow.

chapter thirteen
    The Archibald Cross Memorial Cup gleamed in the sunlight as players milled around on the lawn of the tennis club, waiting for the tournament to begin. Beside the table that held the cup sat an old man in a navy-blue suit. He had a bald head and a thick lower lip that stuck out like the spout of a teapot. He was the executor of old Mr. Cross’s will, and it was his job to award the cup to the winner of the tournament.
    I said hi to Maddy as I tossed my bag on the lawn and began to stretch. But she was so focused on the match ahead that she didn’t answer. She didn’t even glance at Rex when he sauntered onto the lawn, wearing Ray-Bans, a blue-and-orange Nike top and coordinated shorts.
    Maddy was the only girl in the tournament. Some others had tried out, but they had fallen in the elimination rounds earlier in the week. Usually, a tournament would be split into different categories for guys and girls. But in this case, since there was only one Archibald Cross Memorial Cup, everyone was competing against each other.
    Heading into the quarterfinals that morning, Maddy’s opponent was a lumbering, ham-fisted kid with twice her brawn and less than half her technique. If I were placing a bet, I’d have bet on Maddy. But part of me desperately and disloyally wanted her to lose the quarterfinals, because if she made the semis, I’d be slotted to play against her.
    At 10:00 am I headed onto the court for my quarterfinal match against William Sweet, a kid with a decent serve, a passable forehand and not much else going for him. For the past two weeks, I’d been working with the club pro, Armand, to add spin to my serve. I had transformed it from a powerful opening salvo into a truly deadly weapon. It did the job against William. He left the court