Free Fifteen Love by R. M. Corbet Page A

viola players bowing up and down at same time. Ms S shows the first viola how to play the passage, then the first viola explains to the rest of us how to mark the score. A lot of our time in rehearsal is spent marking the sheet music with little hats and arrows. It’s an important part of playing music, but it can be pretty dull.
    Maybe Vanessa is right. Maybe my whole life is boring.
    I remember back to that day Will came to watch the orchestra – how he made us all laugh, then returned to take a bow. Maybe, just for fun, I should buy Will a conductor’s baton for his birthday. I will have to find out when his birthday is. Knowing Will’s birthday will tell me what his star sign is, and whether we are compatible, not that I really believe in astrology. Does Will believe in astrology, I wonder? Is he much older than me? Would it matter if I was older than him? Maybe Will is an earth sign – practical and good at tennis. Or maybe he is an air sign – always looking up at the sky. Would people of certain zodiac signs be better at kissing, I wonder? Would others expect to have their toes sucked?
    I hear Ms S’s fingernails drumming impatiently on the back of my chair.
    â€˜Mia Foley!’ she says. ‘What on earth are you daydreaming about?’
    WILL
    When Dave comes to watch me train, he does the line calls. He yells them loudly, the way people do in the tournaments: ‘Let!’ ‘Fault!’ ‘Out!’ The calls come fast and clear and they’re always right. You’d never want to argue a line call with Dave. He’d run you down!
    Usually, Dave and I have a hit together after training. Sometimes we even play a set. Dave is surprisingly fast around the court and he can hit these mighty ground shots – hard and deep. Dave plays on the baseline, a lot like Bjorn Borg – he never comes up to the net. According to the rules of wheelchair tennis, he’s allowed two bounces and I’m allowed one. Dave wants to win, of course, but he doesn’t want charity. He’s deadly serious and he never shows any sign of how he’s feeling. The Ice Borg on Wheels, I call him.
    It’s deuce – forty all. Dave’s shot hits the net and topples over. His advantage. He serves the next ball straight and hard down the middle of the court. It’s just outside the line, but both of us see it go in.
    â€˜Ace!’ I shout. ‘That’s your game, Dave!’ Dave goes insane. He spins around in circles, punching the air and whispering, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
    â€˜You beat me, Dave!’
    â€˜I whipped you, Will!’
    â€˜You creamed me, Dave!’
    Dave laughs loudly. ‘You know who I am, Will? I’m Federer!’
    I act dumb. ‘Who’s that, Dave?’
    â€˜Roger Federer The greatest. Fifteen Grand Slams. Six Wimbledons. Slam, dunk, smash! And you know who you are, don’t you, Will?’
    â€˜Andre Agassi?’
    â€˜That’s right, Will! The Bald Badger! The Choker! Remember what Dad said?’
    â€˜Once a choker, always a choker.’
    Dave spins his wheelchair in circles again.
    â€˜Once a choker, always a choker! Once a choker, always a choker!’
    Andre Agassi was one of those tennis players with a near-perfect technique. His ground shots were brilliant, both forehand and backhand. His volleys and serve could do with some work, maybe, but according to Ken, his main weakness was in his head. A choker is someone who can’t perform under pressure. When the going gets tough, he falls apart.
    â€˜But you’re not really a choker, are you, Will?’
    â€˜No, Dave. And neither was Andre Agassi.’
    â€˜But I am Roger Federer, aren’t I!’
    MIA
    Will Holland is standing by the gate after school, talking to the Year 7 girls. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Hasn’t his felt-tipped pen run out of ink yet?
    â€˜Hey there!’ he says as I limp through the gate.