Break Point Read Online Free

because the Donalda was my last chance to get my ranking into the top thirty-two provincially, which would qualify me to play in the Ontario finals at the end of July.
    If I ranked in the top eight at the provincials, I would earn a spot in the national championships in August, which was my real goal. All the scouts from the big American colleges would be hanging out at the nationals, trying to spot talent. If I impressed a scout, I could win a scholarship to a US school. Then I would be able to play on the American college circuit, hopefully score some big wins and even find a corporate sponsor. It was the best route for a kid like me, who didn’t have a lot of money, to turn pro.
    On the other hand, if I failed to get to the nationals, I’d probably end up studying to be a plumber at some smalltime college in Canada that didn’t even have a tennis team.
    Getting into the top thirty-two was a big jump from my current ranking of forty-fifth. But I believed I could make it. I didn’t think my ranking reflected my true ability. A lot of the kids had been competing since they were seven or eight years old. They had reached the top of their game and were starting to plateau. Me, I’d grown up playing a bunch of sports—soccer, basketball, volleyball, track and field. I’d played pretty much anything my school or the local community center offered to keep me off the streets while my parents were at work.
    I’d picked up a tennis racket for the first time at thirteen. At first the wonky scoring system threw me for a loop. For some strange reason, zero is called “love.” From there the points go fifteen, thirty, forty, game. If the players are tied at forty, it’s called “deuce,” and you need to score two more consecutive points to win the game. The first player to win six games takes the set, but you have to win by a margin of two games. Two out of three sets wins the match.
    After I got used to the weirdness of the scoring system, I found out I loved tennis. From fourteen on, it was all I wanted to play. As far as I was concerned, my game was on the rise. I was on a steep learning curve, and I intended to blow past my competitors.
    Especially Rex.
    I spent an hour hitting practice balls, then showered and showed up for my first game at 1:00 pm. My opponent was a skinny fifteen-year-old who hadn’t had his growth spurt yet. He looked like he desperately wanted to be back in the U14 category. I hammered him with my serves until he gave up trying to return them. Whenever he served, I hit the returns hard down the line. Same shot every time. I pummeled him 6-1, 6-0. The kid never stood a chance.
    In the second round, I was matched to a hulking sixteen-year-old with a powerful serve, but no speed in his feet. Wielding the racket in his meaty hand, he looked like a linebacker on vacation at summer tennis camp. I responded to his serves by sticking my racket into the path of the ball and hoping it rebounded somewhere on his side of the net. Technically, it’s called a “block.” I called it my deflector shield. If I could just get the ball into play, I knew I could beat him on the rally by making him run. He took the first set, started to tire by the second and was wheezing by the third. 4-6, 6-4, 6-2. My victory.
    That evening, I sat for an hour in Uncle Phil’s hot tub, drank three quarts of Gatorade and rubbed all my muscles down with A535. I was sore. But I had no joint pain and no injuries. I was in good form for the next day’s quarterfinals.
    I arrived early that morning, signed in and got started on my warm-up. I needed to loosen up and calm my nerves, because I knew the competition was about to get a lot tougher. The kid I faced in the quarterfinals was Bruno Chan. Bruno was ranked fifteenth in the province. He was known for his lightning speed. No matter where you put the ball, Bruno would get a racket on it. That was his biggest strength.