Tennis Ace Read Online Free

satisfaction in knowing that he had beaten Charlie Silver and would
     advance to the semifinals. Then, on his way to the locker room, he saw someone who made his mood lighten. It was his buddy
     Pat Carbo.
    “Hey, awesome match!” Pat yelled. After Ginny, Pat was Steve’s biggest supporter.
    Pat and Steve had learned the game of tennis together, when they were eight years old. Steve’s father had taught them himself,
     setting up a rigorousschedule of practices. Pat had stuck with it for a summer but then bowed out when he realized he liked soccer much better.
    The rigorous practices had continued for Steve, however. He’d been a little lonely at first, but then Ginny had started playing,
     too. Mr. Greeley had been reluctant for her to join in, but Mrs. Greeley had insisted.
    So now, three times a week for two hours at a time, Mr. Greeley worked with his children on forehands, backhands, volleys,
     serves, and lobs. He coached them on ways to draw opponents out of position. He taught them where to aim the ball to bounce
     to make it impossible for an opponent to return. He showed them the tricks a ball could do with just a bit of spin applied
     by the racket.
    Steve couldn’t imagine his life without tennis, but sometimes he wished his father didn’t work him so hard. Still, hard work
     paid off — he’d just won the quarterfinals, hadn’t he?
    “Thanks, Pat,” Steve said now, smiling. “Listen, my dad’s waiting to talk to me. I’ll catch up to you later, okay? Maybe we
     can go for ice cream or something.”
    “You got it, Ace,” Pat said, shooting a finger at him.
    Steve walked into the locker room, where his father stood with the stranger from the stands. Mr. Greeley was talking earnestly
     to this man, who, Steve noted, still wore his mirrored shades.
    “Here he is now,” his father said, turning and gesturing to his son.
    He looks nervous, Steve thought. Who is this guy?
    “Vince, this is my boy, Steve. Steve, I want you to meet Vince Marino.
The
Vince Marino.”
    Steve knew the name and suddenly understood why his dad was so excited. Vince Marino ran a famous tennis school and camp in
     Florida. He had developed some of the top pros in the game. His dad had shown him a magazine article about Vince, with pictures
     of some of Vince’s past students. A few had won major titles: the U.S. Open, Wimbledon, the French Open, and so on.
    Vince took off his sunglasses, smiled, and stuck out his hand. When Steve shook it, he found that the hand was strong and
     callused. Coming from Florida as he did perhaps explained why he hadn’t been sweating in this heat.
    “Congratulations, Steve,” Mr. Marino said. His voice was low-pitched, and he seemed to radiate energy. “I was impressed with
     the way you bore down when the crunch was on.”
    “Thanks,” Steve muttered, feeling self-conscious. This guy had trained some greats.
    “I can see that you inherited your dad’s talent,” Mr. Marino continued. “Did your dad tell you we went to college together?
     Ted was our number one player, and I was number four. You should have seen him back then. He really had the goods.”
    Steve’s father jumped in quickly. “You know about Vince’s training center, Steve. If someone does well working with Vince,
     it’s practically a ticket to the pro tour — Vince makes careers.”
    “Sure,” Steve said. “I read about you, Mr. Marino. It sounds pretty awesome, your camp.”
    Mr. Marino smiled again. “Your father has been bending my ear about you for years now, but I hadn’t been able to come see
     you compete until now. Looks to me like you have a lot of potential.”
    “Even if you gave Charlie more of a chance than you should have,” Mr. Greeley added hastily. “I figured you’d romp today,
     son. What happened?”
    What happened
? Steve thought. What happened was, I won in straight sets even though it was a hundred degrees out there. But that’s not
     good enough for you, is it?
    “Well, we’ll