Read Online Dylan by Lisi Harrison - Free Book Online Page B

by Dylan’s diamond-studded ear.
    “That’s two,” Svetlana called.
    Pop!
Dylan jumped up and swung blindly.
    “Three.”
    “Wait, why are you counting?” She lowered her racket.
    “Every time you miss a ball, there’s a consequence. Clearly you didn’t read about the Svetlana Way™ carefully enough. For that, I add five minutes of sprinting. Now go!”
    Dylan blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “Do you want boy or not?”
    Dylan sighed and jogged to the net. She slapped its white plastic top, then headed back to the baseline—again and again and again.
    The minute she was done, Svetlana wound up for her next serve.
    Pop
!
    This time, the strings on Dylan’s racket connected with Svetlana’s ball. It floated away from Dylan and sailed up, up, up in the air and over the fence.
    “Sah-ree!” She turned back to Svetlana, who did not look amused.
    “Drop and give me twenty-five,” she barked.
    “But you told me to leave my wallet in the bungalow.” Dylan pulled out her pockets to show she didn’t have any cash, and a flurry of cookie crumbs dusting the courts.
    “Twenty-five push-ups, Size
Six
!”
    “Don’t call me—”
    Puuuurp
.
    Dylan sighed, assuming the push-up position. Her palms, which were unaccustomed to carrying anything heavier than a patent leather Chloé Paddington, were not prepared to handle this much Dylan. After two feeble attempts, her elbows buckled and her injured shoulder attempted suicide. She collapsed face-first into a Nike shoe print.
    “All we have to do is fake a match. This is a little much, don’tcha think?”
    “You can’t
fake
tennis.” Svetlana slammed her racket down on the net. “Now, twenty-three to go.”
    Dylan took a deep breath, placed her palms back on the red clay, and pushed herself up twenty-three more times in the name of love.
    “Now for the serve.” Svetlana pulled a ball out of her pocket and threw it at Dylan.
    Miraculously, she caught the ball and began running in place like she’d seen Svetlana do before her serves.
    “Weight on front foot, watch that stance, and breathe! Like this.” Svetlana tossed the ball in the air and whipped it across the court.
    Dylan cheer-clapped. “Wow, that was amaz—”
    PUUURP!
    “No compliments!” Svetlana shouted. “Now you.” She aimed a speed gun at Dylan.
    Dylan, feeling thinner already, dribbled the ball a few times on the clay. She threw it toward the cloudless sky and swung her racket up to meet it. “Huu-ahhhh!”
    Pop!
The ball sailed over the net.
    “Yay! That was pretty good, huh?” Dylan beamed, reminding her mentor that the no-compliment rule did not apply to her.
    Svetlana checked the speed gun. “Eleven miles per hour. Unbelievable.”
    “Almost the speed limit in a school zone. I must be a natural.” Dylan rocked excitedly on the heels of her silver Nikes.
    “No, I mean it’s
not
believable. And we need it to be believable or no one will think you can beat me. I serve a 129. Now, again.”
    From the baseline, Dylan could see surfers riding the shimmering waves. She wanted to be on the beach taking their pictures and forwarding her Roxy moment to the Pretty Committee. Instead, she sighed and threw another ball up in the air. Imagining Svetlana’s smug face on the fuzzy lime-green Wilson, she whacked it as hard as she could.
    Pop!
    Svetlana looked at the speed gun again. “Not as awful.”
    They practiced serves for another hour under the hot Hawaiian sun.
    “Enough!” Svetlana announced.
    “Finally!” Dylan dropped to her knees. “I need some carbs and a wardrobe change.”
    “Nyet.”
Svetlana tossed her a pair of white patent leather stilettos with rubber traction soles. “Put these on, Flatfoot.”
    “
Nyet
way!” Dylan jumped back. “Those aren’t shoes—they’re
ews
.”
    “You must. It will teach you how to stay on your toes.” She thrust the shoes toward Dylan’s face.
    “I have some ah-dorable snakeskin Marnis that will do the trick.” Dylan waved