The sun stood stagnant over the city skyline as a slim girl peered over her sunglasses, wiping off beads of sweat clinging to her face. It was a customarily hot summers day in Australia, the sky a blanket of clear reef-blue with no rescue of a cloud in sight. The girl gazed down from the stands, keenly absorbing the atmosphere of hype and expectation. Fans jumping up and down, all in regulation summer attire of shorts, sneakers and T-shirts, were loudly supporting the players down below. Presently two groups of teenage hooligans were engaged in a slanging match over the length of the court, the heated bantering bordering on hostility. Through the mass of chaos and excitement the girl sat serene and content, seemingly detached from the near-riotous scenes around her.

"Rianne!"

The girl turned around and saw her coach beckoning to her. Sighing, she casually sauntered down the stands and breached the distance between her and her coach with an adventurous hurdle over the gate. Suddenly she broke out in a smile, anticipating the admonitions she would receive from her coach.

"Rianne, how many times have I told you not to do that! You're not a child and I don't have to tell you how easily you could've hurt yourself! You've worked too hard to get here to let it slip all because you were too stupid to take care of yourself!" Her coach paused for breath after his tirade. "Take care of yourself, OK?" Her coach's tortured expression was gradually replaced by a soft smile.

The girl returned his smile wholeheartedly, nodding her head in mock agreement. With a sigh, she said,

"I know, I know, you don't have to tell me! I just felt like doing it. I'm sorry, it won't happen again!"

Her coach gave her a disbelieving look. "Yeah right. Anyway, I came to remind you about your practice session in half an hour on court 13. Don't forget about it, and don't be late." He gave her a reproving look. "It's very expensive."

"Don't worry I won't forget!" With that she made her escape, leaving her coach in her wake. Laughing, she slowed down to a halt to absorb the delicious sights and sounds of a Grand Slam tournament.

She made her way to the player's changing room, making a detour to satisfy her insatiable desire for ice-cream. Sucking contentedly, she breezed into the exclusive administration area, drawing sustenance from the refreshingly cool air emanating from the air conditioning system.

In every sense of the word the girl could only be described as beautiful. She was of average height and slim build, with long wavy brown-grey hair cascading down her shoulders. Exquisite lashes framed her strikingly large brown eyes, and her eyebrows were arched at perfect angles to enhance the delicate contours of her face. Modest in nature, Rianne was as yet unaware of the stunning beauty that she possessed. Her entire life was focused around tennis, and she was oblivious to other distractions.

Rianne came up to the player's lounge, wanting to pick up a snack before practice. She hurriedly discarded her things over a chair and made her way to the canteen line. She was mulling about what exactly she wanted to eat, when someone politely tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, is this yours?" Rianne spun around and found a tall, pleasant looking young man with dashing locks of dark blonde hair holding out her wallet. She hastily grabbed it and looked up into one of the most earnestly endearing eyes she had ever seen.

In fact the person standing in front of her was her favourite tennis player. Flashes of her glancing wistfully into his picture night after night instantly sprang into her mind. Unable to overcome her embarrassment, she was caught speechless.

There was nothing she could do but smile gratefully, while willing her mouth to recover its full operation. He glanced past her, and with a polite grin said, "The line's moving." Rianne glanced sheepishly in his direction and made a mad swipe for a box of strawberries lying on the counter. Summoning her courage and taking a deep breath, she said,

"Thanks for picking up my wallet ... how did you know that it was mine?" She cursed herself for her lame question but resolutely continued smiling. He replied,

"It dropped out of your pocket."

"Oh ... Thanks." She glanced away, searching for a more interesting topic of conversation. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would make heaving motions out of her chest. "Thanks a lot!"

"That's all right." Rianne felt her heart beating even louder, if that was at all possible. Screwing up her courage a second time, she plunged on.

"By the way, I'm ... Rianne." She paused, then blurted "You've been my favourite player for a really *really* long time now and I absolutely adore you - I mean I like your playing style and everything - I mean, not just your playing style, but also you - that is, I mean not you *you* but the tennis you - although I'm not saying I wouldn't like you - but - that is - not that way -" She paused. She was getting nowhere, and was sure as hell on her way to implanting herself in his memory as the silliest, most obscenely bumbling girl that he ever had the displeasure to meet. She tried in vain not to stutter in his presence. After another foray into hurried small talk, she abruptly stopped. Rianne looked him squarely in the eye, bracing herself for his response. Suddenly his eyes crinkled up, and with a huge grin on his face he said,

"Hi, I'm Torbjorn. Torbjorn Linberg. But people call me Toby." He extended his hand invitingly to her and she took it in amazement.

"Hi!" Rianne looked into his ocean blue eyes. He had gorgeous dark blonde wavy hair, a fine, chiselled nose and a very friendly, illuminating smile. Toby (she still couldn't believe he had told her to call him that) was the Swedish number one and was permanently entrenched in the Top 10 - he had been so ever since his meteoric rise last year. After becoming Junior World Champion at seventeen, he had steadily progressed through the senior ranks, but had not fulfilled his enormous potential until he was twenty-one. She had first seen him when she was fifteen at this very same event, and immediately noticed how talented and poised he had been as a seventeen year old at a major championship. But however much she admired his talent, it was his appearance that really caught her attention. She was mesmerised by his tall, handsome frame and modest smiling face. Rianne found herself unable to do anything but gaze into his eyes.

The pair remained silent until Toby was given a large slap on his back by a man dressed in casual shorts and T-shirt who started chatting loudly to him in Swedish. Rianne felt the first fleeting signs of embarrassment, and for no apparent reason she found herself blushing. Not wanting to stand around feeling awkward, she made a silent getaway from the lounge, grabbed her belongings and bolted out.

*****

"You're late again." Her coach, Josh McIntyre, glanced grimly at his watch. "By fifteen minutes." His eyes scanned hers searching for an explanation, his expression conveying to Rianne that he really did not expect a plausible one.

"I lost my wallet." Rianne flatly stated her excuse. For once she felt no inclination for the flamboyant. She was static and felt surprisingly downcast, in light of recent events.

"What's wrong ?" Her coach Josh inquired, sensing her deflated spirit. Although he seemed a bit tough on her at times, a good relationship existed between them as he had found himself placed into the position of comforting her many times during her short but turbulent career. He was still young for a coach - young enough to relate to his charge, yet mature enough to play the parental role with her. A tall man of six foot four inches, his body was still toned and groomed like the supreme athlete he had been as an elite tennis player. He possessed a quick mind and no change in Rianne's general well-being went by unnoticed.

"Rianne ... What's the matter?"

"Nothing ... " Her eyes fixed into space, her mind racing away to the one person who, since their brief meeting moments ago, she could not stop thinking about. "Nothing ... Let's practice OK? I think I need to work on my volleys. They're a little weak ..."

****

Rianne slammed the locker door shut. The entire afternoon had been spent on improving the weaker aspects of her game, but she found her mind was proving to be the weakest aspect of all, since it was constantly drawn to one person. All she could see was a pair of iridescent blue eyes gazing down upon her. It was so idiotic! She had only just met him, didn't know him at all , and yet ... why was she so distracted by him?

She shook off her thoughts and slammed her tennis gear into her sports bag. Picking up her racquets she headed out into the now almost vacant car park, silently noting her driver was late arriving to pick her up again. She sighed and sat down on the hard concrete curb. She could still see a throng of distant figures milling about the complex, a collage of colours against the sinking sun. Presently a white car approached her, and the driver yelled out,

"Sorry I'm late! I had to pick up something for the wife! Hope you don't mind! You did say around six..."

"That's all right, I don't mind. Just get me back to the hotel on time for dinner." She clamoured into the car, her driver helping her to load her gear into the trunk. She sank back into the cool velvet cushion and gazed at the city skyline as she was driven back to the hotel.

****

Sluggishly she dragged herself into the elegant dining room of the exclusive hotel. Josh and her manager, Anthony Stevens, were patiently waiting for her at the table. She sat down, yawning in the process. Without meeting their eyes she picked up the menu and pretended to be occupied by it. After ordering her meal she leaned back onto her chair, looking from coach to manager.

Her coach leaned forward.

"Ann, I know you're really tired but I think we have to go through the game plan one more time. I got the feeling you weren't exactly listening to me this afternoon - so I'd like us to go through it once again after dinner. When I'm satisfied you know what you're doing, then you can go to sleep." He looked at her critically. " I expect you to get a full night's sleep and wake up nice and refreshed. This is your first Grand Slam tournament and you need to make a good showing to boost your rankings. I know you're good. Now is the time to prove just how good you are."

"That's right Rianne." Anthony stepped in," I don't mean to put any pressure on you, but I think you really should be aware that a first round win could get some major sponsorship dollars for us. You need a clothing sponsor for starters after losing the last two..." he let his voice trail off.

"Look ... Don't worry! I'll be fine. I'm going to win tomorrow and that's it. No one can stop me from doing well in this tournament, so would you two just quit it?! You're driving me crazy! Please, just leave me alone. I can take care of myself." Genuinely agitated she stuffed a spoonful of pasta into her mouth, effectively ending all discussion.