PHOENIX, April 26 -- Growing up in the projects of East Las Vegas, Claudia Meza wore black lipstick, flashed gang signs and concealed knives and brass knuckles in her baggy pants.
At age 12, she endured depression that led to a suicide attempt, which failed when her cousin walked into the bathroom. At 14, she was sent to live with a grandmother in a tough South Tucson neighborhood where she heard gunshots again, got into fewer fights but also picked up a tennis racket and, in five years earned a half-scholarship and national collegiate ranking at Grand Canyon University.
In June, the 5-foot-10-inch Meza will take her fearless attitude and aggressive strokes to the Rick Macci Tennis Academy in Pompano Beach, Fla., for a summer of instruction. She was invited sight unseen, discovered over the Internet in a flurry of e-mail messages between a caring high-school coach and a tennis academy searching for the next Venus or Serena Williams. "I take a deep breath every time I think about it," Meza said.
"I always believed in myself, even though I was a thug," she said recently after her last home match at Grand Canyon University. "I always felt I could be something. I just didn't know how or when it would happen."
The Macci Academy is trying to hone the skills that will make it happen someday for Meza on the international tour. "In this business, sometimes you've got to gamble," said Greg Russell, the director of coaches and technical development for the academy, which produced the Williams sisters and Jennifer Capriati. "You've just got to have a gut feeling, and seeing her background, we decided to help her. Whatever happens, happens. At least we gave her a chance."
Meza, a 20-year-old sophomore, recently cracked the Intercollegiate Tennis Association Division II ranking, making her debut at No. 17 in the West. She hopes to improve on that at a tournament this weekend in Ojai, Calif.
"It's unbelievable," Meza said of her Macci invitation. "I'm still shocked, I guess, that they'd want to work with me. Tennis saved me. It gave me something to look forward to. I started a whole new life. It was a transformation, and it happened so fast."
Meza's choices had seemed to be jail or worse during a troubled home life. Her father, Amado, was in and out of jail for most of her childhood and spent little time with his family. Her mother, Maria, worked as a housekeeper at Caesars Palace to support Claudia and her younger sister, Crystal. Her mother found it increasingly difficult to control Claudia, whose problems eventually followed her home.
"They would come and break our windows and slash our tires," Maria Meza said of the gangs in an interview from Las Vegas last week. "They call and say, 'I'm going to kill your daughter, I'm going to kill you.' "
One night, a gang of about 25 young people chased Claudia to her house and stood outside yelling threats until the police arrived. Not long afterward, the family decided that Claudia should go to south Tucson.
"She had to go," Maria Meza said. "It was too much. So many fights. I was so scared. I thought she'd end up dead."
Claudia's new environment was not much different. Her grandmother, Guillerma Meza, lives near Irvington and South 12th Avenue, a flashpoint for violence in South Tucson. Early Easter morning, two separate shooting incidents within six blocks of her house left three people dead.
Guillerma's guidance, however, worked wonders on her granddaughter. Within one year, she got Claudia interested in attending church. She also thought modeling classes would help the girl's self-confidence. To help pay for those classes, Guillerma Meza traveled to Juarez, Mexico, to buy clothes in the open markets and sell them in Tucson for a profit.
"It broke my heart to see her like she was," Guillerma Meza said in Spanish over Easter brunch at her home. "I'm proud of her because we have had a struggle together. We fight hard, and I thank God for this."
Claudia, who was translating, stopped to wipe a tear from her eye, before her grandmother continued speaking.
"I can't believe how far she has gotten," Guillerma said. "I cry for joy, it's so unbelievable."
Across the table sat Stacy Haines, the tennis coach at Desert View High School, who first saw Meza's potential. Meza tried out for the team because a friend wanted her to. Rough as Meza was -- in her first high-school match, she threatened to beat up an opponent who was winning points on high, deep lobs -- Haines liked the athletic aggression she showed.
"I didn't have any strokes," Meza said. "I'd hit balls over the fence. I didn't know how to keep score or anything. I stereotyped it as a wimpy game.
"I never thought I'd do it."
On Haines, Meza said: "He was the first to actually believe in me and tell me I could do things. He made me feel worthwhile."
Haines eventually got Meza into the Tucson Racquet Club for instruction. "She didn't fit in, but she wouldn't quit," Haines said.
"Nobody in tennis has been nice to her," he added. "Part of it was probably racial, but it was also economic. Some of it was her feeling inferior, too, but she gradually got more confidence."
Meza recalled a conversation with a member on one of her first visits to the club.
"I walked by him, and he asked, 'Where are you from?' I said, 'South Tucson.' He said, 'What are you doing here?' I said, 'playing tennis.' He just said, 'Oh.' "
Haines has served as Meza's coach, defender, mentor and publicist. He initially contacted Gerry Roberts, the academy's former director of sports science and now a Macci consultant. Roberts passed the information about Meza to Russell, who sent the official invitation in March via an e-mail message.
"It's not her age, it's her motivation and how hard she works," Russell said, when asked whether Meza could overcome the late start and be successful on the tour. "The good thing about that is you don't have to teach an old dog new tricks.
"Kids who come here with an endless amount of money, and no matter what you do, you can't motivate them. Here's a kid with an unbelievable background, who's fought her way this far this fast and she really wants it. I love working with kids like that."
Meza, meanwhile, relishes the opportunity to break down stereotypes. "I have to make my people proud," she said. "There has to be somebody to step up and tell everybody they can do it."
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