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“Sutton?” he said after a moment.
“Oh!” Emma said. Ethan.
Ethan scooped up the tennis racket and walked over to her. He wore a black T-shirt, blue gym shorts, and gray New Balance sneakers. “I am so glad it’s you,” Emma said.
Ethan wrinkled his nose. “Do you always hurl tennis rackets at people you’re happy to see?”
Emma took the racket from him. “Sorry. You scared me. I thought you were . . .” She trailed off. My sister’s killer. An evil note-writing stalker.
“The bogeyman?” Ethan filled in.
Emma nodded. “Something like that.”
The jogging couple ran past. A low-rider car trundled by on the street, letting out a honk to the tune of The Godfather theme. Emma looked at Ethan again. “What were you doing lying in the dark?”
“Stargazing.” Ethan gestured toward the sky. “I come here almost every night. It’s a great place for it because it’s so dark here. Until you came along, that is.” He leaned against a stone-covered water fountain just outside the courts. “What are you doing here? Spying on me?”
Emma blushed. “No. I wanted to practice tennis. My game has gone from an A to a D-minus over the summer.”
“Hoping to show Nisha who’s boss?”
Emma jolted up. How did he know that?
Ethan grinned, as if reading her mind. “Your rivalry is legendary. Even I’ve heard about it.”
Emma inspected Ethan’s sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and muscular shoulders. In German class, Ethan had stared out the window the whole time, not speaking to anyone. He was the only person Frau Fenstermacher hadn’t picked on. In the hall, he’d walked by himself, big Bose headphones clapped over his ears. Girls shot him appreciative glances as he passed, but he gave each of them shy shrugs and continued on.
“So do you want a practice partner?” Ethan interrupted her thoughts.
Emma cocked her head. “You mean . . . tennis?”
“No, croquet.” He smiled and gestured toward the parking lot. “I have a racket in my car. But if you don’t want to . . .”
“I’d love to.” Emma smiled. Nerves snapped and danced beneath her skin. “Thanks.”
“Okay.” Ethan’s expression was sheepish, maybe even a little nervous. They turned and both tried to walk through the chain-link exit at the same time. They collided into each other, Emma’s side hitting Ethan’s hip.
“Oops,” Emma laughed. They both stepped back at the same time. Then Emma moved forward through the exit once more. So did Ethan. They bumped again. Emma stepped on Ethan’s foot. “Sorry,” Emma said, quickly jerking away.
“I was just . . .” Ethan stepped out of the way once more, extending his arm in an after-you gesture. Emma’s cheeks burned.
Finally they each managed to step through the gate, and Ethan retrieved his tennis racket from the car. They hit the ball back and forth for a while. After a half hour had passed, Emma could feel her swing getting stronger and her footwork no longer resembling that of a headless chicken. “Wanna take a break?” Ethan called from the other side of the court.
Emma nodded. They collapsed on the bench at the sidelines. Ethan removed a bottle of Fiji water and a package of dark chocolate M&Ms from his messenger bag. “You don’t seem so rusty.”
Emma took a long drink from the water bottle, careful not to let water dribble messily down her chin. “Yeah, I do. But thanks for helping me out. It was really sweet.”
“No problem.” Ethan shrugged.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above their heads. Ethan rolled a tennis ball under his foot. “So why didn’t you want to come to the party with me yesterday?” she asked after a moment.
Ethan turned away from her to face the large wooden sandbox on the other side of the fence. A couple of shovels and castle molds lay abandoned in the sand. Emma bet the whole thing smelled like pee. “Your crowd isn’t really my thing.”
Emma shrugged. She wasn’t sure if she was into Sutton’s crowd, either. “You wouldn’t have had to talk to them. I was the one who invited you.”
He picked at a scab on his knee. “Honestly? I kind of thought it was a setup. I was afraid I’d go to that party and . . . I don’t know. Someone would drop pig blood on my head or whatever, horror-film style.”
“I wouldn’t set you up!”
Ethan sniffed. “Sutton Mercer wouldn’t set someone up?” He looked at her doubtfully.
Emma stared at the glowing net in the middle of the court. She had no idea what Sutton would or wouldn’t do. All those comments from teachers, the manila file from the police. She was starting to feel personally responsible for all of it, even though she didn’t have the slightest idea what any of it was.
Emma reached into the open bag of M&M’S and grabbed a handful. Absently, she arranged a few on her thigh in the shape of a smiley face: two blue M&M eyes, a green nose, and a red and brown M&M smile.
“You do that, too?” Ethan asked.
Emma looked up. “Do what?”
“Make faces with your food.” Ethan pointed at Emma’s creation.
Emma ducked her head. “I’ve done it since I was little.” She’d sculpted smiley faces in ice cream sundaes with chocolate chips, or with extra ketchup on a plate after she’d eaten all her fries. A counselor once caught her making a happy face with Cheerios during a session and told Emma that she probably did it because she was lonely. But Emma just thought everything she ate deserved some personality.
