I briefly suspended my hand in front of my face before I began—not steady enough to perform surgery, but I could paint my nails without issue. Or braid hair. I separated her dark brown, almost black hair into two equal-sized clumps, making the part down the middle of her head as straight as possible. Her hair was as dark as Luke’s. My fingers gathered three pieces and started folding them over each other.
My peripheral vision caught Luke moving to the edge of the kitchen that faced the living room a minute ago. “I can feel you watching,” I sang. “You’re gonna make me mess up.”
“Sorry. I’m just fascinated.” His voice rumbled from behind the couch, his breath caressing my bare shoulder and increasing my heart rate a click. He leaned closer, and I felt the back of the couch dip under his weight. “I don’t get how it works. I’ve watched videos and still can’t do it. Only Luna’s grandmother can do it for her.”
“He’s hopeless,” Luna added.
“Luna! That’s not nice,” I said, aghast, but also a little impressed with her vocabulary, as usual.
“No, it’s true, I am hopeless,” Luke admitted, not insulted at all.
I laughed.
Luke pushed off the couch and I released my breath. He grabbed his lunch box from the kitchen and made his way to the door. “Have a good day, girls,” he said from the threshold.
Girls.
Why did I like how that sounded coming out of his mouth so much?
“How about a snack?” I asked Luna when we got home two days later.
Luna folded her arms. We stood in the kitchen where she’d stopped after we got in the door like she didn’t know where else to go. “I’m not hungry.” Her tone was flat.
Odd.
Her French braid (a single today) was a wild mess, and her newly freckled skin was coated in sunscreen and salt, like it was every day when we got back. She was scowling, just like the entire car ride home. I left her alone in the car, letting her look out the window the whole time we normally talked about sailing and her friends, at least on the days that we drove instead of biked. I figured she was just hangry.
“What about a shower? It will probably feel good to wash off all the salt and sunscreen.”
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Okay, Luna.” I gripped her little shoulders. “What’s going on? Did something happen today that upset you?”
“No,” she said quietly, her voice a pitch higher than normal.
“You can tell me,” I pleaded, starting to worry it was something serious that I wouldn’t know how to handle.
She looked up from the floor then, her big, brown eyes glassy. “My tennis partner Rachel switched to a new partner for the tournament. She said she didn’t think we would win because I’m too small, and I should be partners with Clara. I like Clara but she isn’t as good as Rachel. And I really wanted to win!” Her fists were clenched now, anger emanating from her tiny frame.
I felt for her. I remembered what it was like to be young and invested in your activities. And even more than that, I remembered how hard it was to endure the cattiness of young girls.ThisI could handle. “I can’t believe Rachel did that. That is so uncool to switch partners on you when you’ve already been practicing together for two weeks.”
“I know! But I didn’t say anything because I don’t want her to hate me. So I agreed, but on the inside, I’ve been so mad. Do you think I should ask her to switch back?”
Hm. I didn’t want Luna to put herself in that position because if Rachel said no, it would hurt even more.
“Clara is your friend, right? She’s the one we got ice cream with earlier this week? I thought she was a pretty good tennis player, too.”
“Yes, she’s my friend we got ice cream with. And sheisgood; she just doesn’t have a strong backhand like Rachel.”
“It’s hard because you don’t want to hurt Clara’s feelings, right? She would probably be hurt if you ask to switch back. I think you and Clara should practice hard and make it your goal to beat Rachel and…?”
“Zara.”
“Zara, at the tournament.”
“Okay.” She blew her breath out through her lips and shrugged. “I don’t know if we can do that.”
“Not with that attitude. You’re not that small, Luna. Plus, you’re quick and smart. Tennis is a mental game as well as a physical one. I believe in you.”
