This time, she shanked her forehand, and the ball flew off to the side.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Sorry.”
“You haven’t played in a long time. A little rustiness is to be expected.” He emptied the final ball from the can. “Be sure to swing from your shoulders, not your elbows or wrists. I don’t want you injuring yourself. And picture yourself swinging through the ball, not at it.”
She clutched her racket tighter, deep lines carving across her forehead.
Damn. She was supposed to be enjoying herself.
“Listen…” He climbed over the net and dropped the ball in her left hand. “Why don’t you take the first shot?”
Her fingers closed around the ball, and her face brightened. “That might work better. I like having a little more control.”
He huffed out a laugh. “No shit.”
“I make no apologies. There’s a reason I intend to become principal soon.” After a couple of experimental bounces of the ball against the ground, those lines on her forehead eased, and a faint smile curved her generous mouth. “So if boy bands aren’t a good cultural touchstone, what would be? Famous movies? Internet and social media trends?”
She caught the ball in her left hand, holding her racket away from her body with her right. “Because I hate to tell you this, but my family didn’t get a computer until I was about eight, and I didn’t send my first e-mail until I was in high school. I’m still not entirely certain what TikTok is, although I assume it involves mechanical timepieces.”
He wagged his finger at her. “Don’t pretend to be a technological dunce, Tess. Given your job, I’m sure you use all sorts of online educational programs and digital tools, including some I’ve never seen. Am I right?”
A weird sound emitted from her throat. Something between a growl and a disgruntledhmph. Either way, he knew what it meant: He was right.
“Maybe,” she finally allowed.
With a healthy swing—from her shoulder, he was glad to note, although her follow-through was minimal—she sent the ball flying over the net.Wayover the net, past the baseline. He scrambled backward to return it, but managed to hit a controlled shot that should land right…
There. Right in front of her and to her side. This time, she caught the ball in her sweet spot, and it sailed back over the net.
A real rally. Hallelujah.
She was still talking, still trying to prove that they had nothing in common. “When I was growing up, if I wanted to listen to a specific song, I couldn’t just go online and find a YouTube video or a good streaming service. I had to listen to the radio for hours on end, recognize the opening bars of the song, hold my little tape recorder next to my radio, and pray my parents wouldn’t make too much noise during the song. Or I’d have to buy the entire album, tape, or CD, depending on how old I was. When I found out about iTunes, I almost cried with joy.”
He ran to reach a ball that barely cleared the net. “Too law-abiding for Napster’s pirating heyday, huh?”
“I’m surprised you even remember back that far.” She missed his return, which bounced past her and hit the back of the court with a rattle of boards. When he produced another can of balls from his bag, she held up a hand. “Let’s take a quick break.”
Obligingly, he dropped a ball in his pocket and leaned on his racket. “As far as Napster, all I can legally tell you is that my older brother had an extensive music collection around the turn of the millennium. And to tackle your broader contention, I would argue that love of music transcends the means by which we acquire it. Also its national origin.”
“I take it you don’t agree with my choice of relevant cultural touchstones.” A few shiny strands of her hair had fallen free from her pigtails, and she tucked them behind her ears. “In that case, I repeat: What would be good ones, then?”
He thought for a minute.
“Much as I hate to say it…international tragedies, maybe? I think we both share some of the same memories, despite our differing ages and nationalities and understandings of the events at the time.” Uncapping a water bottle, he took a sip. Even at night and with an ocean breeze, a Florida summer could suffocate you with humidity. “Or political upheaval. And we’ve both been adults and U.S. residents for the most recent example of that.”
When he tossed another water bottle over the net, she caught it. “So you’re going with the depressing stuff? I’m surprised at you, Lucas. I thought you were all good times and willing women.”
All thedepressing stuffhad exited his life months ago. And good riddance.
“Oh, I am,” he assured her with a lazy wink. “And I’m not certain any cultural touchstone can really determine how much two people have in common, or whether they’ll be able to understand one another. I would think shared personality traits, interests, and life experiences would be more relevant.”
“So it’s not the years, it’s the model and the mileage?” Her head tilted as she stared at him, and she took a long time to answer. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I guess I would probably agree with you.”
“What? You agree with me?” He gripped the net with both hands and leaned over it, squinting at her. “Who are you? And what have you done with Tess Dunn?”
She didn’t answer.
Something in her eyes had shifted over the past few minutes, while he’d coached her and they’d argued about boy bands and generational landmarks. He wasn’t sure what. But she was evaluating him in a different way, paying closer attention to him and his words than he remembered her doing before.
