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“Whydoyou want to hang out with me?”
“Because you’reGemma.”
Whateverthatmeans. Instead of trying to decode his statement, I head for the gate. “My sneakers are in the truck. I’ll be right back.”
“You need me to go with you? There might be grizzlies or wolves out there.”
“Ha. I have it on good authority that’s not true. I’ll be fine.”
I hurry to the car and trade out my leather boots for my pink Saucony sneakers.Am I going to be fine, though, really? In the long run?
I’m going to Broad Hollow tomorrow to see Mortimer.
Mortimer is in my Plan.
Parker is not.
I hustle back to the court, and when I grab the racket again, I let thoughts about my Life Plan settle in the far back of my mind.
Out of the way. For once.
Parker goes easy on me at first, but when I start to warm up and give him some spicy returns, he laughs and puts more power to the shots he fires back.
Soon I’m running so much that I have to strip off my fleece. My cheeks feel flushed and my chest heaves with exertion as I jump up to make contact with a ball zooming over my head. The racket’s strings bounce against the ball’s weight. I land light on my feet, run up toward the “net” and lunge right in time to reach the ball again.
“Oh, ho! What do we have here? And I thought I’d have to remind you how to volley. You always used to hang out in no man’s land.” In the corner of my eye, I see Parker twist and use a double-backhand to return the ball my way.
“What, like you had a pro career and I’ve got nothing but a couple lessons at the Wayland town park plus some pointers from you under my belt?” I laugh as the ball flies past me, out of reach. I have to jog to get it, but I don’t mind.
It feels good to move.
I line up my feet and angle my hips toward the wall. I might not remember everything from those lessons I took in fourth grade, or times in my past messing around on courts with Parker, but I do recall the basics of how to serve.
I give it my best shot, and Paker makes a big show of lunging, on his side of the pavement. “Dang! You put some power into that one, girl. Almost had me.”
“Hey, I don’t need you to patronize me.” I can’t help but laugh, because compared to his serves, mine was pathetic. “Then again, if it was a compliment I’ll take it.”
“It was a compliment. Gemma Lafferty—the power house.”
We hit the ball back and forth for a while, and I have to move so much to keep up with him that I’m too out of breath to talk. The only sounds are the thud of the ball against the wall, our sneakers scuffing the pavement, and our mutually ragged breathing.
When he returns a ball just out of my reach, he raises his fist in the air and pumps it once.
I catch my breath as I jog after the ball. “What, suddenly after your years of being all Zen Master about athletic events,nowyou’re competitive?”
“Yeah. Complete change of heart. I’m playing to win, and that’s all.”
“Not for the fun of it?” I tease.
“Who’s calling this fun?”
I am. I am definitely calling this fun.
I pause with the ball in my hand. I should serve it, but I just want to savor this moment. I glance over at Parker and see he’s watching me—with that you’re-a-special-snowflake look.
Is it possible that I’m wrong about this look? Maybe I better get some nerve up and check. “What?” I ask.
“Nothin’.”
