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She didn’t turn up in the cafeteria like she said she would and, unexpectedly, it felt like a kick to the stomach. But then I was glad she didn’t. The tiresome conversations by the football team about protein intake and competing to see who could eat the most bacon, eggs and oatmeal were interspersed with snippets about the ‘tall, new girl’and‘that girl crashing the gym’.It didn’t take me long to put two and two together and realize Taylor had turned up to do a workout during the football team’s gym session. It made sense as to why she’d gotten defensive on the track.
I had fanciful thoughts that we could run together every morning, and was wondering how I could get her number.
But it wasn’t possible when there was no sign of her anywhere. Instead, it was Bianca who seemed to pop up at every turn, in every doorframe.
“Wow, stop stalking me, Max. We really should stop meeting like this.” She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously as we collided on the last class of the day.
Unimpressed by her humor, I frowned, ready to storm off when she grabbed my sleeve.
Tugging out of her grip, her eyes misted over. “Max, it doesn’t have to be like this. We can still be friends.”
My chest tightened. It was silly that the vision of her and Will kissing each other at the tennis courts only days after her break-up text flashed through my mind, as did the smug, cocky smile that Will taunted me with every time he saw me after that.
“I don’t think so,” I clipped coldly, hitching my bag so that it bumped against her.
“Max?” she said, “Hey, do you know when Phoenix is coming back?”
I gritted my teeth, a cloud of negativity engulfing me; she was the last person I wanted to talk to about Phoenix, but then I jolted, abrupt with my question, “You’re training after school?”
Her hazel eyes brightened, her eyebrows elevating with hope. “Yes. Come and watch?”
Yeah, it’s so funny how attractiveness isn’t based on physical features. Like, no denying Bianca was pretty, absolutely she was, but you can’t see it when you’ve been crushed. All you see is ugliness.
I carried on to my locker, my heart palpitating, but oddly not because of the encounter with Bianca, but the thought that Taylor would be playing tennis too. I had plans to help my brother, but there was no urgency to that. I could hang around and watch a game or two.
I ended up staying for the whole match, consumed and obsessed with Taylor.
Everything about her was spell-binding, her composure, her movement, her technique. I stood at the fence, love-struck as I watched every shot performed with ease and precision. A serve down the center tee, a backhand deep in the court, a lob placed over Bianca’s head.
And when it was over, instead of rejoicing over Bianca’s humiliating defeat, my thoughts were only on congratulating Taylor. Bianca left the court in a huff, meaning I didn’t need to wait long to approach Taylor. Was it presumptuous of me? I mean, she had stood me up at breakfast.
But somehow I didn’t care, nor did I think. My legs just walked straight on up to her. Fixed her bag and commented on her awesome play. Maybe being besotted does that to you. Acting on instinct. I liked it, not thinking about every detail that could go wrong, or worrying about what I would say.
The conversation was brief, but I hung on every word she’d said to me, even hours later. I smiled as I remembered her thanking me for repairing her zipper. Of her genuine gratitude for my praise. Gah, could a girl be more perfect?
I hurried to the Country Club to give my brother a hand. Clay had started as the Covington Heights’ club professional after graduating college. He had ambitions to coach in Europe some day, but for now he was happy to be in River Valley, help out Mom and Dad when he could, while gaining experience in coaching. So far the mainstay of his clients had beenCovington housewives,as he liked to call them. Knowing he had a full schedule of tiny tennis classes after school, I’d offered to help.
“You want a hit?” he asked after the lesson had ended and I’d collected up the equipment.
“Not really,” I said. It frustrated him that I hadn’t played tennis all summer. But it didn’t seem right—not while Phoenix was in the rehab center.
“Come on. Let’s see if you can serve.” He tossed me a ball and I had no choice but to serve it. I missed six in a row, when he said, “Don’t toss it so far to the right, Max. I have a girl who serves faster than you. And she gets it in the box.”
I shrugged like I didn’t care, but my heart shuddered and shook. “A girl? What girl?” The half second that it took him to answer had my nerves jangled, like the slight possibility, that sliver of hope that Clay could be coaching Taylor Frank.
“New kid at Prep. Just arrived this week. Taylor. Have you seen her around school?”
I nodded, overwhelmed to find that my brother had a connection to Taylor. Overwhelmed and euphoric.
“She absolutely annihilated Bianca,” I gushed with a mystifying degree of pride, as if Taylor’s victory was somehow down to my presence. “She wiped her off the court.”
“She beat Bianca, huh?”
Clay’s chuckle made me scowl, and my cheeks heated in embarrassment. Maybe worse than Bianca dumping me was thateveryone knewBianca dumped me. Oh well, a whole summer had passed since then, the relationship filed as a bad mistake, and my heart stitched back together. And, unexpectedly, ready to go again.
I ignored Clay’s mention of Bianca and, trying to keep my voice neutral, said, “So, you’re coaching Taylor?”
Clay’s eyes zoned in on me and not my ball toss. “You watched her play?” he asked.
