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It had been a whirlwind since Mom had died back in April. Those last days had been a blur and I didn’t want to remember them. I didn’t want to recall the memories of Mom being tired, fading away before my eyes. That false hope I foolishly clung to as Mom’s own body deserted her, abandoned her, refused to respond to treatment. How many prayers had I offered up, how many favors had I begged of God, of the universe, how many deals had I been willing to make?I’ll do anything if you let Mom live, just tell me, I’ll do it!
Because, on that quiet Tuesday when Mom finally slipped away, I’d known it had all been in vain; knew that my hopes and prayers had been sucked into the abyss, unheard, unanswered.
But Mom hadn’t wanted us to mourn or to stand still. It was like the show must go on. She’d arranged her own funeral service, the prayers, the songs, the flowers on her coffin. And she’d already activated the plan, organizing my tournament schedule so that over the summer I accompanied Coach Sosnowski and his two sons, Joel and Luka on the circuit. She’d applied for the scholarship to Covington Prep, she’d planned for our move to River Valley. And we had followed it through as if she was right here directing our lives, watching over us.
My tears stained Dad’s shirt as I shuddered in his arms, her absence overwhelming me. Sometimes crying was all you could do. Dad’s arms wrapped around me, holding me up, a tower of strength. His lips pressed down on the top of my head, and he murmured, “So, shall we go for breakfast?”
I took in a deep and shaky inhale. “Yes. And then we can go for a walk by the river.”
––––––––
Iarrived at the schoolgym early on Monday morning feeling fresh and rejuvenated. The day spent with Dad had been what we’d both needed, a day with no schedules, no timetables, no training, though by the afternoon I had been itching to hit balls.
After our five mile walk along the river, we’d stopped at the mall. Dad bought some new sports socks because blisters had made the last half mile particularly painful. And after talking with the sales clerk, we’d left with a tub of protein powder. Dad said I should take it after a training session to help with muscle growth and recovery.
Then, I’d followed Dad’s advice and watched a rerun of the last Grand Slam tennis final. He said I could learn by watching, and he wanted me to record stats of the match so I could look at patterns of play. It wasn’t a coaching technique Mom had used before, but Dad had played football back in high school and he said stats were crucial. I think it was just a sneaky way to stop me from going to the courts.
But now I was glad I’d had rested, because I was pumped to work out. I’d already learnt that Coach Mercer responded well when I was the first to arrive. He grumbled and wished his team had as much enthusiasm as me. Covington Prep’s sporting successes came in tennis and golf, and the Covington Chargers were not highly ranked in their division. Coach Mercer intended to change that this season. Giving me a friendly wave, he came to check on my program. Because I’d be doing a gym session with the tennis team after school, I planned to do a core workout, then run on the track.
The team were used to seeing me now, and a couple of boys nodded in my direction, some even going so far to say hi. Still, it was a total shock when a boy actually spoke to me when I was folding up my mat about to leave.
“What is this? Half a workout?” His voice was quite gruff, his brown eyes piercing.
“Actually it’s a double workout day,” I retorted. “I’ve got a team training after school, so I’m finishing now,” I paused as I stacked my mat on the pile and stood. “Is that okay?” I enunciated each word crisply.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Uh...yeah,” he said, “it’s okay.”
“Good,” I said, holding his gaze with an equally fierce stare.
The boy’s lips curled into a slow grin. “Uh, you’re Taylor, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Taylor,” I clipped back, refusing to return the smile.
“Uh, I’m Tenn.” He held his clenched hand upward, but I waited a second before fist bumping him. Then I did so with the barest of touches. “You held your plank for five minutes. Pretty impressive.”
So, the boy was complimenting me! I let my face relax. “You were standing there timing me?”
Dimples appeared in his cheeks as he laughed. “Not exactly, but you held good form!”
“Thank you,” I said as I wiped my towel across my forehead.
“Tennis scholarship, huh?” He ran his hand through his light brown hair, ruffling it up.
“Yeah. We’ve got our first match tomorrow.”
“I heard.”
“You coming to watch then?” I quipped, raising my eyebrows in a challenge.
“Ha!” he scoffed, looking over his shoulder where a couple other boys were standing. “Only if Coach lets us off practice early. Yeah, we might be there.”
The others grinned, like they’d been listening to the whole conversation. As heat flooded my cheeks, I wiped my face again, hoping to hide the rising color.
Tenn introduced me to the two boys, Sawyer and Cullen, and within a few minutes I was fist bumping half the team, knew everyone’s position and being called the Plank Queen.
“Let’s get back to it,” Coach Mercer shouted, but he patted my back and said he’d see me tomorrow.
I hitched my backpack over my shoulder and left to a cacophony of farewells, suddenly everyone’s best friend. The cooler air outside made me break into a jog as I headed toward the track. My plan was to run a few laps at a gentle pace, followed by a set of short sprints.
