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Grace was interrupted by Bianca’s sharp intrusion. “What was the deal with your skirt?” Her frosty gaze sent a chill through me. “Tay—lor?”
“I—”
“Why don’t you ask Addi and Jorja?” Grace snapped, an unfamiliar tone from the usually quiet and placid girl.
Both Bianca and I were taken aback, and the rest of the room went deathly silent.
“What’d you say?” Addison approached Grace in an intimidating manner, arms folded across her chest.
“It must have been you,” Grace carried on, unperturbed by the older and taller girl’s presence. “We all saw you and Jorja laughing on the sidelines.”
“You got proof?” Addison asked in a sarcastic sing song voice. “Maybe Taylor threw up before the game which made her skirt too big.”
I was literally stunned, unsure of what Addison was inferring. That I was bulimic?
“Covington Maroons have a reputation to uphold,” Bianca said, stepping forward in a commanding move. “We respect our uniform, so a breach is serious. There are consequences.”
“Someone swapped my skirt for a larger size,” I said in my defence.
“Can you prove that?” Addison sneered at me, siding up to Bianca in a show of unity. “Like, do you have proof,Taylor?”
“I couldn’t play when my skirt was about to fall down!”
“For the next week of training you can pick up all the balls and clear away the equipment on your own,” Bianca said with the air of a draconian dictator.
“Are you serous?” I blinked in disbelief, not at the punishment, but the fact that she had the authority to dish it out. Helping to tidy up after a session was second nature to me, but apparently not to some. From the highs of celebrating a team victory together, I was now reduced to the condemned.
“Make her do push ups, too,” Addison sniggered. Jorja and Bianca smiled in triumph.
“Okay, push ups,” Bianca directed, “Twenty, and full ones.”
I stared at the three of them, wondering if I’d been transported to some alternate reality. There were options here—compliance or defiance. Comply and have them win this little game, or defy and create further division.
Team work. That was the reason I was here. Mom had wanted me to experience it. Creating division would not be what she wanted and neither would Dad. And besides, twenty push ups? Mom had made me do that for lesser misdemeanors, like missing an overhead smash in practice.
Twenty push ups? I’d been doing twenty five every day in the gym.
Getting down onto the cold floor, I stared Bianca in the eye. “Will you count?”
The whole team started off counting in unison, but at 17, Addison and Jorja’s voices faded off. I did 21 for good measure, well, because I could.
I jumped up with a smile and the three of them dispersed, swinging their bags over their shoulders as they left.
“I’ll help you clear up,” Grace said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“So will I,” Esther, the freshman piped up. Another girl, Destiny, who was in the squad but hadn’t played, offered as well.
The fact that I’d aced the push ups, and gained the support of the younger girls meant I left in a good mood. And when I got home, Dad was waiting with an iced mocha and a cinnamon bun. There was a significance to it. Both were classified as treats in my world, too decadent and calorie-laden for everyday eating, Mom had always said. I’d never had to diet because healthy eating had been a way of life for us, not only due to our dedication to sport, but we’d always lived on a tight budget. Mom and Dad’s income was not huge, and tennis was not cheap to play. Cinnamon buns, which I was a very big fan of, became my special treat after a tennis tournament.
“I think you deserve it,” Dad said as he watched me tuck in.
“It’s just as well Bianca made me do twenty push ups,” I said with a wry smile. “I’ll need to burn more calories.”
Dad shook his head when I told him my punishment. “Don’t worry about it, Tay,” he said. “I already spoke to Mrs. Stephens.”
“You did?”
“I’m not tolerating that sort of nonsense,” Dad said, “so I hope she speaks to the girls. If she doesn’t, I’ll be speaking to her again.”
