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“Of course, sort of like walk a step behind me, will ya?” He playfully pushed me, I shoved him back. He laughed and feigned an injury. “Geez, Frank your guns are growing!” Taking hold of my upper arm, he squeezed it and whistled.
“Yeah, well, when are we having that game of tennis?” I said. “I can’t wait to beat you!”
“You’re on!”
“Monday? After school.”
“Uh, I’ve got football training,” he said. “Our first game is next week.”
“Excuses,” I said on a sigh. “Admit it, you’re scared. Can you even play?”
“Can. I. Play?” He mocked offence. “Me? Of course Tennessee Jackson can play.”
“Oh yeah?” I was unimpressed; I’d come across plenty of cocky athletes who thought they were great in every sport.
“Here, give me your number. I’ll text you.” We came to a stop, and he fished his phone out of the front pocket of his backpack. “What’ll we play? Best of three sets?”
“Sure,” I replied and recited my number. “Hey? Who’s Phoenix?”
“Phoenix Carter?”
“You guys were saying something about him coming back,” I said.
“Yeah. He was in a car accident,” Tenn said. “End of last semester. He was hurt pretty bad.”
“Oh. That’s no good. Was he a tennis player?”
“Yeah, Covington’s number one player. But sounds like he won’t be playing again.” There was a somber tone to Tenn’s voice, like he was uncomfortable saying it.
“Why not?”
“He smashed both his legs or something. And had to learn how to walk again. So I don’t think he’ll be back on the court any time soon.”
My heart genuinely sank. “That’s sad.”
“Him and Saunders are besties. I’m talking BFFs.” He rolled his eyes in a mocking gesture.
A shiver ran through me. “You mean Max?”
“Yep. Bagel Boy.” He laughed as if the nickname was the cleverest thing he’d come up with. “Totally joined at the hip.”
My brain was computing at a rate of knots and I needed answers. “Is that why Max isn’t playing tennis this year?”
“He isn’t?” Tenn looked shocked.
“That’s what I heard.”
“Aw...that sucks,” Tenn said. “I’m pretty sure Phoenix was unbeaten last year. And Will, he was number two, but he’s gone to college. So, I would’ve thought Saunders would play number one this year.”
I couldn’t quite fathom this new information, and was more curious than ever to find out why Max was giving up on tennis. “Hey,” I poked Tenn in the arm and joked, “If you’re so good, you might get a call-up for the team now.”
“Ha, ha.” He winked. “Better have that game then!” Saying he needed to get across to the science labs, he held up his phone. “I’ll be in touch, okay?”
Somehow I doubted the tennis match would happen, but I smiled and we bumped fists. Tenn reminded me a lot of Joel, fun and full of himself and fiercely competitive. Turning to leave, he came face to face with Max, who looked like he’d just emerged from the wastelands of Siberia—such was his cold-eyed stare .
But Tenn was unfazed. “Oh, hey, Bagel Boy,” he said with a chuckle and with a wave he strode down the hallway, leaving me under the scrutiny of Max’s frosty gaze.
But only for a moment. Because, as if he was under the command of a drill sergeant, he spun sharply and walked off. Or stalked off, actually.
