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My silly heart was racing as he moved swiftly down the hallway, his name stuck in my throat. Why did that always happen—losing my ability to speak normally around him? Why did my senses implode whenever he was near? But more intriguing, what was the reason Max was refusing to play tennis?
––––––––
In my lunch break,I went to the library. I was already behind in one of my assignments, and knowing I had team training and a coaching session with Coach Clay later meant I had to make better use of my time. I wasn’t a bad student, but I got distracted easily, and for my scholarship’s sake I couldn’t afford to let my grades slip.
I was surprised at how many kids had the same idea as me. I had thought I’d be a loner, a nerd studying instead of eating. Disregarding the NO FOOD & DRINK sign, I pulled out a granola bar beneath the table and held it discreetly behind my hand, while trying to chew without moving my jaw.
“Are you Taylor Frank?” A petite girl whose skirt was longer than the norm, asked in a meek, timid voice.
My mouth was full of granola, so I could only nod my head, wondering if she was about to call me out for eating.
“Is it okay if I sit here?”
I nodded, swirling my tongue over my teeth to erase the evidence that I’d broken the library rules.
“Sure,” I said eventually, but she’d already sat and was opening a folder and a notepad. She opened a case and perched a pair of large clear-framed glasses on her nose and looked up nervously. Beneath the table I had pulled my water bottle from my backpack and was waiting for an opportune time to take a sip, unseen.
“Uh, I’m Millie Conway,” the girl said in a soft voice, like she was obliging with the other library sign that read NO LOUD VOICES. “I’m a reporter with the Covington Times. Would you mind answering a few questions for the paper?”
“Me?” My voice pitched like I was auditioning for a soprano role.
“You received a tennis scholarship to Covington. Is that right?”
I nodded, made mute at the thought of my family’s financial status being revealed to the whole school.
“I’m the sports reporter this semester,” Millie said with an apologetic eye roll, like she was here completely under duress and not because of any interest in me, or sports in general. “I’d like to do an article on your tennis. Perhaps about your background and how you started playing?”
My tongue tied even more. Worse than everyone knowing that I was categorized as poor was everyone learning that my mother had died from bowel cancer. I was already formulating a fabricated answer.
Millie smiled hesitantly, adjusting her glasses that had slipped down her nose.
“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” I said, pointing to my laptop.
“Sure,” Millie said, “I mean, it doesn’t have to be right now. Maybe we could meet up?”
I wondered how I could politely decline. “I’m pretty busy. Training, coaching, matches, you know.”
Millie looked down at her notepad. “I can be quite flexible,” she said, offering me another smile. Then she took in a deep breath, releasing it with a loud, nervous whoosh. “I, uh, have to do a portfolio of sports stories for my journalism credits. Usually I do the book review column. And I report on community events at school.” Her little heart-shaped mouth was tightening and her cheeks were flaming bright red. “I admit I don’t really know much about sports.”
Silly me, I immediately felt sorry for her. Millie was being forced out of her comfort zone, something I could identify with. Like, every day at Covington Prep. “I guess I could squeeze it in...some time...”
Relief flooded Millie’s face. “I’ll love you forever,” she said. “Truly.”
“Sure,” I said, cursing my stupid big heart. If I could steer all the questions to the school team and somehow make it about the Covington Maroons, I might come out unscathed.
We exchanged numbers and Millie asked me about my classes and how I was settling in. I answered cautiously, unsure if she was trying to glean information off the record. She obviously knew this, because she said, “I wouldn’t hand anything in until it’s had your seal of approval, Taylor. I can promise you that.”
“Thanks,” I said, though suspicion still hung in the air. It was hard to know who I could fully trust in this place. Being burned by Bianca and Addison early on had made me wary of forming any friendships. I’d be a team player for the good of the Maroons, but I had to keep my wits about me. For some reason, Bianca, Addison and Jorja saw me as competition rather than a teammate.
Strangely, I got on better with the football team. They were easy to be around, and boys, in my experience, made better friends.
Except Max.
Yeah, Max Saunders was an anomaly. One I couldn’t figure out.
