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I was half listening to Mr. Norman pleasantly welcoming Phoenix back to school, when Max said quietly, “Hey, Taylor. Glad the transfer worked out.”
I gave him a stony glare, turning my attention to Phoenix. His brown hair was styled tidily, and a small earring gleamed in his left ear, but the sharp cheekbones bore witness to the trauma his body had encountered. It was a gaunt look, one of deprived sunlight and severe weight loss. He was in a conversation with Weston and arranging his laptop on the desk.
I took an extreme interest in my keyboard, brushing off the crumbs stuck between the keys. Must have been the pretzels I’d been snacking on while writing up my English assignment.
Then I heard Max say my name again, but I refused to look up, pretending that I wasn’t listening in on their conversation. “She’s the star tennis player.”
I feigned complete deafness, fingers poised over the keys as if I was about to type something significant.
“Hi Taylor.”
The sound of my name forced me to lift my eyes, casting a sideways glance to Phoenix. His voice was soft and slightly raspy as if he’d been talking too much already.
“Hi.” My reply was little more than a whisper, the eye contact momentary.
“Can’t wait to see you play,” Phoenix said with a smile.
“Oh,” I said, now wondering if I should say something about his accident and how sorry I was about it.
I was saved from that by Mr. Norman’s triple hand clap. “Okay, let’s get started. And Phoenix, I must say it’s good to have you back.” There was another round of cheering for him. “And we have another new student, Taylor. Welcome, also.”
The room was completely silent. I lowered my head, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. In unison, Max and Phoenix said, “Welcome, Taylor,” and Weston joined them. I considered it a pity gesture, but it did make me feel better.
Mr. Norman handed out a leaflet to Phoenix and me about assignments for the semester, adding that because we were a week behind, we would have to catch up in our own time. He then taught about the elements of composition, lighting, color and movement, making me regret my decision to change class. It seemed photography class wasn’t just about aiming your camera at something and pressing the button.
Trying to concentrate with Max directly across from me was harder work than understanding Mr. Norman’s lesson. I wanted to ignore him outright, but those silly butterflies in my stomach were fluttering every time I accidentally looked up. When the class ended, I hurried away like a coward, while he assisted Phoenix with his walking frame. As for catching up on the assignment, I intended to ask Millie for help.
Our team gym session was another circuit, and again Addison and Jorja were the main complainers. Squats were undignified, they said, sit ups hurt their backs, and the barbell was too heavy. At one point, I saw Bianca sigh and shake her head in frustration, though she never reprimanded them or gave them extra pushups.
Millie was waiting at the tennis courts, a camera hanging around her neck. She sat in the stands taking action photos and approached Bianca afterward. It was a relief to have the focus off of me. No doubt Bianca would give her plenty to write about.
Mrs. Stephens gave us a last minute pep talk, and Bianca asked us to check we had the correct size uniforms, her sarcastic tone aimed at me. Addison and Jorja sniggered.
Grace and I stayed back and hit together until her mother picked her up. She offered to help put the equipment away, but I said I’d serve another basket of balls. Or five. Dad was working another long shift so that he could be at tomorrow’s game, so I was in no rush to go home to an empty house.
Lost in my own world of striving to hit the center line every time, I jolted when Cullen and Tenn suddenly appeared at the gate, both dressed in their football training gear of maroon shorts and numbered t-shirts.
“Whoa! You tryna kill someone?” Tenn called. They slipped off their shoes and came onto the court in their socks. It probably wasn’t allowed, but no one was around to tell them off.
“Go on, show us what you’ve got!” Cullen goaded.
“Won’t you need a racquet?” I said. I dashed over to my bag and handed them my extra racquets.
Grinning widely, they positioned themselves along the baseline. “You might have to go back a bit further,” I said. They shuffled back a bit. “Further!” I called.
I served to Tenn first. He was standing in the proper ready position, but I got great satisfaction in seeing him swipe wildly at air. It was the same for Cullen too, I aced him cleanly. Strangely, they didn’t want me to serve anymore, instead wanting to serve to me. Tennessee could serve into the box, and though Cullen had good pace, he was extremely inaccurate, with his ball reaching the back of the court.
We played around for about ten minutes, though it was mainly me chasing balls all over the place. I was thankful when they said they should head off to the showers.
“You’re coming to Friday’s game, yeah?” Tenn asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said, “I’m looking forward to my first Chargers game.”
“There’s a party afterward, too,” Cullen said, raising his eyebrows. “At my place. Special invite only.”
I smiled and nodded. I wasn’t the party type, but I knew it was best to pretend to agree to these things. I’d be at the game with Dad anyway, and the boys were hardly likely to track me down after it.
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