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Taylor
Apart from Lucy andthe kids talking to me in the cafeteria, I was pretty much disregarded in my classes that day. Admittedly, I did slink into the back row, or as close to it as I could, making myself invisible. Tennis had been my only focus for so long, that I was out of the loop on how to make friends. Well, I wasn’t here to mix and mingle. Covington Prep wanted me for my tennis ability, and I needed Covington Prep to build my tennis CV. I needed to throw all of my energy into it and not get entangled in the drama of high school hierarchy.
Because, from my first step through the doors of Covington Prep, I caught a glimpse of it in action. Rewind that—actually the moment I entered the student parking lot. From the array of vehicles, I could see that the seven year old SUV that had belonged to my mother and which I called new, would in fact be classed as a clunker. Yes, the excessive amount of wealth told me I was going to be hopelessly out of my depth here.
And I was unsure of how much prestige, if any, came along with being the bearer of a tennis scholarship. Maybe the scholarship kids were automatically lumped together, regardless of financial status. But I had to put that out of my head. Tennis was the important thing and it wouldn’t do me any good to wallow in my insecurities, or worry about my car or the house I lived in, or my father’s new occupation.
Or the fact that I looked hopelessly out of place in my uniform. Granted, I was wearing the exact same blouse, same pleated skirt, same stripey blazer as every other girl, but I could tell I stood out like a sore thumb—dowdy, like some hick from the country.
I’d already spotted the cool crowd—it’s never hard to pick them out. They oozed confidence and charisma and airs and graces that immediately intimidated. Their skirts were barely longer than their blazers, their knee-highs showing off their tanned legs. Possibly sprayed on, possibly a vacation abroad—whatever, they were totally out of my league.
I had every intention of keeping out of their way.
And I succeeded, right until I entered Mrs. Stephens’ office, the teacher in charge of tennis.
No one had introduced me to Bianca Holbrun, but she’d managed to be the center of attention in the two classes that we’d shared so far, an integral member of the aforementioned cool crowd.
“Here she is,” Mrs. Stephens said, her smile wide and genuine. I’d met her on my first visit and liked her. Mrs. Stephens taught History, not a subject I took, so I wasn’t in any of her classes. She had no major playing credentials herself, but had been coaching Covington Prep’s tennis team for three years, and they’d emerged into the top division. My goal was not only to help myself get selected for a top college, but for Covington to be number one.
“Hello, Coach Stephens,” I said, not missing the smug smile revealing itself on Bianca’s face as she looked me up and down. Her lingering eyes made me acutely aware of the poor fit of my skirt—too big around my waist and too long—and my chain store black shoes, a stark contrast to her branded ones with buckles and heels. Nobody told me that Mary Jane shoes could actually be cool.
“Nice to see you again, Taylor,” Coach said kindly, “I hope your first day has gone well. I want you to meet Bianca who is our girls captain this year. Bianca, this is Taylor Frank, our scholarship recipient.”
Gah, I was beginning to hate that word—scholarship. Instead of sounding like it was a merit-based achievement, it gave the portrayal of a needy beneficiary. In other words, I needed financial aid to be at his school.
And I could tell by the way Bianca slowly rose to her feet and the weak attempt at a handshake, that she thought exactly that. “Welcome,” she said in a voice that implied anything but.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, though I wasn’t. Not one bit. Out of all of the girls at school, how was it that she was the captain of the tennis team, my first thought beinghow was she good at tennis?With her eyelash extensions and full face of makeup, was she actually serious about the sport?
“Great,” Coach said, signaling for us both to sit. She did a quick rundown on the upcoming schedule, and having never played on a school team before, I took it all in. Bianca, however, looked bored. Until Coach said, “We’re incredibly lucky to have you with us, Taylor. You’ve had a fabulous summer, especially at Junior Mid West. Fantastic result.”
I murmured thanks, but Bianca’s face suddenly puckered, like she was sucking on a lemon, which only intensified when Coach said, “Taylor’s going to be getting coaching under the Junior Development program, so she might not be here for every session.” It was one of the conditions of the scholarship—that I could be coached outside of the school. “But she will be here tomorrow and we’ll play some ranking matches.”
You’d have thought that Coach had announced that I’d be arriving in a glass carriage with my own entourage, such was the sarcasm of Bianca’s eye roll. Coach’s phone rang and she picked it up, quickly saying, “Bianca, why don’t you show Taylor around? I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”
Answering the call, she waved us out of her office.
Bianca huffed as the door closed behind us. Sensing she wanted little to do with me, I said, “You don’t have to show me around, I’ve been on a tour.”
“You played Mid West?” she clipped.
I nodded. Only the top players made the draw, so I hoped she was reassessing her opinion of me. Her expression wasn’t any friendlier, but at least she was no longer scowling.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t be late.”
“No,” I said. “Uh, are there any rules I should know about? For tennis training?” It was a definitely a novelty for me to be in a school with so many regulations, and I didn’t want to get it wrong for my first time.
“Oh yeah,” Bianca said, finally giving me a smile. “Wear your PE uniform.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, my returning smile as fake as hers. “And gym training? Does the team do that together?”
Bianca’s face beamed. “Oh yeah, we meet in the school gym tomorrow morning. Six thirty. See you then.”
I marveled at her sudden friendliness and wondered if I’d hastily misjudged her on appearance. After all, she was a tennis player, so we had at least one point of commonality. And we were team mates, so we would obviously share the same goals.
Playing high school tennis wasn’t a prerequisite to playing college tennis, but Mom had wanted me to experience it so that I could develop as a player and a person. Playing for a team was different from playing for myself, and she had likened it to the Billie Jean King Cup, the largest international team event in women’s tennis. To get to that level would be a dream come true. And maybe it was way too big a dream, but that was Mom’s mantra—Dream big or go home!
Well, we’d left our home in Kirkville, so there was nothing else to do but dream big.
