AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And more, my mind went on a rampage, concocting every worse case scenario—a ruse between Addison and Bianca, scheming to get rid of me. Can’t have some outsider, an intruder getting all the Covington Prep glory. Wow, it might be a conspiracy between Max and Bianca—they were probably getting back together, dating again.
“Why’s that?” Dad asked while I was envisioning being stabbed in the back, not literally, but it could well be.
“We’ve decided to give Destiny a game, so she’ll play with Grace, Esther and Jorja will play together, and that will leave Taylor and me,” Bianca said, addressing Dad.
“But you can’t make changes to the line-up once play has commenced,” I said, reciting the team rules.
“We haven’t,” she said with a smile verging on smugness. “We should warm up.”
“What about Addison?” I said.
“She’s sitting out,” Bianca replied with yet another smile.
Dad patted my shoulder and kissed the side of my face. “Off you go.”
I waited till Bianca had descended several steps before giving Dad a sideways glance. “What do you think is going on?” I whispered.
“Number one and two playing together, good tactic, no big deal,” he said, “Do your best.”
After using the restroom to splash water on my face and fix my headband, I joined Bianca who was bobbing around doing footwork drills.
I followed her in hopping across a line and dodging through cones.
Stopping to catch her breath, she said, “Your Dad comes to watch every game.”
It sounded like an accusation that he didn’t have a job. I was ready to snap back that he worked at Whittakers Ice Cream Factory, but clamped down on my lip. A factory job was probably frowned upon as being lowly and unskilled.
“My Dad never comes,” she continued, “and Mom only comes to home games.” Initially I thought she was insinuating that her parents had important jobs that didn’t allow it, but her downturned mouth indicated disappointment. I empathized for a second—maybe Bianca suffered from poor little rich girl syndrome. “What about your mom? I don’t think I’ve seen her.”
I swallowed with difficulty, my throat tightening all of a sudden. What could possibly go worse in my day? Max had told everyone where I lived, Millie had written about it, and I’d been ostracized for it. I’d lost a match I should’ve won. And I’d cried after losing. No, my day could not get any worse.
I may as well expose all my insecurities at once. “No, you haven’t,” I said rather clinically. “She’s dead.”
Bianca’s lash extensions fluttered repeatedly. Her lips twitched. “Oh. Sorry. To. Hear. That.” It was like she was speaking in slow-mo. “Really. Sorry. Taylor.”
I closed my eyes, disbelieving that I’d uttered those words out loud, and that I hadn’t burst into tears.She’s dead.
Yeah, my mom was dead and I said it like I was calling a tennis score.
“What side do you prefer to play?” I asked as I picked up my water bottle and sipped on it, cool, calm as if I was unaffected by my own disclosure.
“Ah, what do you prefer?” Bianca asked back.
“It’s up to you. You’re the captain,” I said, assuming it was a trap. If I announced I preferred to play the ad—or left—side, which was generally for the more powerful player, she might accuse me of being big-headed.
“I know you play the ad side with Grace, so we’ll stick with that,” she said, more graciously than I was expecting.
I shrugged as if I wasn’t worried one way or another.
Bianca signaled that our opponents were setting up on court, so I hitched my bag onto my shoulders. I waited for her to do the same, ready to follow her.
“Hey, wait!” The call from behind us made Bianca stop dead, which made me crash into her bag. Sidestepping her, I kept walking. It was Max’s voice, so I upped my pace, unloading my tennis bag next to the first chair. I busily arranged my water bottle and towel and checked the spring of my racquet strings.
As I looked up, Bianca laid her bag beside mine. “He wanted to talk to you,” she said.
“Why? So he can report to the Times how I lost,” I said sarcastically. I jogged over to the net to acknowledge our opponents, the girl I’d lost to and the girl Bianca had beaten. I bounced on my toes until Bianca arrived, and after doing a toss, ran to the back of the court. My stomach churned as I glimpsed Max sitting next to Dad.
Against all odds, Bianca and I combined well together. Better than well. My serves amazingly came right and her volleys were on target. We intuitively switched sides when needed, and called“Yours”when the ball was out of reach. Our win of 8-3 had Bianca jumping for joy. I think she momentarily forgot who I was as she hugged me after the game.
