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“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I have a banana in here. Somewhere.”
Max crouched beside me. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. You need something more substantial than a banana.”
I rummaged in my backpack, quite certain that I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria. With my luck, the football team would be in there eating breakfast. The Covington Prep cafeteria was somewhat of a novelty for me—food was available all day long, and it wasn’t the standard school fare that I’d experienced before—dried pizza, mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, but a variety of fresh salads and tropical fruits, sushi and smoothies. It was more like a hotel buffet.
I held up my banana triumphantly, and when Max grinned, I turned it horizontal to be a smiling mouth. And held it in front of my own mouth. Have no idea why. It just happened.
And for a moment time stood still, the two of us squatting, connecting over a silly banana. But it was as if the banana wasn’t there at all, and the intense gaze into his soft brown eyes brought a rush of adrenaline over me, something warm and glowy and unexpected, and different from the excitement of serving an ace or winning a match. Way different—this was something completely new, startling, overwhelming.
I stood up, a mistake as I lost my balance from dizziness. Max was at my side in a flash, clutching my arm to steady me. Gently, he took the banana and peeled it, holding it up for me.
“Eat,” he instructed forcefully, but with a sparkle in his eye.
My cheeks flushed to the heat of volcanic lava as I took a bite. And then another. How foolish was I not to have ensured I’d eaten prior to exercising? Such a rookie error.
Mom had been fastidious with all areas of my training. A top athlete had to eat properly, food was fuel. In my hastiness, I’d been neglectful in thinking a glass of water and my B and C vitamins was enough sustenance. Mind you, I hadn’t planned on a running session at a frantic pace. I could blame Bianca Holbrun for that.
“C’mon, let’s go to the cafeteria,” Max said.
My clarity returned as the natural sugar from the banana kicked in. Bananas were the go-to food for tennis players—during a game they were a quick and easy way to replenish the carbs for extra energy, and potassium to help prevent cramps.
“I need to shower first,” I said, tucking the banana peel into my bag.
“Okay, I’ll meet you in there,” he said. “Fifteen minutes?”
I nodded, but the snap decision had already been made—there was no way I was eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Not with Max, or the football team. The supply of granola bars and protein shakes in my car would suffice.
––––––––
Ihad taken a seatat the back in the English Lit classroom, and I was thumbing through my notes when I was alerted to the arrival of Bianca Holbrun. It was accompanied by shrill laughter, fake in my opinion. I kept my head down, refusing to establish eye contact, hoping the blunder of this morning wouldn’t be mentioned.
But my space was engulfed in a cloud of sweet floral perfume, and I sensed the hovering figure could only be one person.
“Taylor!” Bianca’s high pitched voice would have woken a hibernating bear. “Oooh, I’m so sorry about this morning. I heard you were caught up in the football team’s gym session.” The tone was so insincere that it was laughable. Except it wasn’t me doing the laughing, it was her.
With great restraint, I kept my eyes glued to my textbook, but my peripheral vision noted another girl beside her. Same knee high socks and short skirt.
“I totally got the time wrong. We train in the gymafterschool on Monday. I forgot the football team trains early.” The other girl giggled along with her.
Look, I’d already ascertained that I was not going to be friends with Bianca Holbrun, but we were on the tennis team together, so any grudges had to be forgotten, if not forgiven. I forced the scowl off of my face and looked up with what I hoped was a passive expression. I didn’t want Bianca to show she’d gotten to me, even if it was exactly what she’d done. Body language was one thing Mom had taught me. You see, in tennis it was important not to show your feelings on court. Wear a mask, she’d told me. Never let your opponent see your anger, or frustration, or disappointment in yourself. They could swoop in on it, take advantage of your moment of vulnerability. Emotions could cloud your judgment, your game plan, your execution of shots. Tennis was like a game of chess, and you could never let your opponent guess your next move.
“It’s fine,” I said, pretending to be absorbed in my reading. “I’ll see you after school at training?”
I’d emailed Coach Stephens to confirm the training schedules, both on court and in the gym. I wasn’t going to get burned twice.
In the locker room, nerves surfaced, which was unusual for me. For sure, I’d get nervous before an important match, but not for tennis practice. Which showed how much Bianca had knocked my confidence.
It was perfectly natural, I told myself as I slipped into my PE uniform for the second time that day—I wanted to impress my new coach and teammates, show that I was deserving of my scholarship. I liberally rolled on my antiperspirant and shrouded myself in a mist of cologne. Fixing my hair into a single braid, I tied a headband around my forehead. For playing, some kids liked caps, others visors, but I’d been wearing a headband since my early days, copying my favorite professional players.
With my tennis bag hitched over my shoulder, I made my way to the tennis court area. There were five hard courts, brand new the year before. As I approached Coach Stephens and the three girls next to her, my heart sunk faster than a stone in a river. The girls weren’t wearing their PE uniform, but normal tennis gear.
Bianca Holbrun had done it again.
“Hello, Taylor.” Coach introduced me to the girls, two freshmen and a sophomore, then mentioned that the PE uniform wasn’t required for practice. It was on the tip of my tongue to accuse Bianca of putting me wrong, but I clamped my lip. I was here to play tennis, and it shouldn’t really matter what I wore.
Bianca arrived with three others, Addison and Jorja who I recognized from my classes, and Grace, a junior, all dressed in cute dresses and skirts. They immediately sniggered as they sighted me.
“Oooh, looks like someone thinks they’re in a grand slam,” Addison said behind her hand, but loud enough that I could hear. Her smile was smug as she wiped across her own forehead—she was dissing me for wearing a headband! Giggles abound as Coach called us to attention.
