“I didn’t say anything.” I intentionally looked away, but I could see Mitch shake her head.
Carrie was just grinning. “So was she very appreciative?”
“You could say that. After the jackass left she leaned forward and asked ‘What do I owe you for my rescue?’ I just said that I’d settle for a dance. She was MORE than happy to oblige.”
I scowled at her. “Another notch on your bedpost. You must be so proud.”
“She left happy. How was true love with Mr. GQ last night? Did he ring all your bells?”
My mouth just hung open, and I felt like I’d been stabbed through the heart. I took a deep breath and stood up. “That’s none of your damn business.” I turned on my heel and stomped off back toward the locker room, grabbing my bag and wiping a traitorous tear from my eye. I was out the door and down the walk moments later, turning through a quad back towards my dorm.
“Spencer! Hey, Spencer, wait up.” It was Mitch, I could hear her running to catch up.
“Go away, Mitch.” I tried to walk faster, my arms crossed protectively over my chest.
“Cindy, please.” The sound of my first name made me stop, but I couldn’t arrest the steady flow of tears. She caught up to me, but I still didn’t turn around. “Cindy, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Really.”
“Thank you.” I made myself look at her, and those lustrous blue eyes were heavy with real concern. I always assumed she didn’t like me. So why was she here?
“Are you okay? Did something happen with Ethan last night?”
My lip quivered, and I looked over my shoulder towards the dorm where the whole debacle had taken place.
“Okay, Okay, never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Besides, you didn’t hear the end of my story.”
“So you didn’t sleep with her?”
Now it was Mitch’s turn to look embarrassed. “No, I did, but when I woke up she was getting dressed. I asked if I could call her, and, well, she said ‘no’.”
“What?” I had this idea in my head that once a girl gave in to Mitch’s charms, she was probably converted for life, with Mitch being the one doing the leaving. “Why not?”
“She said it was great, but she wasn’t a lesbian. Which is odd, given what we’d been doing just a few hours before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” Mitch shrugged. “C’mon, how about we go back, pump some iron, and forget all about our problems?” She stepped beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. “I promise I won’t talk about it any more.”
I looked up into her beautiful blue eyes. “Are you capable of talking about anything else?”
That made Mitch grin. “Sure, I could give you a rundown and critique of Professor Lieberman’s assorted toupees from this week, or repeat some of the asinine questions that one stupid kid asked in Freshman Comp. Ooh, or I could tell you about how shitty I’m doing in College Algebra this semester. You’d enjoy that.”
That made me giggle. “I thought you took that last semester?”
Mitch looked off into the distance. “Yeah, I did. And yet….”
We started walking back toward the gym. She kept up a string on inane topics, each one making me laugh. She also didn’t take her arm from around my shoulders. Strangely enough, it never occurred to me to mind.
***
As we went through the week, Mitch ratcheted back her teasing, although she did take any opportunity to talk to me, trying to make me laugh. She usually succeeded. I think she was trying to make sure we were Okay. It still flabbergasted me that she cared at all.
On the court, though, we were quickly becoming a formidable team, and I was starting to really look forward to Friday doubles practice. And I hated to admit it, but playing with Mitch was improving my singles as well. I was an analytical player. Analytics plus execution equaled success in my book. I always strove to hit the best, highest percentage shot available, and I did it well.
Mitch, on the other hand, hit whatever shot she damn well felt like whenever she felt like it, and that drove me crazy playing her. I could never predict what she was going to do, which was exceedingly uncomfortable for my ordered, organized brain. Then it hit me, sometimes the best shot in a particular point wasn’t the best shot for the match. Sometimes I needed to take chances just to stay unpredictable. Even if I lose that point, it’ll pay off down the line.
When I started doing that I was greeted with indisputable proof as to how well my teammates had been able to anticipate me, as they were frequently wrong footed when I hit that lower percentage, up the line backhand.
At the same time, Mitch would ask me questions about what I would have done in certain situations, and I could tell she was starting to think more on the court. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she was not stupid by any stretch. Truth be told, she was far more perceptive about people than I was. She could tell when an opponent was tired, or getting frustrated, or losing faith in one of their shots. And she was nearly always correct.
***
Finally the season was on us, and I was so nervous. Sad, because I wasn’t even going to be playing varsity. The team we were facing Saturday was just a smaller, local school, one we should beat easily, but they were bringing four extra girls so we could have a J. V. match, and Coach Holiday wanted Mitch and me both to play. Even if it wasn’t going to count for real, I was going to put on a Georgia Lady Bulldogs uniform, step out on a tennis court and represent UGA. Breathe, just keep breathing.
Sitting in the locker room before practice on Thursday I was bouncing my leg nervously. Carrie was sitting just a few feet away, already wearing her game face. She was playing number six singles, so her match was for real, and she’d beat out two upperclassmen to earn that spot.
I didn’t want to bother her, so I just went back to staring at my locker. I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t even hear Mitch until she plopped down next to me.
I looked at her. “You ready for this?” My brow crinkled, she did not seem her usual self.
“I guess. Probably be my only chance to play, so might as well enjoy it.”
“You OK?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Once we got on court it was very clear that Mitch was not fine. While we were warming up she missed an easy forehand, whacking it into the net. That wasn’t terribly unusual, but her throwing her racquet down afterwards was. She was out of sorts for the whole three hours, stomping around like a saber-tooth tiger with a fang-ache.
I let it go throughout the practice, just pretending that nothing was wrong. She fended off several concerned inquiries from other players and two assistant coaches with a surly dismissive attitude that was very unlike her. But I was still sure she did actually want to talk about whatever it was. And weirdly I got the sense from her escalating bad attitude that she wanted to talk about it with me.
After we had showered she was sitting by her locker, so I sat next to her.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“There’s nothing going on.” She stuffed her practice outfit back in her bag with far more violence than it required.
“Uh-huh. Come on, I’m your partner out there. You can trust me.”
“Yeah, you won’t have to worry about that much longer. Should be happy about that.” She grabbed her bag and headed toward the door as I called after her.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t slow down, banging through the door with vehemence. I chased after her, the situation reversed from a few weeks ago.
“Mitch!” She slowed, but kept going. Gosh, this was stupid. I did my best to channel my father, since when he spoke people listened. “Damn it, Michelle Kirkpatrick, you stop running away right now and get back here and talk to me!”
Amazingly Mitch stopped and turned. I stood with my hands on my hips, staring her down, meeting her angry physiognomy with a supremely pissed off look of my own. I was also trying to put a hefty dose of ‘take no shit’ into my face as well.
Mitch fumed for a few seconds, before breaking off our staring contest by looking down at her feet. She started to move back towards me, and I took pity on her by meeting her halfway.
“Mitch, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. It’s not your problem.”
“What particular part of ‘partners’ are you unclear about? If something’s affecting your game, it affects me.” I actually reached out and lifted her chin with my finger, feeling that strange warmth I always did whenever I touched her. “And I’m your friend. I don’t like when my friends are upset.”
There were actual tears in her eyes, but she still managed to scoff. “Since when are we friends? You hate me.”
“I do not. You just, um, take a little getting used to.” She smiled a little half smile, which made me all fuzzy inside. “And we’re friends from right now.”
That got a real laugh. “Spencer, you are something else.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Ok, rule number one, my friends do not call me by my last name.” She blushed and nodded. “Number two, my friends tell me when they have a problem.”
Mitch took a deep breath. “I flunked my damn algebra test again.”
“The class you’re retaking?”
“Yeah. I did worse on the first exam than I did last semester. If I can’t pass this stupid class I won’t be eligible next year. I’ll lose my scholarship.” Mitch shook her head in frustration. “I mean, I knew I was crap at math in high school but I at least got by, y’know? And the grad student they’ve got teaching my section barely speaks English.” Mitch sat down heavily on a bench “I’m a goner.”