“That’s right. And how long have you cared about one Ethan Johnson?”
“Alright, I see your point. I’m good.” She looked like she didn’t believe me, which was probably fair, but I forced myself to concentrate as I went out to warm up for my singles. The girl I was facing was a lefty, which meant everything changed. Shots to a normal player’s backhand were to her forehand, and vice versa. Her serve would spin differently, and her angles would not be what I was used to. I spent the warm up recalculating everything in my head and planning what I wanted to do. It was the perfect distraction.
I won the toss and elected to serve, bouncing the ball between the court and my racquet as I walked back to the baseline. I looked down at the ‘G’ on my top, the red skirt swirling around my legs. I was a Lady Bulldog, a tennis player for the University of Georgia. I would not let down my teammates, my coach, my school. I felt the fire race through as I raised my eyes to the girl who had the audacity to stand across the net from me. She had no chance.
***
“Hell, yes!”
The smile that split my face at Mitch’s whoop felt amazing. She gave me a high five, and we embraced as I laughed in victory.
“Spencer, you were awesome.”
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“Damn right, you were. She’s still wondering what hit her.” I tried not to look too exultant, but it was hard. It had taken a few games to get used to the way her ball spun, but I did, and I was able to be surgical in some up the line rallies, forcing her to stay on her backhand, which was definitely a weaker shot for her. Add to that the fact she didn’t like coming to the net, I was able to keep her on a string.
During every changeover I was able to watch some of Mitch’s match, and she also seemed to have things well in hand, her power simply overwhelming her smaller opponent. Back in the locker room Coach Holiday was very complimentary, and the rest of the girls, who were busily preparing for their far more important matches, each gave us an ovation.
It wasn’t until I’d sat down in front of my locker and taken a few deep breaths that I remembered Ethan had never shown up to my match. I pulled my phone out from my bag.
Ethan — Hey babe. Can’t wait to see you play!
The look I gave my phone could likely have curdled milk.
Me — You missed it. It’s over. It was at ten.
Ethan — What? No, I checked, it’s at two, on the website.
Me – That’s varsity. I don’t play then. I played earlier, like I told you.
There was a pause for a minute.
Ethan – God you’re right. I’m sorry. I can still come, we can watch the other matches with you.
Me — I’m watching them with the rest of the team. I’ll text you after.
With that I stuffed my phone back into my locker with a huff, just as someone sat down next to me.
“Everything OK?” Mitch’s voice was kinder than I’d expected.
“Yeah. Ethan’s not coming.” I wiped a tear away. “Go ahead, make a joke.”
“Ok. What do you call a girl standing in the middle of a Tennis Court?”
I turned to her, a confused look on my face. “I don’t know.”
“Annette.”
I chuckled and smiled in spite of myself.
“When does Serena Williams go to bed?”
I shook my head.
“Tennish.”
“Oh my god, stop.”
“Where do ghosts play tennis?”
“No! I refuse!” I plugged my ears and ran out of the locker room giggling.
Mitch ran after me, laughing. “C’mon, this is grade-A material!”
I couldn’t help but grin. “No it isn’t. It’s horrible and you know it.”
“Maybe, but it made you smile. And that’s worth it.” There was real sincerity in her eyes. I was touched.
I cocked my head to the side. “Thanks, Michelle.”
Suddenly Mitch looked unsure of herself, and maybe a little embarrassed. It was adorable. I was struck by her genuineness. No, that’s not right. Mitch was always genuine, almost to a fault. She, um, well, I think she actually cared about me, and making me smile truly did mean something to her. We really were friends.
We walked out into the stadium together. Carrie was warming up on the court to our left, so we headed to that section of the stands. We sat down, and Mitch immediately put her hands to her mouth and yelled out.
“Hey, Mitchell! You suck!”
Carrie turned and made a face at us while I giggled and waved. She turned back to her opponent, and I leaned toward Mitch and pushed her a little with my shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“Hey, can’t have her getting a big head, now. That’s my job.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Of course, once the match actually started Mitch was completely supportive of Carrie, in her typically loud and boisterous way. I, conversely, watched mostly in silence, analyzing every point. What can I say? It’s just the way I’m wired.
I pointed towards Carrie’s opponent, who was preparing to serve. “See, in the ad court, when she turns her foot out she’s serving wide. Every time.”
Mitch shook her head. “How do you notice stuff like that?”
“How do you not? I’m always watching for tells in my opponent’s serve.”
“So what are mine?”
“Yours? Easy.” I looked back down at the match. “You know when you throw the ball up in the air?
“Yeah?”
“It means you’re serving up the T.”
Mitch’s face cracked into a smile and she nudged me with her shoulder. “Brat.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and we got a dirty look from Coach Holiday down on the court for talking during the point.
Mitch shot me an exaggerated grimace. “We’re in trouble now.”
“I’m going to go down and see if I can get back in her good graces.” As Carrie finished holding her serve I snuck down to the edge and signaled for Coach Holiday, who jogged over. I relayed my insight, and Coach’s face went from annoyed to thoughtful. “I’ll keep an eye on it. You and Kirkpatrick are going to behave yourselves, yes?
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
She actually smiled. “It’s okay. I was eighteen once, too. You seem to be getting along, at least.”
“Yes ma’am.” I felt my cheeks heat up. Why was I blushing? “It’s been good.”
Coach nodded. “You both played well today. Now go on.”
I headed back up the small stands and sat next to Mitch.
“So, did she tell you how amazing you are for picking that up?” Mitch’s tone was slightly mocking.
“Stop it. It was important.”
“Hey, Spencer, you got a little something…” She rubbed her nose.
I stuck my tongue out at her, and we went back to watching the match.
Sure enough, Coach called a coaching time-out during the next changeover and Carrie broke her opponent’s serve every game but one for the rest of her match by cheating one way or the other on the ad-court.
Carrie won easily, and we were all in a good mood leaving the complex later. Carrie bounced up and down on her toes, the energy of her first collegiate win still coursing through her veins. “So, what are we doing tonight?”
“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like dancing.” Mitch bit her lower lip and started to move her shoulders to her own personal rhythm, making us both laugh.
“That sounds good to me. Cindy?”
Carrie’s eyes were eager, but I gave her a non-committal smile. “I was supposed to text Ethan after the matches.
Mitch harrumphed at that idea. “Y’know, he ‘forgot’ to come see you play. You could just, I don’t know, ‘forget’ to text him.” Carrie nodded, enthusiastically supporting Mitch’s idea.
I shook my head. “All right, fine. Where are we going?”
Mitch put her arms around both our shoulders. “First, we’re going for dinner, because I’m starving. Kicking ass is hard work, after all.”
Half an hour later we were at one of the local eateries sharing a huge plate of chili cheese fries while they prepared our burgers. I didn’t have much money for splurges like this, but I figured this was a special occasion.
Carrie washed down a bite with some soda. “God, this is amazing. I haven’t let myself have anything like this since the season started.”
“Can’t let yourself go without for too long, girl.” Mitch smiled knowingly. “Speaking of letting yourself indulge, how’s it going with Johnny? Let him light your fire yet?”
Carrie grimaced and shook her head. “No, it’s over. Just no spark there. He’s already moved on.”
I tried to make a consoling face. “I’m sorry Carrie.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll meet someone tonight.”
“I’ll point any eligible girls your way.” Mitch smirked.
Carrie shook her head. “Gee, thanks, Mitch, but that’s not going to help matters.”
“If you’re sure…”
“She is.” I interrupted in a huff. “You’re just going to have to accept that we’re straight, Michelle. I know it pains you to hear that.”