Page 46 of The Heiress
I sorted through my clothes and loaded them into the hamper. With reluctance, I grabbed Phoenix’s hoodie which was folded on the edge of the bed. Oh yes, with one last psycho sniff, I clutched it to my chest as I went downstairs.
It would be weird to be holding a hamper of dirty clothes while talking to Phoenix, so I dropped it by the laundry door, noticing that the washing machine was different to the ones at school.
Phoenix’s door was fully open, but I was nervous about barging straight in. I tapped on the wooden frame, calling out a tentative, “Phoenix?”
“Yeah?” The reply gave me confidence to show myself. Phoenix was sitting on a big round ottoman, in the process of putting on his socks.
“Oh hi,” I said. There was an awkwardness to the way he was doing it, not pulling in his leg as you would normally do, but holding his leg out straight and reaching out to put it on. “Uh, um, I’m just returning your hoodie.” My eyes darted around the room. The walls were plain white, his bed cover a gray and white pinstripe. A television was on the wall opposite the couch and ottoman, and there was an armchair facing the window, one which looked like it came from a hospital. “Do you want me to leave it here? Or should I wash it for you?”
“It’s fine,” Phoenix said, nodding over to the bed.
I padded across the room. “Thanks for letting me use it,” I said, my heart fluttering as I placed it on the end of his unmade bed. Phoenix was putting on his second sock. “Those are cool,” I said, smiling at the black socks with slices of pizza over them. I smoothed and refolded the hoodie, quite unnecessary, but I suddenly didn’t want to leave his room. Or him. Phoenix briefly looked up before fixing his sock.
“Uh, you played some great shots out there,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, “and thanks for picking up the balls. You didn’t need to do that.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I didn’t mind.”
Satisfied with his socks, Phoenix stood up, glancing over to me again. Probably wondering why I hadn’t moved. My heart was now galloping like a herd of stampeding elephants, the two of us standing there in a time stopping moment.
For me at least.
I fidgeted with my hands, twisting them around and when he made no effort to speak, I cleared my throat and said, “Uh, well, I guess I’ll go and do my laundry.”
I’d made it to the doorway when I heard his call. “Hey?”
It was soft and whispery, and I turned so sharply I almost gave myself whiplash. My mouth was agape, in breathless anticipation of what he was about to say.
Phoenix scratched the back of his neck, his tongue peeking out and roaming over his lower lip.
I looked at him expectantly, every nerve on high alert, wishful eyes full of hope that he would draw me in, take me in his arms, hold me tight, let me stare into his dark eyes. Oh, proclaiming devotion would be a bonus, but a simple whisper of my name would suffice too.
But Phoenix’s words were less sweet and more direct. “Uh, we’ll leave at 10:45, okay?” he announced.
Trying not to let my disappointment show, I lifted my wrist to check my watch. “Sure, 10:45,” I repeated in a raspy voice before scuttling off to the laundry room.
––––––––
There was a small standfor spectators on one side of the indoor court center which housed two blue hard courts, the same as at Phoenix’s house. We hadn’t spoken in the car ride over, other than to check I had my seat belt clicked, and when he’d taken his crutches out of the back seat, I’d asked if he was feeling okay.
“Yeah,” he’d said, and I’d had the distinct feeling I was being brushed aside. That’s when a light bulb sparked and it occurred to me that he was probably not thrilled to be seen with me in public. I was that snobby girl, the aloof and friendless boarder who was about as popular as ants at a picnic. I recognized some kids from school, so for Phoenix’s sake, not wanting him to risk his reputation by being associated with me, I deliberately hung back. And my fears were confirmed when Phoenix sat in the front row, next to an elderly gentleman who cleared room for him. For one person. I traipsed up the steps, forced to sit in the row behind him.
A lot of people stopped when they saw him, asking him how he was. From what I could see, he smiled and nodded a lot. There was a bit of fanfare as the visiting players were introduced onto the court, followed by Taylor carrying her large red tennis bag on her back. She was wearing a white tennis dress which made her legs look a mile long. Her hair was in a ponytail and a white headband was tied around her forehead. She was rocking it. I watched in awe as she removed her bag from her athletic shoulders and put it down on the ground next to a chair. She pulled out a racket and jogged on the spot for a moment.
And that’s when Bianca Holbrun arrived. Dressed in a red skirt and white tank, she waved like a celebrity as her name was announced over the mic. She set her bag down next to the second chair. For good reason, my heart plummeted. Coming into contact with Bianca was my worst nightmare, especially if she’d found out how I’d used her in my lies. I wouldn’t put it past Bianca to use it to my detriment.
Taylor and Bianca teamed up with devastating results. Taylor served first, four serves that were unreturnable. Phoenix clapped loudly for every point, my applause a little more subdued, not wanting Bianca to notice me.
Laura scurried in when the players were seated during a change of end break. She looked at the scoreboard and bemoaned missing most of the set. At 5-0, Taylor and Bianca hadn’t conceded a single game. And though it had been years since my tennis lessons, I was surprised how quickly I recalled the scoring system and rules.
The matches were being played to 9, and Taylor and Bianca won 9-3. As they packed up their bags, I dreaded Bianca coming over, so I asked Laura for directions to the restroom. When I returned, Taylor was back on court playing with an older woman, and a man with sandy colored hair was sitting next to Laura in the seat I’d been in. There was space on the other side of Phoenix’s crutches now, so I sat down. Eavesdropping, it didn’t take me long to work out that the man was Taylor’s father. After an enthusiastic whoop of delight from Laura after Taylor hit a winning shot down the line, I peeped around to see the two of them high fiving. It both amused and excited me to think that Laura’s clothing choice may have had been more about Mr. Frank and less about her work meeting. Mr. Frank was handsome, though he was quite casual in a pair of chinos, polo shirt and sneakers. But how amazing would it be if Laura could find love again—her divorce from Phoenix’s dad seemed to make her so sad.
“What are you smiling at?” Phoenix’s curious tone interrupted my musing.
Considering the distance between us, I was a little surprised that he’d noticed. I raised my eyebrows to indicate his mom behind us and slid along the bench closer to his crutches. But the next point was being played and I had ascertained that talking during rallies was poor etiquette. And then it occurred to me that I had no idea whether Taylor’s father was single, and it was outrageous that I was matchmaking in my head when he might not be available. I moved back to my original position on the bench, berating myself for my ridiculous thoughts and clapping at another of Taylor’s winning shots.
I needed to resurrect the ice queen, she who had gone missing in action over the weekend, instead of showing my frivolous side. And anyway, by the time I went back to school tomorrow evening, Phoenix would probably pretend he didn’t know me.
