Page 28 of The Tomboy

Chapter 9

Taylor

Itied up my new maroonheadband and pushed it into position, fiddling with it to ensure all my hair was tucked away. I retied it several times, making sure it was tight enough and not going to slip down over my eyes.

“Sorry Mom,” I whispered to my reflection, my blue eyes staring back joylessly. My first high school tennis match and I wasn’t wearing Mom’s headband and she wasn’t here, and the skirt seemed too loose, and a sense of doom and gloom descended on me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I loved tennis, yet it felt like I was about to be thrown into the gladiatorial arena.

The locker room door opened sharply and Bianca appeared in the doorway.

“Why aren’t you out on the court? The first game is about to...” Her vicious voice came to a halt as her gaze zoned in on me blinking furiously to clear my welling eyes.

I bent down to pick up my bag, shrugging it onto my shoulders.

“Tay...?”

“Covington colors? Happy?” I hissed as I pointed at my headband while shoving my way past her.

Striding out to the courts, I couldn’t hear her behind me, presumably she was touching up her makeup. I was directed to court 2, which was the main court. The number one singles played there as the grandstand was directly behind it.

School wasn’t out for another thirty minutes, so it was likely that a crowd would build up later. In the meantime, only a handful of people dotted the stands. I put my bag down and pulled out my racquet, towel and water bottle, setting up my space the way I liked it. For good luck, I tied my old white headband around the handle of my tennis bag—Mom could be there on the sideline for me.

Mrs. Stephens asked my opponent, a girl called Renee, to call the coin toss, and she elected for me to serve. That gave me a burst of confidence before the match had even started. Generally, if you didn’t have a strong serve, you made your opponent serve first. We proceeded to warm up, a five minute period where you hit to one another, a variety of forehands, backhands, volleys, overheads and serves. As well as hitting out my own nerves, which were inevitably high, it was a good time to try to discover your opponent’s playing style, especially if it was someone you’d never played before. My uniform was uncomfortable, but I had no time to worry about it. I concentrated on hitting Renee a variety of balls to see what her weaknesses were. I was already formulating a game plan where I would target her backhand.

After the allotted time, we went to our seats for a final sip of water. That’s when I looked up to the stands to see my father about to sit down. My heart jumped as he gave a discreet wave in my direction. Dad hadn’t said he’d be here! He didn’t usually finish work until five.

I stepped up to the service line, tucked the extra ball into the bike shorts under my skirt and tossed up the ball to serve. In the most preposterous scenario, I felt my skirt was about to slip down. Luckily, Renee’s return went into the net.

“Fifteen love,” I called as I hitched up the waistband.

My next serve skidded off the side line, leaving Renee swinging at air. But once again, my skirt slipped. I could hear Dad’s applause, but my focus was solely on my skirt. Sure, it was my first time playing in the outfit, but it shouldn’t be moving like this. I’d tried it on before and it had fit perfectly.

“Thirty love,” I said, pulling it up again. Renee hit the next ball crosscourt, meaning I had to run. With the feeling that my skirt was hovering around my knees, I was unable to get there in time. It was the most bizarre thing.

“Thirty fifteen.” With frustration gripping me, I tugged it up while lengthening my top. There was no zipper on the skirt, just an elastic waistband. I wondered if it had somehow snapped.

And that’s when I heard sniggering from the next court. Jorja was giggling behind her racquet while Addison had her hand covering her mouth with a cutesy ‘my bad’ expression.

It was crystal clear—they’d swapped out my skirt from my bag for a larger size!

How had I not realized when I pulled it on? My focus on securing my headband had made me overlook that the fit didn’t seem perfect.

Fuming, I glanced around to Dad. He was gesturing something with his hands, maybe asking if I had a clip or safety pin in my bag. My bag contained a lot of extras—first aid kit, extra racquet grips and vibration dampeners, sunscreen, energy gels, more socks, hair ties and small hairclips, but not a claw clip big enough to hold up my skirt.

I finished off my serving game with two cautious serves, terrified that my skirt would end up around my ankles, or that I’d have to clutch it with my other hand while hitting the ball. It wasn’t likely, but it was all I could think about. I was thankful that Renee’s returns landed outside the court.

After the very first game of the set, it was customary for players to change ends. It wasn’t a time to sit down, but a player could grab a drink on their way past the net. I looked around to try to attract Mrs. Stephens’s attention, but could only see Jorja and Addison giggling by the side of the court.

I jogged over to them. “Can you ask Mrs. Stephens to get me another skirt?”

They laughed louder, Addison saying, “We can’t. We’re about to play now.”

Seething inside, I could see Renee already at the service line, bouncing the ball on her strings. I couldn’t hold up play, I also couldn’t go through another two games distracted by my skirt! Impulsively, I pulled it down and stepped out of it. I had my black bike shorts underneath. School rules or not, it was my only option now! I glanced over at Dad who had a look of horror on his face.

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