Page 65 of The Tomboy

“Thanks,” Taylor said, and I had an inspiring brainwave, “You haven’t eaten, and neither have I. Should we get something? Together?”

Her soft reply was shy. “You want to?”

“Yeah. Yes.” My enthusiasm couldn’t be curbed. “Of course!”

“Okay,” she said, straightening her spine, pulling her shoulders back and tilting her head, a gesture that seemed mildly ominous, “but only because there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

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After picking up ourtrays of pizzas and drinks, I led us to the most remote table I could find, a little nervous about what Taylor had to say. The murmur of ‘Striper’ as I passed a table of middle graders was not said in a complimentary way, and it made me feel conspicuous in my school uniform. Talk about the shoe being on the other foot; I was in River Valley territory now. Covington Prep kids didn’t generally eat dinner at the food court mall, at least not in their striped blazers. Taylor didn’t seem to notice.

I relaxed when Taylor started the conversation with tennis talk. Maybe she just wanted to discuss her stats, get me to analyze them properly for her, make a chart or something. “You didn’t see my singles match, did you?”

“No, I only got there in time for the doubles,” I said, adding timidly, “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t serve. My forehand misfired, my backhand misfired. Basically everything went wrong.”

“Yet you played brilliantly with Bianca,” I said. “Your serves were spectacular.”

“I know. It all came together a game too late. I think I just let everything get to me. I was thinking about the article and what everyone, well, what Addison and Jorja were saying—” she picked up a slice of barbecue chicken pizza and held it to her mouth, “and I was thinking about you—”

“Me?” My heart swelled with pride.

For half a second.

“Yeah, my mind was wandering all over the place and I couldn’t get it together mentally.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I swear I wasn’t the one who—”

About to take a bite of pizza, she dropped it back to the plate with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even that. It was...it’s...well, I thought you didn’t want to be seen with me, you know, the poor scholarship kid who lives inthe wrong part of town.”She air quoted the last words, and looked me straight in the eye. “Who wouldn’t even play tennis with me.”

“Arghh,” I groaned in frustration, covering my face with my hands. Slowly sliding them down, I shook my head. “That’s not it at all, Tay. That issonot it.”

She picked up her pizza and took a small bite, chewing it slowly. Then she reached for her drink, sipping on the straw.

“You’ve got it so wrong,” I said with a kick of urgency, “so, so wrong. I would never ever—”

“Prove it,” she interrupted, her eyebrows lifting in a challenge. “Prove it by playing tennis with me. The Fall Tournament at the Club.”

My jaw dropped as she held the straw in her mouth, continuing to suck on her soda. I was left speechless, her request the last thing I was expecting.

And the weight of Phoenix’s accident burdened me all over again. Jumbled thoughts jolted me. Taylor was asking me to play tennis with her.

It would be a dream come true, an easy way to connect with the girl who set my pulse racing, who occupied most of my waking thoughts. But tennis was off limits. Out of respect for Phoenix, I had to turn her down a second time.

But if I did, I feared there would be no coming back.

The room turned unexpectedly warm, like we were sitting in a furnace. I loosened my tie, urging air to circulate around my neck.

“Tay,” I said. There was an intimacy about calling her by her shortened name, an imagined bond between us. My throat, however, tightened, and I dreaded telling her the truth—that I was responsible for Phoenix’s accident. Me, usually a stickler for punctuality, had been running late that morning. Bianca had dumped me the week before and I had been through a rollercoaster of emotions, broken-hearted, dejected, embarrassed, angry. The night before the tournament, I’d stayed up late gaming. Yeah, till 2 in the morning, and I slept through my alarm.

Thirty minutes. If I’d woken up thirty minutes earlier, Phoenix would have waited. But he had a newly strung racquet to pick up, and he liked a longer warmup on unfamiliar courts.

I kicked myself about it every single day. How such an insignificant action had truly life-changing consequences. If only...

“Max.” The way she said my name was immediately different, softer, kinder. She pushed her cup to the side, and rested her hands on the table. “I talked to Phoenix.”

I frowned, wondering when Taylor and Phoenix had spoken, because Phoenix certainly hadn’t told me about it. But I didn’t get a chance to ask because Taylor carried on. “He said I should ask you to play in the Fall Tournament with me.”

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