Page 70 of The Tomboy

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I replied, curious as to how Dad had brought the conversation up. Hopefully he hadn’t raved about that one touchdown pass he threw to the wide receiver Denny Abrams which resulted in beating Cresthill High, his high school’s biggest rivals. Their first time in eleven years.

“Cool,” he said in a somewhat subdued tone.

And then my brain exploded. Yep, I’d been as dim as my phone screen in night mode! My heart beat sped up as adrenaline surged through me. “Ahhhh, wait...did you just ask me on a date?”

“Yeah. A date that doesn’t involve tennis,” he said with a laugh. Like he thought I was about to turn him down unless tennis was included.

I’d divulged so much of myself already today, to Bianca, to Max, to myself. Yes, I was from a financially disadvantaged family—at least in the eyes of Covington Prep students, and yes, I’d actually been able to say out loud that my mother had died.

Yet, I was still standing, Earth was still spinning on its axis, and I loved and missed Mom as much as ever.

And tennis.

I loved tennis as much as ever, too.

“You know, it would be my first date,” I said, turning to look at Max’s profile, steeped in concentration, both hands on the steering wheel as he turned onto the bridge. Trying to restrain my racing heart, I clenched my fists and held them together.

“Your first date?” His eyebrows raised, but his focus remained on the road ahead. “I’d be your first?” It was an incredulous gasp laced with a smattering of pride.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled nervously, “I don’t know much about dating, and you know...kissing.”

Max braked at the next intersection, turning to me with a wide grin. “Could have fooled me,” he said.

The pitter patter of my heart went from a light sprinkle to a full on torrential downpour, the compliment equal—or maybe better—than describing my serves as missile. I wasn’t sure if he could see my smug smile in the light of the car.

But it was there, plastered on my face all the way back to the driveway at 1040 Fox Avenue. He grabbed my tennis bag and heaved it over his shoulder so he could hold my hand to walk through the rickety gate and up the rickety path.

Standing on the front porch, he dropped my bag down. Butterflies swelled in my stomach, the anticipation of another kiss much like waiting to return a first serve. You know it’s coming, but you’re not exactly ready for it. Your reactions may be a tad slow and you find yourself losing the point.

But in tennis, when you lose the point, the score is love.

That’s right, in tennis love means nothing.

Max’s kiss hit me out of the blue. I was expecting an opening line to guide me in gently, but Max was impatient, his arms going around my waist and pulling me in. I had just enough time to tilt my chin and gaze into his dreamy brown eyes as his lips pressed against mine with a spark that may actually have shifted the planet’s axis. I was rotating, revolving, whirling and twirling, dancing in the clouds.

The sound of deliberate clunky footsteps made Max release me, our pouty lips lingering until the very second that the loud click of the bolt indicated Dad was about to open the door.

“Max.” Dad boomed, followed by a deliberate pause before he said, “Taylor.” The ominous full name made me straighten up, hands clasped behind my back like I was in a military parade. Max had done the same, ready to be disciplined.

“How did the tennis go?” Dad’s voice was surprisingly pleasant.

“Good,” I said, at the same time that Max said, “Great. It was great.”

“Yeah, great,” I added, and with a smile aimed at Max, said. “Uh, thanks for bringing me home.”

“Yes, thanks for bringing her home,” Dad jumped in.

“You’re welcome. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Taylor. And I’ll see you at the game, Mr. Frank.”

“Hmmm,” Dad said as he lifted my tennis bag inside, but it was the cheesy grin that made my cheeks blush. “So, thetenniswas great?”

“Yes.” I gave him a wide-eyed stare in return. “I hit with both Maxand Phoenix,”giving extra emphasis to Phoenix’s name.“Phoenixhas got his own court. With lights. It’s amazing.” I knelt down to unzip my bag, pulling out the tennis clothes I’d worn earlier.

“Great,” Dad said. “Hey Tay, you did great today. You rallied hard to make a comeback in your singles. You fought really hard. I was super proud of you.”

“Even though I lost?” The defeat didn’t seem quite so devastating now, not after I’d kissed Max Saunders, but nonetheless, it would haunt me.

“Make sure the loss becomes a teacher. Find out what you can learn from it.”

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