Robin said instead. “Goody-two-shoes Amy. And then my father wants to know why I’m not helpful, why I don’t make honor roll. Well, at least I have friends. At least I’m popular. And I sure would have yelled and fought harder at the lake.”
How could Robin think the initiation had been my fault? That’s one thing my cousin and my mother would agree on: They’d say I was to blame.
“Come on!” the Bunk 8 girls hollered. “Hit the ball already!”
“What’s the rush?” Robin asked. “We’ve got two full periods.”
“Let’s just hit,” I said.
“Why? ’Cause that’s what the counselor said?” Robin’s stare gave me goose bumps. “Well, I for one don’t care what Jody says,” she went on. “We’re gonna play this game right, show those Bunk 8 campers who rules.” Robin watched me hug the baseline. “So get ready.”
“I am.”
“No you’re not. You need to be up by the net.”
“Why?”
“’Cause that’s where you’re supposed to stand when your partner serves. Jesus, Amy, if you don’t even know that, you don’t belong in intensive.”
I felt as if my cousin had rammed the ball down my throat as I inched toward the service line. I had played only singles. How far up was I supposed to go? Say you’re sorry, Robin. Say you’re sorry. The words repeated in my head.
I turned to see Robin holding the ball in the air, signaling our opponents. “I don’t need a warm-up. These are good.”
Ever play doctor with your cousin? Rory’s question rattled in my brain.
Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard. It’s Rory’s face, I imagined. Her perfect hair, her made-up eyes.
“Wow! Good shot!” one of the girls called when I slammed a forehand. “Where’d you learn to hit like that?”
“Good question,” Robin said.
“My father taught me.”
“Uncle Lou? Well, go figure.” Robin studied the ball for a moment. “Just another Becker secret, I guess: your father teaching you tennis. And all this time I thought it was Aunt Sonia who had all the secrets.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on. You know damn well what I mean. All those things about your mother we’re not allowed to talk about.”
What did Robin know about my mother? What things? What secrets?
Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard. It’s Robin now. Her hair rollers and four-poster bed. Her record player, which my mother said I didn’t need for the pop music I listened to on the radio. A record player would be too expensive.
Hit the ball, Amy. It’s Robin’s precious records, her Everly Brothers collection spilling from her bookcase without any books. Wake up, little Susie. Wake up! What secrets, I wondered again. What did my cousin know that I didn’t?
Jody stood by the court. “What’s going on here, ladies? I thought I told you just to hit.”
“Sorry, Jody,” Robin singsonged. “We thought you said we could play.”
“Eager beavers, huh? Well, go ahead then. Keep playing. I’ll just watch for a while. See how you do.”
A Bunk 8 camper readied her serve. “New game. The score’s one-love.”
“That’s love-one,” Robin said. “Server’s score first.”
Cousin Robin sounded like Rory. She grabbed the power. She needed to win. She said she knew secrets. Secrets about my mother. I wanted to ask again what she was talking about. But I couldn’t let on that she knew more than I did.
I felt Jody’s eyes on me, waiting for my return. Hit the ball, Amy.
“Great shot, kiddo.” Jody applauded. “No wonder you wanted to play.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Robin mumbled.
“Everyone take a water break,” Jody called across the courts. “It’s hotter than blazes. A regular heat wave.”
Robin raced for the fountain. I propped my racket against the net, then walked toward the line of girls eager for drinks. Jody came up beside me. “You’re a natural, kiddo. I’m glad you’re in intensive. And don’t forget to put your name up on the board for the senior round-robin
How could Robin think the initiation had been my fault? That’s one thing my cousin and my mother would agree on: They’d say I was to blame.
“Come on!” the Bunk 8 girls hollered. “Hit the ball already!”
“What’s the rush?” Robin asked. “We’ve got two full periods.”
“Let’s just hit,” I said.
“Why? ’Cause that’s what the counselor said?” Robin’s stare gave me goose bumps. “Well, I for one don’t care what Jody says,” she went on. “We’re gonna play this game right, show those Bunk 8 campers who rules.” Robin watched me hug the baseline. “So get ready.”
“I am.”
“No you’re not. You need to be up by the net.”
“Why?”
“’Cause that’s where you’re supposed to stand when your partner serves. Jesus, Amy, if you don’t even know that, you don’t belong in intensive.”
I felt as if my cousin had rammed the ball down my throat as I inched toward the service line. I had played only singles. How far up was I supposed to go? Say you’re sorry, Robin. Say you’re sorry. The words repeated in my head.
I turned to see Robin holding the ball in the air, signaling our opponents. “I don’t need a warm-up. These are good.”
Ever play doctor with your cousin? Rory’s question rattled in my brain.
Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard. It’s Rory’s face, I imagined. Her perfect hair, her made-up eyes.
“Wow! Good shot!” one of the girls called when I slammed a forehand. “Where’d you learn to hit like that?”
“Good question,” Robin said.
“My father taught me.”
“Uncle Lou? Well, go figure.” Robin studied the ball for a moment. “Just another Becker secret, I guess: your father teaching you tennis. And all this time I thought it was Aunt Sonia who had all the secrets.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on. You know damn well what I mean. All those things about your mother we’re not allowed to talk about.”
What did Robin know about my mother? What things? What secrets?
Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard. It’s Robin now. Her hair rollers and four-poster bed. Her record player, which my mother said I didn’t need for the pop music I listened to on the radio. A record player would be too expensive.
Hit the ball, Amy. It’s Robin’s precious records, her Everly Brothers collection spilling from her bookcase without any books. Wake up, little Susie. Wake up! What secrets, I wondered again. What did my cousin know that I didn’t?
Jody stood by the court. “What’s going on here, ladies? I thought I told you just to hit.”
“Sorry, Jody,” Robin singsonged. “We thought you said we could play.”
“Eager beavers, huh? Well, go ahead then. Keep playing. I’ll just watch for a while. See how you do.”
A Bunk 8 camper readied her serve. “New game. The score’s one-love.”
“That’s love-one,” Robin said. “Server’s score first.”
Cousin Robin sounded like Rory. She grabbed the power. She needed to win. She said she knew secrets. Secrets about my mother. I wanted to ask again what she was talking about. But I couldn’t let on that she knew more than I did.
I felt Jody’s eyes on me, waiting for my return. Hit the ball, Amy.
“Great shot, kiddo.” Jody applauded. “No wonder you wanted to play.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Robin mumbled.
“Everyone take a water break,” Jody called across the courts. “It’s hotter than blazes. A regular heat wave.”
Robin raced for the fountain. I propped my racket against the net, then walked toward the line of girls eager for drinks. Jody came up beside me. “You’re a natural, kiddo. I’m glad you’re in intensive. And don’t forget to put your name up on the board for the senior round-robin
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