Read Online Double-Crossed by Lin Oliver - Free Book Online

we are
not
members of the Sporty Forty. We live in the
caretaker’s
cottage.”
    â€œWhy do you always have to keep reminding me of that, Sammie?”
    â€œBecause it’s true. You are not one of the rich kids, something you seem to be forgetting.”
    â€œThey don’t care if I’m rich or poor. They’re my friends.”
    â€œYou seem to be forgetting a recent little cheating scandal they involved you in?”
    â€œI told you, Lauren apologized all over the place. The other kids did, too. And I forgave them. It’s like it never happened now. Everything is fine between us.”
    â€œYeah, we’ll see about that.”
    â€œYou are so suspicious of everyone, Sammie. I feel sorry for you.”
    â€œFine. In the meantime, I’ve invited Eddie and Oscar for tomorrow, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re coming. They belong at the Sand and Surf every bit as much as Lauren or stupid Jared, who looks like he’s going to trip on his shorts every time he takes a step.”
    Now it was Charlie’s turn to snap at me. “That is his signature look!”
    â€œWhatever.” I sighed. I hated this conversation almost as much as the one I’d just had with my dad. “I’m really tired.”
    â€œMe too. Let’s just go to sleep.” Charlie flicked off the light and rolled over to face the wall. She didn’t even say good night.
    I changed clothes quickly, got into bed, and fell asleep wondering exactly when my sister had turned into such a brat.

Kicked Out
    Chapter 6
    â€œMiss Samantha Diamond and Miss Charlotte Diamond, last call to report to the registration desk.” We could hear the official’s voice over the loudspeaker even from the parking lot.
    It was noon the next day and we had just arrived at the Sand and Surf Club, a few minutes later than we planned. We had been up since eight o’clock, but our dad wanted to make sure we got in a practice before we headed over for the match. Wouldn’t you know it, my serve was off during practice, and my dad made me stay on the court at the Sporty Forty and do one hundred serves until I got my timing right. That didn’t happen until serve number ninety-nine, and my dad wasn’t pleased. In fact, he was a total crab apple. He just stood there yelling, “Ball toss! Timing! Snap your racket! Soften your grip! Watch the baseline!” and getting grumpier by the minute.
    Tension on the car ride over was running pretty high. On big tournament days, my dad gets himself all in a twist, and even though this wasn’t a tournament, he seemed to have put his “all in a twist” mode on high alert. He sped into the parking lot (hard to do when you have a twelve-year-old Toyota), screeched to a stop, and popped open the trunk.
    â€œYou girls get your gear and hustle in there,” he said in his crab apple voice. “Be sure to apologize for being late and let them know you’re ready to play immediately.”
    â€œRelax, Rick,” GoGo said, giving him a gentle pat on the hand. “Nothing has begun yet. We’re all fine.”
    â€œYou’re fine, Phyllis,” he said to her. “I’m not fine with tardiness. Professional sports is like the armed forces. The trains run on time.”
    Okay, so the first thing I wanted to say was that nothing he said made sense. For the life of me, I didn’t get how tennis had anything at all to do with trains. And the second thing was,
professional
sports? We were good tennis players, but last time I looked, no one was handing us a one hundred thousand-dollar check for our winnings. The most we’d ever won were some fake gold trophies that turned pretty rusty when we left them in the garage during a rainstorm. In my opinion, that hardly made us professional.
    But he was in no mood to discuss vocabulary, so Charlie and I just did as he said and hurried into the club. GoGo offered to stay while he