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Authors: Melissa Kantor
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Boys, maybe.”
In my mind I saw Natasha’s hulking stance, the braces. “I don’t know, Mom,” I said. “I don’t get a sense that there are too many boys in the picture.” Not to mention how little my vast experience with the opposite sex would enable me to contribute to such a conversation.
“Okay,” said my mom. “So you could ask her about her friends or school or what she likes to do in her free time. Just so she feels she can talk to you. If you two can relate to each other, you can teach her anything.”
“You think?” I wasn’t exactly convinced.
“I do,” said my mom. “Anyway, what do you have to lose?”
“Good point,” I said.
After that, no one said anything for a while. It wasn’t bad sitting there in the kitchen with my mom and Tina, shucking corn. There was some jazz playing quietly, and Tina had started to cook the garlic, so the room smelled delicious. Maybe my mom was right—maybe it was just a matter of winning Natasha’s trust. Maybe I really could help her, not just with her tennis game but with her confidence in general. Maybe by August she’d be a whole new person, full of life, smiling, joking, standing up tall. I could see her standing midcourt as the judges of the Larkspur Tennis Club handed her a trophy the size of a golden retriever. And the winner of this year’s club championship is none other than … Natasha Davis!
We’d be like Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller!
It was cool to have a goal for the summer. And who knew—my giving Natasha lessons could provide an opportunity for Jenna and Lawrence and Adam to find out I like playing tennis, which could be the first step in their asking me to play tennis with them. It might even be an excuse to talk to Adam about teaching. I mean, clearly Natasha was not “at risk,” what with her dad having a big fat wad of cash in his pocket and her going to a snazzy New York City prep school, but did “at risk” have to have only one meaning? Wasn’t Natasha at risk of living a lonely, angry life? Weren’t rich girls people too?
The phone rang. “Katie, honey, could you grab that? I’m up to my elbows in snapper,” said Tina. “Sure,” I said, peeling strands of corn silk off my hands and shirt and walking over to the phone.
“Hello?”
“Tina?”
“No, this is Kate.”
“Oh hey, Kate, it’s Jenna. We met at the pool.”
“Right,” I said. “Hey.”
The excitement I’d been feeling as I thought about changing Natasha’s life (and her changing mine) translated itself into excitement about Jenna’s calling. Maybe she was calling for me. I mean, if she wanted to reach Sarah, wouldn’t she have called Sarah on her cell? In fact, maybe Adam had told Jenna to call me. Jenna, you have got to call Sarah’s hot, hilarious, houseguest and invite her to join us tonight. Maybe he’d said, I think I might be in love with her.
“Is Sarah there?” asked Jenna. And maybe not. “No,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t convey my disappointment that she wasn’t calling for me—or the humiliating fact that I’d thought she was. “Sorry,” I added.
“That’s okay,” said Jenna. “When she gets home, can you tell her I have her cell? She left it in my bag. Will you tell her I’ll bring it to Lawrence’s later?”
So everyone was going to Lawrence’s later. Well, it was always nice to know exactly where the party that you weren’t invited to was. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you soon at the club?”
My disloyal heart swelled a little at the friendliness in her voice.
Traitor.
“Maybe,” I said. I remembered how nice Jenna had been when she’d first sat down, like she was actually glad to meet me. Couldn’t she beg me not to miss a day of sun and fun at the Larkspur country club? Don’t say maybe, Kate! You should totally hang with us tomorrow.
“Okay,” she said. “Well, thanks for telling Sarah about her phone.”
“Sure,” I said. “No
In my mind I saw Natasha’s hulking stance, the braces. “I don’t know, Mom,” I said. “I don’t get a sense that there are too many boys in the picture.” Not to mention how little my vast experience with the opposite sex would enable me to contribute to such a conversation.
“Okay,” said my mom. “So you could ask her about her friends or school or what she likes to do in her free time. Just so she feels she can talk to you. If you two can relate to each other, you can teach her anything.”
“You think?” I wasn’t exactly convinced.
“I do,” said my mom. “Anyway, what do you have to lose?”
“Good point,” I said.
After that, no one said anything for a while. It wasn’t bad sitting there in the kitchen with my mom and Tina, shucking corn. There was some jazz playing quietly, and Tina had started to cook the garlic, so the room smelled delicious. Maybe my mom was right—maybe it was just a matter of winning Natasha’s trust. Maybe I really could help her, not just with her tennis game but with her confidence in general. Maybe by August she’d be a whole new person, full of life, smiling, joking, standing up tall. I could see her standing midcourt as the judges of the Larkspur Tennis Club handed her a trophy the size of a golden retriever. And the winner of this year’s club championship is none other than … Natasha Davis!
We’d be like Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller!
It was cool to have a goal for the summer. And who knew—my giving Natasha lessons could provide an opportunity for Jenna and Lawrence and Adam to find out I like playing tennis, which could be the first step in their asking me to play tennis with them. It might even be an excuse to talk to Adam about teaching. I mean, clearly Natasha was not “at risk,” what with her dad having a big fat wad of cash in his pocket and her going to a snazzy New York City prep school, but did “at risk” have to have only one meaning? Wasn’t Natasha at risk of living a lonely, angry life? Weren’t rich girls people too?
The phone rang. “Katie, honey, could you grab that? I’m up to my elbows in snapper,” said Tina. “Sure,” I said, peeling strands of corn silk off my hands and shirt and walking over to the phone.
“Hello?”
“Tina?”
“No, this is Kate.”
“Oh hey, Kate, it’s Jenna. We met at the pool.”
“Right,” I said. “Hey.”
The excitement I’d been feeling as I thought about changing Natasha’s life (and her changing mine) translated itself into excitement about Jenna’s calling. Maybe she was calling for me. I mean, if she wanted to reach Sarah, wouldn’t she have called Sarah on her cell? In fact, maybe Adam had told Jenna to call me. Jenna, you have got to call Sarah’s hot, hilarious, houseguest and invite her to join us tonight. Maybe he’d said, I think I might be in love with her.
“Is Sarah there?” asked Jenna. And maybe not. “No,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t convey my disappointment that she wasn’t calling for me—or the humiliating fact that I’d thought she was. “Sorry,” I added.
“That’s okay,” said Jenna. “When she gets home, can you tell her I have her cell? She left it in my bag. Will you tell her I’ll bring it to Lawrence’s later?”
So everyone was going to Lawrence’s later. Well, it was always nice to know exactly where the party that you weren’t invited to was. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you soon at the club?”
My disloyal heart swelled a little at the friendliness in her voice.
Traitor.
“Maybe,” I said. I remembered how nice Jenna had been when she’d first sat down, like she was actually glad to meet me. Couldn’t she beg me not to miss a day of sun and fun at the Larkspur country club? Don’t say maybe, Kate! You should totally hang with us tomorrow.
“Okay,” she said. “Well, thanks for telling Sarah about her phone.”
“Sure,” I said. “No
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