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Authors: Heather Blackmore
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us on court one. Coach handed out the drills and partners for the day, sending pairs and foursomes of girls to various courts, until only Sarah and I remained.
Because I was the fourth-best singles player and the meets were typically played in teams of three singles players and three doubles teams, I usually played and practiced doubles with Kristin. Coach occasionally changed things around so some of the doubles players could play singles and vice versa, but it was fairly rare for Sarah and me to practice together.
Coach studied me. “How’s that ankle?” she asked.
“Ankle?”
Sarah jumped in. “I told Coach how you twisted your ankle on Saturday after we’d started working on your serve.”
“Oh. Right.” I wasn’t very adept at lying, so I turned to face Coach and told the truth. “It’s feeling pretty solid, honestly. Good as new.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, Coach. No worries.” I flicked my eyes over to Sarah, who wore a sly grin.
“Glad to hear it. Take it up where you left off. Cazz, I want you to focus on learning the kick serve from Sarah. Sarah, work on your return of serve with Cazz. Court eight.”
Sarah grabbed the ball cage and we walked along the outside of the fence toward court eight. Still feeling raw from my admissions over the weekend, I didn’t hide my irritation.
“Sarah, what the—”
“Before you start in on me, I knew you’d probably be angry for the ruse, but I wanted to talk to you and you’ve avoided me all day.” She glanced at me as we continued to the court. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I couldn’t argue; I had been avoiding her. I didn’t respond.
“I thought so.”
We got to our court and stopped at the baseline. Sarah set up the cage between us, then looked at me. “Listen,” she said. “I know Saturday was a pretty big deal for you, and I’m guessing you’re feeling vulnerable right now.”
I shifted my gaze to the soccer field, letting my eyes settle on a boy juggling a soccer ball with his knees, head, and feet.
“I’m sure I’m the last person you want to be practicing with today, but Cazz, you got out of the car before you gave me a chance to respond. I wanted to tell you that Saturday meant a lot to me. I’m glad you told me what you did, and I know how hard that was for you. I promise I’ll never use it against you, and I’ll never tell anyone about any of it. I feel like you gave me a gift, and it meant more to me than you can know. So thank you for telling me and letting me in as much as you did. And now, I’m going to drop the subject so you can focus on your serve, and I’m going to stay at least four feet away from you while we go over this again, so you won’t be uncomfortable. Or at least less uncomfortable, since I wouldn’t exactly call you the touchy-feely type.” Sarah said this last bit in a lightly teasing tone, trying to get a reaction from me.
I pulled my eyes from soccer boy and looked at her. “No, not exactly,” I said with a half smirk.
She raised both eyebrows. “So, are we good, or do I have to embarrass you into submission by giving you a huge hug in front of all our teammates and not letting go until I get you to promise to stop avoiding me?” She gave me a wicked grin. She really had my number. And she’d do it, too.
“Aren’t you funny?” I grabbed a ball from the cage. “So. Ball toss at eleven o’clock, racket head moving across the ball from six o’clock to twelve o’clock. What else?”
*
Practice that afternoon felt strange, but in a good way. I felt an odd kind of peacefulness. Restfulness. Liberation. For the first time in my life, I felt that someone really got me, understood me, accepted me for who I was. Hell, liked me despite it.
On the court, Sarah was unparalleled. She made for a tough opponent: strategic, quick, tough, and determined. She exhibited impressive coaching skills when helping me with my serve, displaying patience, humor, knowledge, and
Because I was the fourth-best singles player and the meets were typically played in teams of three singles players and three doubles teams, I usually played and practiced doubles with Kristin. Coach occasionally changed things around so some of the doubles players could play singles and vice versa, but it was fairly rare for Sarah and me to practice together.
Coach studied me. “How’s that ankle?” she asked.
“Ankle?”
Sarah jumped in. “I told Coach how you twisted your ankle on Saturday after we’d started working on your serve.”
“Oh. Right.” I wasn’t very adept at lying, so I turned to face Coach and told the truth. “It’s feeling pretty solid, honestly. Good as new.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, Coach. No worries.” I flicked my eyes over to Sarah, who wore a sly grin.
“Glad to hear it. Take it up where you left off. Cazz, I want you to focus on learning the kick serve from Sarah. Sarah, work on your return of serve with Cazz. Court eight.”
Sarah grabbed the ball cage and we walked along the outside of the fence toward court eight. Still feeling raw from my admissions over the weekend, I didn’t hide my irritation.
“Sarah, what the—”
“Before you start in on me, I knew you’d probably be angry for the ruse, but I wanted to talk to you and you’ve avoided me all day.” She glanced at me as we continued to the court. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I couldn’t argue; I had been avoiding her. I didn’t respond.
“I thought so.”
We got to our court and stopped at the baseline. Sarah set up the cage between us, then looked at me. “Listen,” she said. “I know Saturday was a pretty big deal for you, and I’m guessing you’re feeling vulnerable right now.”
I shifted my gaze to the soccer field, letting my eyes settle on a boy juggling a soccer ball with his knees, head, and feet.
“I’m sure I’m the last person you want to be practicing with today, but Cazz, you got out of the car before you gave me a chance to respond. I wanted to tell you that Saturday meant a lot to me. I’m glad you told me what you did, and I know how hard that was for you. I promise I’ll never use it against you, and I’ll never tell anyone about any of it. I feel like you gave me a gift, and it meant more to me than you can know. So thank you for telling me and letting me in as much as you did. And now, I’m going to drop the subject so you can focus on your serve, and I’m going to stay at least four feet away from you while we go over this again, so you won’t be uncomfortable. Or at least less uncomfortable, since I wouldn’t exactly call you the touchy-feely type.” Sarah said this last bit in a lightly teasing tone, trying to get a reaction from me.
I pulled my eyes from soccer boy and looked at her. “No, not exactly,” I said with a half smirk.
She raised both eyebrows. “So, are we good, or do I have to embarrass you into submission by giving you a huge hug in front of all our teammates and not letting go until I get you to promise to stop avoiding me?” She gave me a wicked grin. She really had my number. And she’d do it, too.
“Aren’t you funny?” I grabbed a ball from the cage. “So. Ball toss at eleven o’clock, racket head moving across the ball from six o’clock to twelve o’clock. What else?”
*
Practice that afternoon felt strange, but in a good way. I felt an odd kind of peacefulness. Restfulness. Liberation. For the first time in my life, I felt that someone really got me, understood me, accepted me for who I was. Hell, liked me despite it.
On the court, Sarah was unparalleled. She made for a tough opponent: strategic, quick, tough, and determined. She exhibited impressive coaching skills when helping me with my serve, displaying patience, humor, knowledge, and
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