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serve, which was one of the fastest on the girls’ tennis circuit and better than many of the boys’. Tennis is a great equalizer for age and gender—girls beat boys in the sport all the time. In fact, Serene had beaten Patrick in a practice set last winter.
    Not everyone was impressed with the clash of our two tennis titans. Nicholas and Harmony walked by on their way to their afternoon lifeguard shifts at the pool, and Nicholas guffawed. “Please. Tennis is for weaklings.”
    â€œTry competing in a hundred-meter butterfly. That ’ s athleticism,” Harmony agreed.
    Evie and I were standing alongside my mom and Lisa by the plate-glass windows overlooking the courts. Annabel walked into the lobby then, and with everyone focusing on the tennis match, she caught my eye and sidled up to me. “Hey, Chelsea.” She smiled, giving me a hug. I felt the dog charm on her necklace gently knock me in the eye as she embraced me. She gave Evie a squeeze on the shoulder before turning to her brother, who had made yet another anti-tennis crack.
    â€œStop it, you two,” Annabel said to Nicholas and Harmony. “There’s enough testosterone to go around. Why must you boys make everything a competition?”
    Goran and Patrick whaling the ball at each other was always quite a sight. They’d had an intense-but-friendly rivalry practically since the day Goran stepped off the plane from the Czech Republic with his bowl cut and orange pants six years ago. Legend has it (i.e., Gene’s version of the story) that Goran’s parents brought him to the club for a tennis evaluation even before they signed him up for school.
    Celia, sitting with Serene and hearing Annabel behind her, turned and said, “Hey, girl. What happened to you Friday night? I thought you were coming out with us.”
    Annabel opened her mouth and stuttered something like, I—I, um, I was—um … I—
    â€œShe had a daaattte ,” Nicholas interrupted. He worked his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and looked at his sister. “But she won’t say who the mystery man is.”
    Celia said, “Ooh. New guy? You’ll have to tell me everything when these clowns aren’t around,” then went back to watching the tennis match. “He’s looking good,” Celia observed of Goran. “I bet he makes number one by Yale.”
    Ah, the Yale Championships. The big end-of-summer event in Connecticut included boys’ and girls’ competitions in every age group, and whoever won their tournament almost always rocketed to number one in New England. As for Celia, she’d been teaching more than playing lately, so she was expected to stay put at number five in the eighteen-and-unders. And she was right—Goran had been training like a madman and was in fine form. He was clad in full Volcano gear again today because they were his sponsor. Far as I could tell, this meant the company shipped him all the newest stuff for free before it was even in stores, including these oddly shiny sneakers he’d been sporting lately.
    Oof. Goran aced Patrick, and Patrick fell into the court’s side netting trying to get to it. Goran, with his white shorts and jaunty ice-blue T-shirt, tendrils of sweaty hair clinging to his neck, jumped up and down in place. He jabbed an index finger in Patrick’s general direction and yelled loud enough for us all to hear, “Try again, loser!”
    Then Goran focused his eyes on one person behind the glass, a girl standing there in jean shorts topped off with a fitted turquoise top and matching flip-flops, her cream crocheted beach bag slung over her shoulder. Annabel. The energy was zinging between the two of them. I saw Evie’s face fall and thought, Who did they think they were kidding?
    By the time Patrick bounced back on his feet, he glanced at the crowd, too, then shot a look straight at Annabel, holding his arms out and mouthing, I’m