Lovely Girls(5)

Please, I thought. Please let things be different here. Please let me be different here.





CHAPTER THREE




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KATE

Alex and I sat in my SUV, parked outside Shoreham High School, watching parents and students stream inside. Alex had been mostly silent on the drive over, and now she sat with her hands twisted in her lap, her long brown hair falling forward, shielding her face from my concerned gaze.

“We should go in,” I suggested.

Alex raised one shoulder in a shrug. I wasn’t sure what the shrug meant—yes, no, or indifferent. I pressed on.

“We don’t want to miss orientation.”

“We?” Alex’s tone was caustic. “I don’t care if I miss it.”

“It’s a new school, honey. They’ll probably give us information we’ll need. Like, who your guidance counselor is, and I don’t know . . . where the cafeteria is located.”

My seventeen-year-old daughter shot me a withering look. “I know where the cafeteria is located at my old school. You’re the one who insisted we move here. Why don’t you go find out all of this key information you think we need?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. It would be easy to snap back, but what good would that do? My child, who used to chortle with laughter at silly cat videos, who would sing loudly and off-key while she showered, and who’d always radiated with an optimistic determination, had turned into a completely different girl. Now she was anxious, edgy, angry. Always so, so angry.

But Alex had been through a lot. We both had. That’s why I couldn’t be reactive. I had to stay calm and measured and somehow get us through this transition.

“Let’s just go in for a little while. If it doesn’t seem helpful, we can always leave.”

I unbuckled my seat belt and climbed out of the SUV. I wasn’t sure whether Alex would follow me, so I was glad when a few beats later, her car door opened, and she got out.

We joined the tide of parents and students heading toward the school gymnasium. Alex fell into step beside me, although her arms were crossed over her chest and her shoulders were hunched over. Alex was a tall girl who’d surpassed me in height by the time she was in the seventh grade. Ed and I had joked about it, wondering which side of our completely average-height families she’d gotten the tall genes from. I wanted to tell her to stand up straight, to proudly occupy her space in the world, but managed to keep what I knew would be unwanted advice to myself.

The scene inside the gymnasium was chaotic. Alex and I both came to an abrupt stop as we took it in. There were dozens of tables set up in long rows, one for every school club or sports team imaginable, and most were surrounded by students and parents, waiting to talk to a coach or add their name to a sign-up sheet. Alex and I began to slowly circulate through the crowd. I pointed out a few clubs I thought she might be interested in, activities the old Alex would have enjoyed. A service club that walked shelter dogs. The school magazine. An a cappella choral group. She kept silently shaking her head.

“There’s a table for the tennis team.” I pointed. Alex looked over, her interest finally piqued. “Let’s go check it out.”

The table was adorned with a poster-board sign festooned with silver-and-gold glitter and LADY PANTHERS VARSITY TENNIS spelled out in bubbly red letters next to a cartoon of a panther holding an oversize tennis racket. Three teenage girls, who all looked about the same age as Alex, sat behind the table.

The trio was dressed in what I guessed was their team uniform—purple tank tops over short white tennis skirts. They were all thin and pretty, had long hair, and wore name stickers affixed to their team shirts. Callie, Shae, Daphne. Callie was freckled, with pointed features and long strawberry-blonde hair. Shae had smooth dark hair and large round hazel eyes. Daphne, who sat in the middle, was the most striking of the three. She had delicate features, navy-blue eyes fringed with thick eyelashes, and golden, expertly curled waves that spilled over her shoulders. They all sat with their legs crossed and exuded an absolute confidence that I had completely lacked at their age.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Kate Turner, and this is my daughter, Alex. She’s new to the school this year, but she’s an excellent tennis player.”

“Mom, stop it,” Alex muttered.

All three heads swiveled in her direction. I could feel my daughter shrinking back under the weight of their cool gazes.

“I remember you,” Daphne said. She looked Alex up and down. “The spy.”

Spy? I looked at my daughter. Alex had flushed a dark red.

“Anyway,” Daphne drawled with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “You’ll have to try out. There are only two spots open, so it’s pretty competitive. We have a really strong team.”

“I know. You had a great record last year,” Alex said, which surprised me. She’d been so against the move, so against relocating to Florida, I was surprised she’d bothered to research her new school’s tennis team. I hoped it was a positive sign.

“Go ahead and sign up.” Daphne nodded unsmilingly at a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it. “Tryouts are in a few weeks. Good luck.”

Daphne’s good luck was disingenuous at best and possibly even mocking. But Alex bent forward to sign her name, her hair falling forward over her face. I felt some of the tension in my stomach unclench. It was only a small step toward Alex establishing a foothold in her new life, but at least it was something.