Select (Select #1)(31)

It took me a second to recover. I wasn’t used to knowing John was attracted to me. I felt shy about it, but it was also the first time in my life I’d felt that kind of power.

We walked silently next to each other to the parking lot. I was petite next to him, the top of my head coming to just above his shoulder. I knew he was gearing up to confront me about Barton Springs but he didn’t feel he could just blurt it out. I used that to my advantage, doing my best to act like we were past that and I was just a girl from school who needed a ride. I knew he was less wary of me now. The stranger details from that day had faded for him. He wanted me to explain it all away.

I felt him checking out my gear—bag, racket, top-of-the-line shoes. I could tell his stuff was decent as well—it had to be, since he played so much—but it was worn.

“Can I carry anything?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it.”

Stop acting like you’re going on a first date.

I laughed under my breath. “What?” he asked, suddenly paranoid that his nervousness was apparent.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking I should have showered. I’m sorry I’m going to get your seat all wet.”

“No one should shower in the locker rooms unless they absolutely have to.” He smiled.

“I know. It’s really disgusting. So, you just joined the team?” I felt his surprise that I was capable of casual conversation.

“I did. It’s supposed to be temporary. To work on my shoulder. We’ll see,” he said.

“You were at a tennis academy in Florida,” I stated. He looked over at me.

“People talk.” I shrugged.

“I was there last year.”

“Only for one year?”

We had reached his car. Now I felt his anxiety about how old and beat up his car would seem to me.

“Here—your door—I have to open it from the inside, and then the hinge is kind of broken, so you have to lift it up as you close it.” He managed to sound matter-of-fact.

“Okay,” I said. He let me in, and I took the big step up into the Explorer and did exactly what he’d instructed with the door like it was no big deal.

John started the car and turned the blaring radio way down. He was praying his car didn’t smell like sweat and that the air conditioner worked.

“Your car smells like shampoo,” I said, accidentally in answer.

“Good. I was worrying it smelled like sweat.”

“Like your friends in English?” I laughed. He just looked at me for a moment.

That’s when you can tell she’s one of them—that glow.

Wow. I was so relieved we were in a car and we could mostly look straight ahead instead of at each other. It took the pressure off.

“Yeah, exactly like those guys.” Breathe, jackass.

“So, the academy…?” I prompted.

“Oh. It was…crazy. I didn’t perform as well as expected, and then I got injured, so…” Jesus, why am I telling her this? Nobody asks me about last year.

“Were a lot of people better than you?”

He laughed in surprise. I hadn’t meant to be mean.

“Sorry, that came out wrong.” I laughed too, and our eyes met for a second. We both looked away quickly.

“No, that’s okay. Most of them were better. I ended up playing with the best girls a lot.”

“You make that sound like such a terrible thing,” I teased, and brushed my hair away from my face. That sounded a little too flirty. I was surprised how easy I was finding it to talk to him.

I hope I haven’t offended her. “I know, it sounds bad, but I don’t mean it like that. It’s just when you have an odd number, the weakest player has to play matches, so I ended up playing the number one girl, who was great, but…” Shut up, John.

“Uh-huh” was all I said, to make him squirm.

“I think it has something to do with muscle mass….”

“Are you digging yourself into a hole?” I laughed again.

“Yes!” He stared straight ahead, but now he was smiling, looking so much more relaxed than he had a second ago. I studied his strong profile a moment too long.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Ninety percent.”

“So what’s next?”

“Getting into college,” he answered.

“What about tennis?” I realized I was sitting ramrod straight in his car and I should at least try to look relaxed. I leaned back and looked over at him, my cheek resting against the seat.

He suddenly started talking. “We’ve always played tennis to help us get into the best college possible, then for a brief moment it was about potentially going pro—which is why I went to Florida. Now it’s just to get into college.”

“But why would that be a problem? You’re in AP English. You’re smart.” I couldn’t quite figure out what he was saying.

“I have to go where I can get the best financial aid.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t meant to make him embarrassed. The silence hung awkwardly between us. He glanced at me quickly, like he was trying to put his finger on something.

“What about you?” he asked. “Where am I going, by the way?”

“Just drive me to Mozart’s, please. You know, the coffee shop on the lake? I can walk home from there.”