The Lion's Den(9)

When the bell rang an hour later, I gathered up my books, thrilled that our only homework was to watch Amélie. “If all our teachers were that hot, it’d be easy to get straight A’s,” I whispered to Summer.

“As if you don’t already,” she teased. “Can I get a ride home? It’s past noon, so Rhonda’s probably drunk.”

“Sure.”

She threaded her way through the desks to the front of the class, where Mr. Stokes was erasing the blackboard.

“Hey, you look familiar.” Summer addressed him easily, as though speaking to someone our age. “Do you play tennis at River Run Country Club?”

He turned, smiled. “Yeah. Can’t say I’m much good anymore, though.”

“Thought I saw you up there the other day. You didn’t look too bad. I’m Summer.”

“Summer Sanderson, I remember.” He shifted his gaze to me. “And you’re—wait, don’t tell me—Isabella Carter?”

I smiled. “Isabelle. Nice to meet you. Your class was great.”

Your class was great? I was an idiot.

Summer fixed him with those verdant green eyes. “Anymore?”

“What?” he asked.

“You said you weren’t good at tennis anymore?” she clarified.

“Oh. I used to play in high school.”

“And when was that?” she asked.

“Five, six years ago.”

She smiled. “Well, I’ll have to challenge you to a game if I run into you at the club, see if you’ve still got what it takes.”

He laughed, but behind his smile I thought I could see him considering the propriety of playing tennis with a leggy blond sixteen-year-old student. Summer gave him a little wave as she sashayed out the door, and I scrambled to catch up.

Once we were safely in the privacy of the station wagon, I burst out laughing.

“What?” Summer asked, feigning innocence.

“You flirted with that teacher like he was our age!”

“Think he liked it?”

“Oh, come on. Of course he did. You should’ve seen the look on his face as you walked away. Pure gold.”

“Turn there.” She indicated a strip mall up ahead. “We’re getting our nails done. We can’t be walking around looking a mess.”



The rest of the week flew by in a haze of French conjugations and afternoons by the pool, my dripping manicured fingers riffling the pages of the book Summer loaned me.

On the Friday before the Fourth of July holiday, I joined Summer for a sunset game of tennis at River Run. The afternoon was bone-melting hot and an hour in I’d soaked through my gym shorts and T-shirt, yet somehow Summer still looked fresh in her tennis whites.

I batted the ball over the net. “How are you not soaked?”

“It’s this fabric. It dries it out or something.” She whacked the ball to the other side of the court, and I didn’t quite make it.

“I’m beat,” I said, “and I’ve gotta go over to Grannie’s for dinner.”

“I got this outfit in the club store,” she remarked as we zipped up our rackets. “Just charged it to Three’s card.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Oh, please. He doesn’t know. He never so much as checks the balance. It just comes out of his account every month. We could get you an outfit,” she suggested.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Seriously, he’ll never know the difference.”

“I wouldn’t feel right,” I demurred.

“Suit yourself.” She slung her racket over her shoulder and squinted past me a few courts away. “Is that Ryan?”

“Who’s Ryan?” I turned to look. “That looks like Mr. Stokes.”

Mr. Stokes and another good-looking guy his age were just breaking for water a few courts away. Summer was already walking in their direction, her tennis racket slung over her shoulder.

I hustled to catch up. “So you’re on a first-name basis with our teacher now?”

“Act like you don’t see him,” she whispered.

As we approached, she turned her head toward me, actively not looking in his direction. I laughed nervously.

“Isabelle, Summer,” he called out.

Summer feigned surprise, while I tried unsuccessfully not to act awkward. “Oh, hi!” she exclaimed blithely. “I knew I’d seen you playing here before.”

The cute friend extended his hand to me. He had floppy light-brown hair and broad shoulders. “Hi. I’m Tyler.”

“Isabelle.” He looked me in the eye and smiled as I shook his hand. Was that an interested smile? An electric shock ran through me as I realized he thought we were college girls.

“I’m Summer,” Summer said.

“You gals know Ryan from class?” Tyler asked.

“Something like that,” Summer eluded. She nodded at the court. “He claims not to be any good. How about you?

“Maybe we should play a round of doubles and you can find out for yourself,” Tyler suggested.

“Sounds fun,” Summer agreed. “Monday?”

“Around five?” Tyler asked.

“We’ll see you then.”