Bookishly Ever After (Ever After #1)(27)
We reached Em and the table. I widened my eyes in a pleading look at Em and reluctantly took the latte she held out. “Help,” I mouthed silently at her.
“So, did you ask him out?” Leia slipped into the seat next to mine.
“No! I can’t do that.” I didn’t need Leia jumping into my personal life, too. Em and Grace were bad enough.
Leia pat me on the arm and said, “You should—”
Em poked Leia in the arm with a still-wrapped straw. “I’m tired of talking about Phoebe and Dev. She’s hopeless,” she said, emphasizing “hopeless” and rolling her eyes in an over-the-top way. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? I need your opinions on what I’m thinking of getting Wilhelm for Christmas.”
My eyes met Em’s and a tiny smile flitted across her lips. It was nice having a best friend.
16
My arrow skimmed the top of the target and slammed into the fabric backdrop we’d hung up on the far wall of the gym before practice. I grimaced and nocked another arrow. I couldn’t even get a group of arrows to cluster all practice long, much less get anything to land anywhere remotely near the ten point circle.
Coach Rentz came up behind me and I could feel her gaze move over me, taking in my positioning.
“You need to relax your grip. That’s why your arrows are all over the place.” When I looked over at her, she was focused on my bow hand. “You’ve been practicing with that other bow again, haven’t you?”
I almost said yes, but then decided not to since she’d probably confiscate my wonderfully Maeve-y carved bow until after my next competition. “No…I just can’t focus today.” At least that was the truth. Another disastrous lunch period, where I’d ended up stumbling in the heels I’d worn in an attempt to be more Marissa-like and barely missed dumping my lunch on Dev by inches kept haunting me, popping up when I needed to focus.
Coach Rentz raised one eyebrow and shook her head, letting me know she didn’t buy my excuse, then tapped my hand before moving over to fix another archer’s stance. “Relax that grip,” she said to me over her shoulder.
I shook out my bow hand, then took a deep breath and aimed, my arms shaking the tiniest bit as I tried to get my sight perfectly dead center. My bowl of southwestern quinoa salad landing right next to Dev’s feet popped into my head again and I lost focus as I released the arrow. It wasn’t a huge surprise that it almost missed the target altogether. I needed a break to clear my head. I stepped off the line and tried to look like I was checking my bow.
“Phoebe, do you have a minute?”
I paused midway through adjusting my sight and smiled up at Coach Rentz. “Sorry, I promise I’ll do better at tomorrow’s practice. I’m just a little distracted today.”
Coach shook her head, but smiled as she did it. “A lot distracted, and that other bow of yours isn’t helping. But,” she waved a paper at me, “that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
She hadn’t mentioned any new competitions in her team announcements, but the paper looked suspiciously like an application.
“Okay?” I said, warily, squinting at the paper to try to make out the writing on it.
“They want to run an archery range at sixth grade camp this year and Mr. Cooper asked me if any of my archers would be able to help out. Since you’re certified to teach, I thought this might be a good experience for you.”
I regretted letting Coach talk me into getting my level one certification last summer. The thought of teaching a bunch of eleven year olds about aiming at targets and not at each other made my stomach turn. Instead of looking back up at her, I twirled one of my arrows between my fingers, watching the teal and black vanes blur together.
“I don’t know. I’m not really good at this kind of thing.” A camp book series I’d read over the summer popped into my head, tempting me with the idea of s’mores and cute campers singing around campfires and hot counselors, but I pushed those thoughts away as quickly as they had come. “I don’t think I’m good at teaching.”
“You really don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve seen you helping out new archers and think you do a great job.” She handed me the application and pat me on the arm. “Think about it.” As she walked away, she turned around and walked backwards to look at me while adding, “And if I catch you with that other bow, I’m confiscating it. Understand?”
“Um, okay,” I said with crossed fingers. As soon as she turned around again, I shoved the application into the black hole at the bottom of my bow bag, down under a few folded up old targets. Camp, just like shooting a perfect session a few minutes earlier, wasn’t going to happen.
Propping my bow in its stand, I checked the gym bleachers behind me. Dad always came for the last half of practice, waiting on the bleachers with the two or three other parents who came to watch. Most of the other kids hated when their parents watched practice, but I kind of loved that archery was something he and I shared, even though he refused to even hold a bow.
I dropped down next to his feet and looked up at him, slipping my blue shooting glasses onto the top of my head. “You know, most people who come to watch practice actually watch.” I pointed with one of my arrows at the thick mystery bestseller he was balancing on his knees.