Dream Me(16)

“Maybe. That would be nice.” I nibbled on the granola bar he’d offered me earlier in lieu of lunch.

“It’s a little different from California, isn’t it?” he chuckled.

“It sure is.” But in reality I didn’t think it was all that different. A country club is a country club no matter where you are. I washed down the dry granola bar with water.

“My last job was in the Virgin Islands . . . St. Thomas,” he said. “Beautiful place, but you get island fever after a while.”

“What’s island fever like?”

“You know . . . you get stir crazy like you want to go somewhere but there’s nowhere to go. So I took the job here and, so far, I like it. You’ll like it too once you get used to the way things are done.”

“How are things done? Any tips?”

“Tips?” He looked deep in thought before answering. “Okay, here’s some advice from one non-southerner to another. The people down here put a premium on manners so a ma’am or a sir will always sound good and you don’t have to memorize a lot of names that way.”

“Yes, sir,” I smirked.

“Now let me give you another piece of advice. People here are very friendly so when you say ma’am or sir, think of it more as someone’s name rather than someone’s title.”

“Yes, sir,” I said with special emphasis on the second word.

“You catch on quickly, don’t you?” He gave me a wink which would have sunk the hearts of all those women who’d been showing off their tanned, toned legs to him earlier in the day. But I wasn’t one of those women, and, luckily, Bing had no intentions toward a high school girl like me. “By the way, do you even know how to play tennis?”

“I do.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m alright.”

“Just wondering. Every once in a while, one of the ladies might need someone to warm her up while she’s waiting for a game. If I’m busy, maybe you could help out.”

Somehow I got the feeling a lady expecting a warm-up from Bing would be pretty disappointed if I were substituted in.

“I could do that.”

“Thanks, Babe. Naturally, I’ll take care of the guys.”

Naturally.

The bell on the door jingled to say someone was coming in and our private time was over. Sure enough, just as Bing said, the younger crowd was arriving. The heat of the afternoon drove away the older players and left the courts open for kids my age whose hierarchy I would soon come to know. I remembered what Mai said about there being only one high school so I realized, with a sinking feeling, these people were my future classmates.

__________

Bing had lessons lined up for most of the afternoon, so I was busy selling snacks, balls, and booking courts and ball machines. Normally there would have been three of us working at any given time, but Kay, a lady who usually worked in the shop, was on leave for a month—family emergency. This meant I had to sink or swim. I was determined to swim.

From two until five there was nobody over the age of eighteen at the tennis club except for Bing. Most of them were nice enough, but they didn’t care as much as the adults did about the new girl behind the counter.

A couple of times I heard the name Mattie Lynn—as in, “Has Mattie Lynn come in yet?” or “Did you ask Mattie Lynn . . .?” or “Oh my god, Mattie Lynn’s new tennis dress is soooo cute.” I got the idea that Mattie Lynn was the queen bee. I wondered who the king bee was, even though technically there’s no such thing as a king bee. Alpha dog?

About an hour after the initial rush, Mattie Lynn slinked in like a model on a catwalk. I knew it was her the minute I saw her, and the adoring (or was it anxious?) looks on the faces of the other girls at the snack bar confirmed it.

I’m okay in the self-confidence department, but I’m human and therefore susceptible to a little negative self-worth when a physically dazzling person enters a room. So that was my moment. I knew I had to go with it and get it out of the way.

If Mattie Lynn had a physical imperfection I couldn’t see it, and I did look. Although we were probably the same height, she seemed taller, a result undoubtedly of her sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I was athletically built. She was athletically built but also had big boobs in addition to her narrow hips and long, lean legs. In her black Stella McCartney mesh tennis dress (yes, I could name the designer of any tennis outfit) her shoulders looked strong and delicate at the same time. I was pale, she was tanned . . . perfectly. My wild, curly, reddish hair was tied into a ponytail with a scrunchy. Her long, glossy brown hair was sleek, thick, and wavy, French braided on the top, loose and tumbling on the bottom—miraculously resistant to heat and humidity.

Okay, I could attract a boy’s attention. Hadn’t I just kind of broken up with one? But if Mattie Lynn and I were walking down the street together I knew I’d be invisible. But once I checked off the side-by-side physical attributes comparison list, I put it behind me. Lucky for her that she had incredible genes, but I figured she must have some flaws too, even though I didn’t see one at the moment. Don’t all the beautiful girls in the movies turn out to be evil? Yeah, that must be it. She was probably despicable.

She glided over to the cash register where I was ringing someone up—truthfully, getting someone’s signature on their parents’ account—and she smiled oh-so-sweetly at me.