Dream Me(26)

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Mattie Lynn slinked in early in another Stella McCartney tennis ensemble. I guessed she never wore the same outfit two days in a row, and there I was on day three wearing my inexpensive, low-fashion tennis dress. It was cute, short, functional, and all I could afford. But I realized I’d have to get another one soon or risk sparking a fashion scandal.

Mattie Lynn glanced at the buckets which I’d filled with ice and stocked with bottled water.

“Nice job, Babe,” she flashed the results of thousands of dollars of orthodontic work at me. “Are any of our friends here?”

“Nobody’s come yet.”

“I’m just going to warm up for a few minutes with the ball machine. I’ll be back in ten. Oh, and if LeGrand comes in early, can you tell him I’m out back please?”

“No problem.”

“Thank yew so much. You’re such a doll, helping out.”

There are compliments which make you feel good, and compliments which make you feel worthless. I’m sure Mattie Lynn meant to deliver the former, but unfortunately it had the impact of the latter.

I sat on the high stool behind the counter and leaned forward, my hands supporting the weight of my head, elbows propped on the counter. My hair made a curtain on either side that, for a few seconds, shut out the rest of the world. I thought about Mr. Buell and the sneering parting look he gave me.

I thought about Zat.

I’m afraid you won’t like what you hear, he’d said. And then he left me hanging. Or I’d left myself hanging by waking up. I could still feel the pain. The pressure behind my eyes.

And yet I ached to go back to sleep.

__________

I was surprised to see so many kids arriving early. Kiet was the first, bounding in with an actual smile on his face, wearing very short white shorts and a white polo shirt with a broad red stripe through the center. He was still adorable and you could tell he was pleased as a peacock with the way he looked, probably thinking of himself as handsome and studly as opposed to adorable. The others soon followed and I noticed most of them headed straight to the table where lunch had been set out the day before, and where only ice water waited for them that day.

“Are we too early for lunch?” James asked me.

“Umm . . . there is no lunch today.” It became apparent the day before they were all post-lunch but that day they’d skipped lunch, expecting sandwiches at the club.

“Oh man,” James turned to the smiling boy who I now knew was named LaShawn. “I’m starving. Did you eat?”

“Nope.”

They weren’t the only hungry ones. Everyone who came in, friend and mentor alike, made a pass by the table only to turn away in disappointment once they realized there was no food. I guiltily sold some snack bars we carried at the shop to the ones who had money in their pockets. And I sneaked one of my own into Kiet’s hands.

Alonso was off standing by himself so I went to check in with him, still feeling my responsibility after that brief conversation with his mom.

“So what did you think about tennis camp yesterday. Did you have fun?”

“It was good,” he addressed my feet in a completely unconvincing voice.

I could tell Alonso was the one who least liked being here, but I also had a sense for his mother’s determination, so I knew he’d be here every day for the entire month.

Still no LeGrand. He was probably one of those people who lived by a dramatic life script which included a lot of late entrances. Mattie Lynn came in from courtside and the energy that had been scattered around the room coalesced like a puffy white cloud above her head. Kiet maneuvered his way through the bodies to stand possessively next to her.

“Kiet! So good to see you. I hope you rested well last night and are ready for some really hard work today.” She put a perfectly tanned arm around his shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze.

He smiled up at her and nodded. No hand wringing today.

I could see Mattie Lynn taking a mental head count, which I’d already done. Only nine friends. All the mentors were present with the exception of LeGrand.

“I suppose we should wait a few minutes for the others to get here,” she said. Only the tiny indent between her eyebrows betrayed her anxiety. “Let’s go over yesterday’s program and address any concerns or problems anyone might have.” She was so good.

Finally, Mattie Lynn was forced to accept that the missing friends and LeGrand weren’t going to show up. I actually felt sorry for her, and for Alonso, too. I hoped he didn’t take it personally, but how could he not? Since there were extra mentors with nothing to do, Alonso was reassigned to a girl named Suellen. The group exited to the courts, traipsing after Mattie Lynn like a flock of ducklings.

I stuck my head out a few times to get a feel for how good the players were, hoping I might find a future hitting partner who would match up with my skills. Suellen and Mattie Lynn had decent ground strokes, although I questioned whether either of them would ever want to play with me.

Alonso’s “lesson” consisted of Suellen hitting the ball right to him while yelling in a way-too-loud voice, phrases she probably thought were motivating, like “Go for it, Alonso!” or “Pick up the pace!” or, after a while, “C’mon, you’re here to learn aren’t you?!”—which he clearly wasn’t.

Alonso’s passive aggressive response was to move even more slowly, to the point that only when Suellen aimed directly for the face of his racket did a ball ever bounce off of it. Then, with the speed of a snail, he’d trudge over to pick up the wayward ball despite Suellen’s protests they wait until the end to do that.