Open Court (13 page)

“No.”

“You better believe you didn't. Never in my life have I seen such arrogance on a tennis court.”

Annie put her hand on his shoulder, signaling him to shut up. He got quiet.

Winning graciously, ha! This same man repeated my warrior story to whoever would listen. Apparently, slamming a tennis ball into an opponent and breaking her arm was OK, but humiliating an opponent (which I wasn't doing) was unsportsmanlike. Whatever. That's the bad thing about adults; even the good ones like Trent change the rules without warning in order to fill some obscure need for control. It seemed he was pretty much being a hypocrite, but what do I know?

Trent's voice was gone.

It was never coming back.

Ever.

Without his voice I didn't trust myself on the court.
Without trust it was impossible to acquire a blank head. Without trust there was nothing. I rode along in the backseat, my eyes fixed on the bright color of my Swiss flag. I was numb from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and I thought,
This must be what nothing feels like.

“
H
ow was the tournament?” Eve asked over the phone. It was out of character for her to mention tennis. I wondered if she was doing it to compete with Polly on some level.

“Huh? Oh, I won.”

“You always win. What's new?”

“No I don't.”

“Yeah, right. You've got it made.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Can't you take a compliment? I'm just saying you always win.”

I let it go. She didn't understand, and I didn't expect her to. None of my friends, not even Polly, knew about
the possibility of Bickford Tennis Academy looming in my future, mainly because I didn't want to have to discuss it night and day.

“So, what did you find out?” she asked.

“About what?”

“You said you'd ask Luke if Bruce likes me. Don't tell me you forgot.”

I'd hoped to avoid this conversation. Eve had decency, which meant a lot to me but was staggeringly unimportant to other people. Why couldn't Bruce open his dumb eyes, see Eve was pretty like Norway, and like her?

“No, I didn't forget,” I said, racking my brain for an elegant way to crush her.

“So …?”

“Well, urn, Bruce kind of likes Polly.”

“When did all this happen?”

“I don't know. After we saw them on the street that night, I guess.”

“But you knew I liked him.
I told you.
I can't believe you didn't tell Polly to back off. How could you do that to me?”

“Well, why didn't
you
tell her?” I said in my own defense.

“Because I told
you.
”

“Well, it's not my fault he doesn't like you.”

I knew the minute I said it that I shouldn't have.

“Do you think I'm stupid? I see you walking home from
her
house all the time. You're too busy with Polly to be bothered with me. I thought I was your best friend!”

“You are.”

“Liar,” she said. The phone went dead.

I called her back, but she refused to answer. Out of guilt I got on my bike and trekked down Wynkoop Drive to talk to her face to face. She'd have to answer the door. I rang the bell once politely, then assaulted it twenty times in frustration. Curtains in the living room window rustled—Eve pretending she wasn't home.

My plans of apology thwarted, I decided to try my luck at Polly's. I paused at the edge of the Cassinis’ driveway to watch Pete Graham play basketball.

It was nearing the last week of July, time slipping from my grasp. The heaviness of the summer air indicated that my entire world was about to change, quite possibly for the worst.

“Polly home?”

The ball slipped from his hands and rolled down the cement. He chased it, caught it, and then looked at me like I'd insulted him. “Huh?” he said.

“Polly?”

“She's riding bikes with some guy,” Pete said, pausing to think. “Sorry, I forgot his name.”

“Bruce?”

“That sounds right. You can wait if you want. But I don't know when they'll be back.”

That's all Eve needed, to gaze out her window and see Bruce and Polly riding down the street. I watched Pete shoot free throws, watched his blond hair drip with sweat.

“Polly says you sell real estate. Do you like that?”

“I've got good connections, so the money is steady. Making more than I thought I would.”

“That's why you do it? For money?” I was trying to figure out how one acquired an identity. Mine wasn't working out too well.

“Got to pay the bills,” he said.

“Well, I know, but … is it what you always wanted to do? It's who you are?”

“It's what I do, not who I am.”

“They're not the same thing?”

“They don't have to be, no.”

“People are nice to me because I play tennis, not because I'm me,” I said, remembering Pete's sudden friendliness—
after
he knew I was an athlete.

“That's not true.”

“You'd be surprised how true that is,” I said. It wasn't a feeling, it was a fact.

He attempted a layup, missing. He seemed tired of talking, or of me. I took this as my cue to leave. As I started up the hill he called to me, “Hey, Hall?”

I turned. “Hmmm?”

“I'm agenting a house for the sportscaster guy from Channel Five news. You should set up a profile of yourself for a news segment. They do stuff like that on that channel—local athletes.”

I nodded. “I'll talk to my coach about it,” I said, lying. “See what he says.” That's all I needed, having my crappy game broadcast to the city. “You'll tell Polly I stopped by?”

“OK. See you,” he said.

I pushed my bike up the hill, passing Eve's house with a pit in my stomach.

Luke, out of nowhere, pulled up and bumped the front wheel of his bike into mine, giving me a jolt. What a long, boring week it had been without his good-looking face. He was tanned and fresh-looking. “Hey,” he said. “You're home? From your tournament?”

“As of last night.”

“D'you win?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I called you. Did you get my messages?” he asked.

“I did. But we had to leave before six-thirty in the morning. By the time the day's matches were over and we ate dinner in Denver I didn't get back until nine-thirty or so every night. I was too tired to call you, sorry.”

“That's OK. I figured as much,” he said. “I was on my way to Polly's. Thought you'd be there.”

“She's around here somewhere with Bruce,” I said.

“Want to go to 7-Eleven?”

I nodded. We pushed our bikes side by side up the street. I figured I'd talk about Luke's problems instead of my own. I needed to get away from them. “So what did you decide to do about the chess team?”

“Huh?”

“The chess team. You know, are you going to join it again? Tell Bruce to mind his business?”

“Well, probably not. The trips to other schools for the meets weren't fun, anyway.”

I was confused. “But you weren't just on the team. You were the captain. You liked it. If you explained to Bruce why you like it, he'd understand. I know he would.”

Luke shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Some of those trophies were cheap, anyway.”

“But it's not about the
trophies,
“I said, exasperated. “It's about the hard work you put into it—you know, accomplishing something.”

He looked at me sort of funny. “It wasn't that hard, Holloway, I was just good at it.”

My guts churned for some reason. “So that's it? You're done?”

He stopped walking altogether and thought about it. “I'm not trying to be an ass or anything, but why do you care?”

“But in the pool it sounded like you—”

“I guess I was thinking out loud in the pool. You're the only person I know who has trophies, so you know about things like that.”

His reasoning shook me. This was glorious reasoning if ever there was. Why didn't my brain work this way? One small conversation in a pool and that was the extent of his torment? It was solved now? How? Nothing was actually resolved. He won trophies. Succumbed to peer pressure. Quit the chess team. And so now it was all better? Where was the dilemma? The anguish? The agony? I expected bitterness and confusion and pain!

What a glorious, stupendous, guiltless brain Luke possessed.

“Hey, Holloway?”

“Huh?”

“This is your house. We're here,” Luke said.

“Oh,” I said in a haze, “so we are.”

A neighbor's dog barked through a fence, welcoming me back to reality.

“Let me run inside, grab some cash,” I said. “Take me three seconds.”

“I'll park my bike,” he said. “Let's walk.”

“Sure. Be back in a sec.”

The news of Luke Kimberlin spread like wildfire among my brothers and the Choirboys. I was interrogated earlier by the Choirboy panel and found them half impressed and half hostile. Apparently, Luke's older sister wasn't just a pretty face, she was a goddess. And she had something that my brothers and the Choirboys did not— a driver's license and a cherry-red BMW with a license plate that read
STAYSEE.

I maintained a slice of sympathy for them. A license was a big deal; none of them could drive. A few had permits but no one owned a car. Still, I had no real interest in Michael's quest for Stacey. I had enough of my own problems.

I crept inside to gather some money. The Choirboys looked me over like it was
their
house and I was the intruder. Dressed in tae kwon do outfits, they resembled
the Pillsbury Doughboy. They loitered in our kitchen, waiting for my mom to drive them to some stupid martial arts exhibition or something.

Michael said, “Who's outside?”

“No one.”

“Is that Luke Kimberlin?”

“No.”

“Yes it is. Find out if Stacey has a boyfriend.”

“She does. He's a freshman in college. Luke told me.”

“But Stacey is only seventeen!”

Michael cornered me at the dining room table. I was about to crush his summer romance plans. As if Stacey Kimberlin would even
consider
dating a Pillsbury Doughboy.

“I'm only telling you what Luke told me,” I said, freeing myself from all responsibility.

“If she has a boyfriend, why is she always at the movies with her girlfriends?”

“What am I, a mind reader?”

“Can you find it in your heart to get off your princess ass and get some information?”

“No, I cannot get off my princess ass and do anything, not when you ask like that.”

Luke called, “Holloway!” through the screen door.

The Choirboys slipped further into disarray. They
continued observing me as if I was under glass. “I don't believe,” Michael said, “that Hall is hanging out with a Kimberlin and I'm stuck here with you farts.”

That short, sweet conversation gave me something that for all of my thirteen years I was unable to get for myself: a look of respect from Michael and the surge of power I felt as a result. I shoved a few meager dollar bills into my pocket and smiled. Once I walked out the door, my brothers’ opinions had no claim on me. I was a free woman.

“Cut through the park?” Luke asked.

“Sure.”

We trampled through park grasses and then fragrant weeds, stunned by pollen, 7-Eleven in our sights. I felt kind of happy for a moment, still contemplating the workings of Luke Kimberlin's brain.

In the 7-Eleven parking lot vehicles sped and weaved. We dodged two cars but didn't see the third. The car lunged.

“Holloway!”

“Agg!”

“Look out!” Luke pulled me back, hard.

I let out a yelp.

Brakes slammed. Tires screeched.

My legs quivered at the notion of sudden, painful death. I couldn't catch my breath. “Crap.”

“Are you OK, Holloway?”

The car was a centimeter from my left knee. Would Ve broken it for sure. Blood pounded through my veins, making me light-headed.

“Holloway?”

Unable to move, we stood shocked and motionless in front of the car. A large man occupied the driver's seat. Next to him sat a striking redhead, all teeth and big lips. “You damn kids. Running out in front of cars. Get on the sidewalk!”

Luke grabbed my shoulder firmly. “Are you OK?”

I could barely speak. I looked down, making sure my kneecap was still attached to my leg. “I don't know Resting his hand on the hood of the car, Luke bent down toward my knee. “It's nicked.”

The man punched the horn. “Get out of the way! Damn idiot kids!”

Luke raised his hand, stone-faced, and flipped him off. Just like that. Courting danger. It was amazing. Beautiful, even. The guy struggled to unbuckle his seat belt to come after us, I guess. The woman yelled at her companion, shoving him in disapproval. Luke stood serene, waiting to see what would happen. I wasn't sure
whether to cry, run, or—in the spirit of Eve—pee in my pants.

“Come on, Luke.” I pulled at his sleeve.

“Wait a minute.”

“Come on. “

Luke obliged and we slid out of harm's way. The car sped off. He looked at me. “Do you need to sit down?”

“I can't believe you gave that guy the finger,” I said.

“He wasn't going to do anything. It was his fault. We had the right of way. He nearly killed you.”