Page 16 of It’s All in How You Fall
“Just leave it to me. And wear actual shoes.”
I glance down at my flip-flops and give him a thumbs-up.
He waves, clicks off the hazards, and disappears into the last fingers of daylight.
8
It’s closing in on three in the afternoon when I hear the distinctgrowl of Alex’s muscle car approaching the house. Nat’s off doing Nat things, Dad’s at the hospital, and I’ve tried on every pair of non-gymnastics athletics shorts I own three times. Not because I’m worried about what Alex will think, but more because I’m literally not used to doing sports that don’t require spandex. Everything feels too loose, and I have no idea what’s actually appropriate. Other than, you know, not a leotard.
I settle on running shorts, a sports bra, and a tank Olga got the team for the holidays with a fadeout of Nadia Comaneci’s famed 1976 floor routine pose—knee cocked out, toes curled under, wrist flip. Honey-blond ponytail and mascara because my eyelashes don’t exist without it, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Oh, and sunscreen, because I don’t tan. I broil, as my still-pink shoulders will tell you.
Before Alex can get out or honk, I jog down the front steps. He’s got the windows rolled down—the Challenger’s big metal frame is hot to the touch. I wrench open the door and pop my head in. “Why does your car sound like a shark? TheJawsmusic plays in my head every time you approach and that’s just way too dark for you.”
Alex laughs. “A shark? Lily Jane always says it sounds like a lion.”
I slide in, shut the door, and situate my seat belt. “If you’re a lion, you’re Simba. The baby one. Not mini-Mustafa.”
“Is that a compliment, or…?”
“You’re alion. Yes, it’s a compliment.”
He simply puts the car in reverse and taps the gas. “This just got weird.”
I cough out a laugh. “Welcome, I’ve been waiting for you.”
Because I have. Everything’s weird outside the safety of who I am in the gym and at school. Also weird: hanging out with Alex without Nat. But if he didn’t peace out after the Simba comparison, I think we’re probably good.
Alex heads around the park and out to the main road. Left is Northland High and the gym; right is Northfield Country Club; straight is the community rec center and pool. Alex turns right.
My first thought: Interesting.
My second thought: Thank God Nat’s not still at work. There’s something that sort of feels like embarrassment sitting in the pit of my stomach because Alex is helping me, and that feeling will be magnified 300 percent if and when Nat finds out. So I breathe a sigh of relief that we’re likely headed to Northfield when I know for a fact Nat’s at the community pool working on his tan (Alex was dead-on about Nat’s farmer’s tan concern). Nat actually invited me to come along to the pool, but I turned him down on the pretense of moping.
I also know for a fact Alex hasn’t told Nat what we’re doing or I would’ve heard about it 0.00023879 seconds later. I vaguely wonder how Alex managed to skirt their typical inseparability without spilling the beans. And I wonder why he hasn’t told him—Natdidsay I was off-limits, but it’s not like this is a date. But I’m not going to be the one to tell Nat. So, yeah.
We pull around to a parking lot tastefully marked STAFF, and Alex rolls up the windows and kills the engine. We get out and I follow him to a little building that looks somewhat like an elf house, if said elf paid fifty thousand dollars per year to belong to this country club. Alex swipes his employee card, gains entry, and disappears for two seconds before returning with… a volleyball.
Sport number one is definitely not what I was expecting. At four foot ten and change, I don’t exactly screamvolleyball playerwhile walking down the street.
And though I’m wearing actual shoes, as promised, Alex doesn’t head for the bowels of the enormous hillside clubhouse—where I imagine one could hide not only a volleyball court but also the Goonies’ treasure and possibly a sliver of Nat’s ridiculous confidence—but for the cabana area… and the sand volleyball court. “Wait, I wore shoes and now you want me to take them off?”
“Yes. You need to be ready for anything.”
My lips twist. “Including sand volleyball, a sport that isn’t played competitively in high school in Kansas?”
“The basics of volleyball are the same no matter the court—and the sand will be better for your back.”
He taps the ball toward me and this time I catch it easily. I’m sort of proud of myself until I realize this isn’t a sport where you’re actually supposed to catch the ball while in play. So maybe I will be good at it once I get past my idiot instincts.
“And speaking of eligible sports, come here, Caroline.” He frowns slightly as he yanks a nearly severed stick off some sort of dwarf tree that’s one in a line that separates the beach volleyball setup from the golf course. Alex doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he thinks someone should’ve caught this busted branch before he did. Possibly another grounds worker above his own pay grade. Still, he uses the stick’s demise to his advantage, pointing to the sand.
“If you’re going to date a new sport, it’s got to be worthwhile. We don’t want you dating a loser and hitting a dead end.”
“Okay, Dad.”
That buys me a flash of white teeth. Sarcasm is something on which we’ve always agreed.
“First things first, even if this is just for fun, I want you to have the tools to be competitive if that’s something you want to do.” Alex uses one end of the stick to write anFin the sand, a line underscoring it. Below it, he draws letters:
