Page 49 of It’s All in How You Fall
“That’s the spirit,” Kennedy says, more enthusiastic than I expected. “Be careful. Don’t want to see you sooner than I have to.”
Likewise.
“Have a good night,” I say, grabbing Alex’s hand off my shoulder and pulling him toward the court. Alex echoes with goodbyes to both of them and a guarantee he’ll see Coach Bev tomorrow.
As they walk away, we take three steps toward our court before the weight of what is in my palm hits me, and I nearly fling it away because clutching Alex Zavala’s hand in mine was not a great life choice.
Especially after that golf lesson.
I really need to practice at least a three-foot social distance situation from Alex because my body clearly has a mind of its own tonight.
Heart palpitations, hand-holding—I mean, really.
Almost as if he has no idea how ridiculous I’m being, Alex grabsmyhand to pause my momentum. When I turn around, he’s searching my expression. “You still want to play?”
“More than ever.”
“Stubborn Caro is my favorite Caro.” Alex pulls out a special key that’ll give us access to court two. “So are you thinking tennis might be it? For a sport?”
I nod. “It’s a strong contender. Anddespite what Dr. Kennedy says, I think my back does okay with it. Could be the cortisone talking, but I don’t think so.”
“Fair enough.”
Alex steps aside and gestures for me to enter ahead of him. I do, and it’s like I’ve stumbled into a secret garden or something. Court two is markedly different from the high school ones. The playing surface is a fancy blue rather than the cracked mallard green at Northland, and even the fencing is nicer—newer, and coated a shiny rubberized black. This court has some sort of privacy mesh, though not all of them have that—I know for a fact I saw actual nonshaded bodies playing when we came for volleyball.
I step in—enforcing my new social distance protocol of three feet or more between us—and wait as he gently shuts the gate behind him.
“So this is where you spend all your time?” I ask as he hands me Lily Jane’s racket. I extend my other hand for a ball, and Alex offers one… but withholds it until I look up. When I do, his dimples flash with a teasing smile.
“Yeah, when I’m not with you.”
I have to glance down. Backpedal. Pretend I didn’t find yet another rich chocolate shade in his eyes. “Or Nat. The whole family, really.”
“Caro.”
I walk to my side of the court like I haven’t heard him.
“Caroline.”
I examine the racket strings. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but that’s what the pros are always doing on TV so it seems like a legit way to ignore him.
Alex clears his throat and I half expect the ball in his hand to strike my feet at a full Zavala-serve speed in a bid to make me face his criticism. But for the millionth time, Alex reminds me that he’s not Nat Kepler. “If stubborn Caro is my favorite Caro, myleast favoriteis when Caroline Kepler diminishes her own worth before my very eyes. You’re suggesting I’m only helping you because of Nat.”
I can’t look at him. “I wasn’t.”
Alex doesn’t buy it. “Why do you do that?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes you are. I’m coaching you. Don’t make excuses for why I want to hang out with you. I want to hang out with you because you are myfriend.”
He lets the last word hang.
And then he keeps going.
“My friend,” he repeats. “Not because you’re Nat’s sister. Not because I have a crush on your friend. Not because I promised I would coach you. I promised to coach you because of you. All those other things are tangential. I spend my time here. Ialsospend my time with you. I never expected anything out of it and I don’t want anything other than the experience itself.”
I swallow and force myself to make eye contact. Like his voice, his stance isn’t angry or frustrated as much as it is matter-of-fact.
