Page 69 of It’s All in How You Fall
I really wonder at what point Emma Woodhouse felt like she was going to pass out just addressing Knightley. Because I amthereand Jane Austen did not make that abundantly clear.
“Hey,” I punch out, just so I make the first move. It’s weak and barely lands, as I’m still going through the little jog in the fence to get to the court.
But Alex hears it anyway.
Glances up.
A smile crosses his face and it’s almost as if he’s happy to see me.
Like I didn’t make it obvious I wanted to kiss him the last time we saw each other.
Like I didn’t avoid texting him all weekend. Today.
Like… we’re normal?
His dimples wink. “Hey, how was your weekend?”
I stop my advance several feet from him. Set my water bottle on the opposite end of the bench. “Um, good?”
“Did you practice? Do your homework?”
I nod. Between the pop-up storms and the headaches, I did. I ran, I took the racket and ball to the park, found a wall, and did exactly as he said. Every single day I didn’t see him.
“Good, because I have something for you.”
Another thing I don’t expect. “For me?”
Alex nods, unzips a side pocket, and pulls out a stapled packet. “Your paperwork for the Northfield Championships.” A sheepish grin flashes across his face. Maybe thereisa rip in the space-time continuum, and we’re in an alternate universe where he didn’t just go to dinner with Sunny. Or not. “You’re official. Two weeks and you’ll be in your first tournament.”
The paper hangs between us. I don’t take it. “What if… if I decide I’m not ready?”
“If you don’t want to play, it’s okay. It’ll just be a bye for your opponents. Your entry still gets you in.” Then he adds, “You can come watch my matches if you want. And bring a friend. Perks.”
My smile wavers, but I snag the paper. “Okay, so what now?”
“We spend the next two weeks simulating play, that’s what.”
I nod. “Okay, let’s do it.”
31
At the end of practice, Alex and I walk toward his car slowerthan usual. We also played longer than usual—it’s closer to five than to four thirty, and traffic is picking up accordingly between Northland’s front lawn and Eomma across the street.
I’m clutching the entry paperwork like it might fly away, my eyes pinned to my grip on the stapled sheets, mostly so I don’t look up at Alex. Of course he notices. Of course he does.
“You’re going to do great, Caro. My matches shouldn’t conflict, so I can watch you.” There’s a dimple flash from under his hat. “It’s going to be awesome.”
And that’s when I realize… he was right—I’m his friend. In tennis. I’m the buddy he’s doing it with. He’s not alone.
My heart flickers and I tell it to shut up. This is as good as things are going to get for me when it comes to Alex Zavala. Eventually there will be someone else who makes my heart do this and the pining will be over. I’ll be like Nat—hopping from out-of-reach Liv Rodinsky to unexpectedly interesting Artemis Liu. The clouds will part, the sun will shine, and suddenly I’ll be doing whatever my equivalent is to eating vegetables and manning a two-person canoe. “So, um, how was Friday?”
“Oh… um, good. Eomma was packed for a party, so we ended up at Burger Fu.”
He doesn’t say Sunny’s name. “Caprese-and-arugula salad for one, and a Bunny Fu Fu for you?”
Alex doesn’t look at me. “Actually, salad for both.”
Huh. Perhaps boys gravitate toward vegetables when they like a girl. Someone should study that.
