Page 72 of It’s All in How You Fall
I don’t know if they’ve gone on more dates.
I don’t know if they’ve gone from those dates to some sort of boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.
I don’t know anything.
I haven’t talked to Sunny about it. Peregrine either. It’s like we’ve made a pact never to mention it. And that’s fine. Meanwhile, I haven’t talked to Alex about it except for our initial conversation about double caprese salads and gymnastics knowledge left unshared.
I’m lucky that given Alex’s complete embarrassment by the whole forced setup I concocted, there’s pretty much no way he’s going to bring it up during the ten hours a week I’m guaranteed to see him.
And that’s fine too.
Alex, sunshine, a workout. Day in and day out. Pretty damn good combination.
On Friday, though, my ignorance will officially come to an end. Well, a likely end. The girls and I made plans to meet at Eomma at six—I specifically asked for some time to get home after tennis and shower because the restaurant has no outside seating and I will not park my stinky self in their dining room. No way.
Meanwhile, as I spend the day girding myself for hearing about the perfection that was my setup, I get a surprise text from Alex.
Hey, would you be up for coming to Northfield for practice today? Same time. I can pick you up.
I do a bit of quick math in my head and decide that even though it’s farther away, I should be able to make it home for a quick shower and still get to the restaurant on time.Sure. But I can walk.Then, because I know he has lessons with Coach Bev until two, I add:You’re already there. Stay put!
Will do. Meet you at the staff gate at two thirty.
I grab my new racket—it’s a hair smaller than Lily Jane’s and works super well,thanks, Nat—and water bottle and head out at a good clip to make up the difference in distance. What I don’t realize until I walk up is that I’ve gotten there way early. Like super early.
I’m standing at the little gatehouse nestled into the staff parking lot trying to decide if I can talk my way past the security guard by name-dropping Nat—who I must have just missed, because his car isn’t here—or Alex, when the sound of a familiar elegant voice whips my head around.
“Ah, the one Alex spends all his time with. The gymnast.”
My stomach plummets another peg as I turn around to find Coach Bev enveloped in a white tennis dress that highlights her flawless tan. She’s got car keys in her hand and a bag over her shoulder—break time before the late-afternoon clients trickle in, if I had to guess.
“Caroline,” I say as a reminder and smile. “Former gymnast.”
“Ah yes, of course.” She waves her hands and grins hard enough that eye crinkles sprout from the sides of her sporty sunglasses. “Formergymnast andcurrenttennis player. Alex is getting the ball machine to court five for you.”
“Oh.” I figured he wanted to meet me here to get me familiar with the surroundings, but the access to equipment makes sense too.
“Your first match is in a week, is it not? And you’ve been playing for, what, a month?”
It’s actually less, but I nod. “I don’t exactly have Alex’s pedigree, but I think it’s worth it to give it a go ahead of tryouts—Alex says I have a good chance of making the Northland team.”
Her eyes crinkle further. “That’s because no one is ever cut from the Northland team.”
But there are tryouts.
Alex even made a big deal about helping to prepare me for camp so I’d be ready for the team.
But maybe all I had to do was show up… did he know that? Or would he just not realize that no one is cut because he never really paid attention in his own tryouts—it’s not like there are twenty Alex Zavalas wandering around Northland. Tennis isn’t like Alex’s other sports. Players aren’t a dime a dozen.
My smile falls. It seems as if Coach Bev was waiting for exactly that, because she pointedly puts a hand on my forearm. “Oh, don’t be discouraged by that. I’ve coached Alex for twelve years, and you know as well as I do that he would never mislead you. He comes by his enthusiasm honestly.” Coach Bev straightens a bit. “He just has no idea that the player pipeline into Northland is set to a trickle.”
I’m silent. And she continues, almost wistful. “He forgets that he’s special. Often. Alex is the exception, not the rule—the kids who are his level don’t play for their high schools. Most of them aren’t evenina normal high school—they’re at an academy or online.” Or homeschooled like Sunny. “Easier to have a career that way. No distractions.”
I realizeI’ma distraction in her characterization. She said just as much in the first moment of this conversation.
“Ah, the one Alex spends all his time with. The gymnast.”
Alex has constantly worked to ensure I didn’t feel like a distraction or a burden, or an unnecessary use of his time. And yet, here I am, bundled up with… what’d she call it before? Alex’s otherambitions? I swallow, my stubbornness rising in Alex’s defense. “What if he doesn’t want a career?”
