Page 82 of It’s All in How You Fall
And it is.
37
Over the next two days, Alex predictably blazes through to theSunday championship.
I, predictably, do not.
With Olga watching along with Dad, Nat, and the Zavalas, I put up a pretty good fight in my losers’ bracket match on Saturday—falling 6–4, 6–4. This time, I lose to a girl my own age, the one Coach Brandt went to watch after my Friday match—Charlotte.
I actually spend my morning watching her in the losers’ bracket “championship” alongside Coach Brandt. It’s 6–1, 3–6, 4–4 with Charlotte serving over Marina the twelve-year-old, who lost yesterday, when my phone buzzes.
And it’s Sunny.Hey: SURPRISE. Alex got us entry to the tournament! We’ll be there in ten minutes! Come meet us!Us—it’s the group thread with Peregrine.
Of course he did. Of course he’d have entries to spare. Of course.
This is thebestsurprise.
More typing bubbles. Peregrine pops in:I hope I didn’t have to dress up. My Cure shirt and leather chaps are cool, right?
Sunny sends a preemptive strike of an eye roll emoji followed by a separate line of text:She’s wearing something appropriate. I promise. We won’t embarrass you.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even care if they arrived in leotards—I’m stoked that they’re here—though I suspect they also had the option to be here yesterday when I was playing… but they didn’t come because they didn’t want to make me more nervous. I don’t have to see the text thread to know that it was a likely consideration between Sunny and Alex.
With a quiet word to Coach Brandt, I slip out between points and book it toward my best friends with a singular focus. Charlotte’s match is on court ten—one of the farthest from the entry to the courts—so I run the gauntlet past all the other courts and then around a hedge-lined curve that points toward the crepe and champagne tents and the merry tones of George and his very popular accordion.
Just as I’m past the massive hedge, though, I hear my name.
“Caroline.”
I turn around half expecting a false alarm—some other Caroline being summoned—when I see Coach Bev standing there in an ensemble that likely costs more than Alex’s car. I still have a good five minutes of race-walking across the grounds to meet Sunny and Peregrine, but I also have a baked-in respect for coaches, and this woman is so important to Alex, even if she totally doesn’t get his desire to live a life that isn’t tennis 24/7.
“Hey there, Coach,” I say, the title sticking in my teeth. I’m not really sure if I can call her that or if I’m supposed to call her “Bev” or if maybe I need to eat something to get my thoughts to process. “How’s the tournament gone for you? I’m really excited for the final today—Alex is just so amazing.”
“Heis amazing. On that we can agree. His play? I wouldn’t call itthatat this moment.” She doesn’t answer my question or ask me how my tournament went. Instead, she finishes that thought with a pointed tilt of her head. “He still seems very… distracted.”
This time, she doesn’t mean the soccer team. Or basketball. Or his job at this very club, which I’m sure she all-out hates too. It is very clear that Coach Bev means me.
I don’t know if she knows Alex and I are a thing right now. I mean, we’ve purposefully not made a big deal out of it. But just like our families, it’s not like she’s completely oblivious to the way we interact.
Still, Alex has the biggest match of his year thus far in T-minus thirty minutes, this woman is likely on the way to the players’ area to meet him and needs to be on top of her game, and my friends are waiting on me, so I simply smile sweetly and shrug. “Distracted? I don’t know, he seems to be focused on the things that matter to him most.”
Bev’s posture tightens as if I’ve just served straight at her face, but before she can come up with an appropriate retort, we’re overcome by a gaggle of women in Lilly Pulitzer. They descend upon us in a chatter, compliments tossed at Coach Bev as gracefully as rose petals at a wedding. She grins prettily, the Queen Bee among these expensive flowers, and when the women are gone in a puff of perfume and sloshing champagne flutes, Coach Bev returns her attention to me.The distraction.
“We’ll see if that’s a good strategy for him soon enough.”
Again, I shrug with a smile on my face, trying very hard to make my argument without being argumentative. “I don’t think it’s a flaw to be well-rounded.”
Her smile is a stagnant thing. “I agree, but the scoreboard might not.”
“Good thing that’s not all he cares about, then, huh?”
Point, Caroline.
Coach Bev knows I’ve scored off her—I brace as her features shift and sharpen with… appreciation? “Yes, I suppose so.”
My phone buzzes—loud enough that Coach Bev’s attention flicks to it. The girls are probably wondering where the hell I am. “Good luck, Coach. I’ll see you in there.”
Sunny and Peregrine aren’t intimidated by much, but Northfield Country Club might have just been added to the very short list.
