Page 18 of A Summer of Stars

I could never love someone like you.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“Not as much as I hate you.” Her whisper felt so much more vicious.

“Is Luna Aldridge in a New Relationship Already, and Is It with Actor Kieran Alexander?”

—LA Reporter

ELEVEN SINGLES TITLESand a career-high ranking of number six. But that headline was what people wanted to talk about.

Relationship scandals—this was what my life had come to?

The next morning, Deidra forwarded me every headline that came her way before it was published.LA Reporter,Tennis Times,RBY,The Column,Celebrity Today,Enigma,Pop Weekly,Gossip Corner. Everyone had something to say.

I read the first headline that sat at the top of the email, then stopped.

The ones that only mentioned Kieran’s name, though? Well, those were equivalent to a cheat meal, so I indulged on my way to practice.

“Kieran Alexander Finds Another New Fling”

“Everything to Know About Kieran Alexander’s Newest Girlfriend”

“Has Actor Kieran Alexander Finally Met His Match?”

“HasSaving September’s Kieran Alexander Found Love in His Personal Life?”

(I still couldn’t believe they cast him as Theo Bennett; it completely ruined the adaptation.)

“Kieran Alexander’s Fourth Girlfriend This Year”

Fourth girlfriend?How did he even get three girlfriends to begin with? He probably rolled his eyes reading these and then returned to chewing gum with his mouth open—or whatever infuriating men did.

The photos cut my laughter short, though. It was difficult to make out my identity in many of them since they were focused on Kieran at the opposite side of the court. Most didn’t catch my face. I was just an accessory in his stories. Kieran’s hand gripped my chin, and his head dipped to make up for our height difference. From the angle taken behind me, you could see his face. He was smiling, a crease buried into his cheek from the shape of his lips. We looked like a couple. It gave me whiplash; I was reliving my relationship with Jeremiah.

“Slow down, Luna!” Felix shouted from across the court.

“I’m fine!” I yelled, finishing my sprinted steps over the agility ladder.

This was the one place where everything slowed down. My thoughts didn’t volley across the court like the ball, and they didn’t suffocate me with a hand around my throat. The sweat on my skin and the ache in my legs were familiar friends. Exhaustion as aresult of physical effort rather than debilitating stress—the reason I showed up an hour before Felix.

He wasn’t exactly fond of that idea, hence the shouting.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” The vein in his forehead was popping out now.

“I’m fine, Coach!” I repeated, a breathy laugh slipping out.

He loved to worry. He had had so many of his own injuries in his fifteen-year career that his stress was never alleviated, especially during drills. Injuries were a risk you took when you wanted to be one of the best players in the world, though.

Strength training, boxing, running, tennis warmups and drills—they were all part of the routine. A needed distraction these last few months. Up at five, in bed by eight, accompanied by scheduled high-protein meals, one hundred thirty ounces of water a day, and six hours of training before you did it all over again. To play tennis and be ranked within the top ten in the world, you needed to train for more than just tennis. You needed your legs to be the equivalent of a figure skater’s, your lungs as strong as a swimmer’s, and your cardiovascular health tough enough to get you through a three-hour run.

Soon, my schedule would be moved around to fit in public appearances.

While summer was only weeks away, the morning air still had a cool bite to it that was refreshing during practice. I had to soak up every minute of it before the hot weather got comfortable sticking around.

When I was a kid, I used to wish I had taken up a sport like swimming or surfing just to keep my skin cool. Any excuse to be continuously drenched in cold water.

The summers in New England were so brutal I’d end up withheat rashes or even pass out during practices at times. When Walt left his windows open in the morning, it would get so hot during the day that his discarded snacks would melt into his carpet, leaving dark, circular stains. My mother wasconvincedthose stains weren’t from snacks. My father and I fell over with laughter any time she brought it up.