Girlfriend Material (20 page)

“Hey,” I called out as I got near the bench.

It took her a long second to look up at me, and when she did, I could tell from the expression on her face that she was still deep in her book.

“Hi, Kate,” she said.

I gestured at what she was wearing. “What gives? Where are your whites?”

Natasha gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Let’s not play and say we did.”

I was irritated, but I managed to keep my voice calm. “I’m not going to do that, Natasha. If you don’t want to play tennis anymore, you need to tell your parents. I’m not going to take their money and not give you lessons.”

I didn’t realize Natasha hadn’t been scowling until she scowled at me. “Lighten up, Kate. God.” I decided to ignore the implication that I was uptight.

“Do you have some whites you can change into, or should we just cancel?”

“Oh yeah,” said Natasha, “let me just reach into my pocket and grab out my white shorts.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Okay then,” I said. “We’ll do it another time.”

I turned to walk away, but I only got a few feet before Natasha yelled out, “What is your problem, Kate?”

“I don’t have a problem, Natasha,” I said, turning around. “You’re the one with the problem. You’re the one who’s so pissed off at the world that you can’t even respect my time enough to put on a pair of stupid white shorts and a white T-shirt.”

“Ooooh, now I hurt your feelings? I didn’t respect you enough?”

I was so mad I could have punched something, but I managed to keep my voice calm. “Natasha, I don’t know what your problem is. If you don’t want to take tennis with me, tell your parents to get you a new teacher. If you don’t want to play tennis at all, tell your parents and deal with the consequences. Tell them you just want to read and write poetry. But don’t waste
my
time and your
dad’s
money.”

Natasha stood up. “You know, not everyone is some star tennis player with guys all over her, okay, Kate? Not everyone can just do whatever she wants and say whatever she wants and still
get
whatever she wants.” Her face was bright red, and I could tell she was trying hard not to cry.

It took me a second to realize the star tennis player with guys all over her that Natasha was talking about was me. In spite of how mad I was, I couldn’t help laughing. “Are you serious, Natasha? Do you really think that’s who I am?”

“You know something, Kate, just forget it, okay? I thought you were cool, but you’re so clearly not. So just … forget it.” She was crying now and struggling to shove her book and bottle of water into her bag.

I felt really bad. “Natasha, wait.” I took a step toward her, but when I put my hand on her shoulder, she shook me off.

“Look, just leave me alone, okay?” She got the book into the bag and jerked the strap onto her shoulder. “Natasha, I want to talk to you,” I said. “Well, sucks for you,” she said. And she stormed up the hill, leaving me standing there with a basket of balls and no one to hit them to.

I plopped down on the bench, totally defeated. The wood was hot, and the skin of my thighs burned for a minute when I sat down. How had things with Natasha gotten so out of control so fast?

Just then someone called my name, and I turned around. Adam and Lawrence were on the top of the steps that led down to the courts. They waved, then talked for a minute before Lawrence turned and headed into the pro shop. Adam jumped lightly down the steps and headed toward me. I remembered how happy I’d been to see him the last time we’d run into each other at the courts.

“I always think of tennis as a two-person game,” he said, arriving at my side. “But I guess that’s antiquated.”

“I guess so,” I said. After my fight with Natasha, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to exchange witty banter.

“Where’s your student?” he asked.

If only I were a really good liar and could say,
Oh, I’m not teaching a lesson. I’m meeting James.

Who’s James? Adam would ask, his voice tightening.

He’s the other guy I’m dating. We love to play tennis together. You don’t mind, do you, Adam? Adam, my God, calm down! Adam, why are you crying?

Despite how bummed out I was about fighting with Natasha, I made myself smile up at him. Let’s face it—no one wants to “hang out” with an angry, cranky girl, right? “Where my student is is a very long and not very interesting story,” I said. “Suffice it to say she’s gone.”

“Lucky me,” he said. He twirled his racket. “Want to play a little? Lawrence just decided he’s got to buy this new racket he tried yesterday.”

“Sure,” I said.

We made our way to opposite sides of the court, and Adam served. It was a good serve—fast and low and just inside the box. Still, I slammed it back, feeling a surge of joy as it flew over the net. Adam returned the ball with a clean backhand that I just managed to return. It felt really good to be playing with someone who was my equal, when for the past two weeks the only person I’d played (“played”) with was Natasha.

And then, as I raced back to the baseline and barely returned another fast low shot, I had a horrible thought.

Don’t beat him. If you beat him, he won’t like you.

I almost tripped, like the thought was a piece of detritus laying on the court. As the rally continued, it felt as if I had to literally push the idea out of my mind in order to return his shots. But it didn’t go away, it just transformed itself.
He’s a good player. Maybe you won’t even have to pretend to lose. Maybe he’s just better than you.

And then suddenly he misjudged where a shot of mine was going to land. At the last second he realized his mistake, but even though he managed to scramble to the ball before it bounced a second time, his rushed stroke resulted in a lob so high and slow, hitting it was going to be a dream.

What was I supposed to do? The seconds before I returned it seemed to play out in slow motion. One.
Go for it.

I jogged backward to the baseline.

Two.

Let him win.

I sidestepped over to center court.

Three.

You’re not the kind of girl who lets a guy beat her.

I centered myself behind where the ball was going to bounce.

Four.

You’ve never liked a guy enough to
want
to let him win.

I watched it land.

Five.

And I hope you never will.

I pulled my arm back and slammed my racket into the ball. It smacked down just over Adam’s side of the net.

He ran to get it, but we both knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of returning it.

“Nice shot!” he said, panting. He watched the ball bounce to the fence, then turned to me. I was amazed to see that his face, though red and sweaty, was plastered with a smile.

What did his smile mean? Was he impressed I’d beaten him?

Adam gestured toward where the ball had stopped. “Again?” he asked casually.

If he was happy with me when he lost, would he be
unhappy
with me if he won? What, exactly, was riding on the next point? “Actually, I should go,” I said. I was a little scared of how thoroughly confused playing tennis was suddenly making me.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “If you don’t feel like playing, we could just hang out.”

I couldn’t hear the words
hang out
without thinking of our talk yesterday at the library.
I like hanging out with you, and I thought you liked hanging out with me too.
Less than twenty-four hours ago I’d been so sure I had this whole thing under control. What was happening to me?

I shook my head. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Sure,” he said. He looked truly sorry I was going, which might have made me happy if I hadn’t wanted
not
to be happy about his looking truly sorry I was going. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” I said. “Later.” I gave what I hoped was a happy-go-lucky-good-time-girl wave and hauled ass out of there.

SINCE I’D TOLD ADAM
I had to go, I couldn’t exactly hang out at Larkspur doing nothing for the rest of the day. I ended up just heading home. When I got there, our rental car was parked in the driveway. I made my way through the Cooper-Melnick house, finally finding my mom in the laundry room, where she was taking towels out of the dryer and folding them.

“Hi,” I said. Her back was to me, and it was still a little weird to see her dark curly hair where for years I’d seen a blond bob.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was cool.

It was hard talking to her back, but I couldn’t exactly blame her for not making this easy for me.

“Um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

My mom turned around. She was actually smiling at me. “You did that very nicely,” she said. “Apology accepted.”

I was truly grateful to her for being so nice about it. Some of the things I’d said to her had been awful enough that I winced just thinking about them. “Thanks,” I said. Then I added, “I wasn’t really mad at you.”

“Who were you mad at?”

The last person I’d meant to confide the Adam story in was my mother, but before I could stop myself, the whole thing came pouring out of me.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. Then she stepped toward me and we hugged. It was actually kind of nice. My mom wears this perfume that doesn’t smell flowery at all, just crisp and citrusy. It makes me think of hiking through the woods on a cool, fall day. And she really hugs you when she hugs you. Normally I pull away before she’s done hugging, but this time I didn’t.

I lifted myself up so I was sitting on the washing machine. I didn’t want to think about Adam and Molly anymore. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

My mom looked at me for a long time, but she didn’t tuck my hair behind my ears or say anything about it being too long, like she normally does. Then she put her hands on my knees and took a deep breath. “I do have something I need to talk to you about, actually.”

Her voice was serious; suddenly I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear whatever it was she wanted to say. “It’s … about me and your dad. We’re …” Her eyes welled up, and she shook her head hard, as if that would make them stop. To my surprise it worked— she didn’t start crying. “We’re not in a great place.”

“What do you mean?” I said. Out of nowhere, I felt my own eyes start to sting.

“Kate, I know you think I came out here on a whim. That I was just … throwing a hissy fit or something.” She smiled when she said it, but I cringed a little at her landing on the exact words I’d used to describe her behavior to myself. “The truth is, I’ve been very, very unhappy for a long time. I think we both have—your father and I. Only he just works hard and hopes things will get better, and I can’t do that. Even if I had a job, I couldn’t do that,” she added quickly.

“I wasn’t going to say anything about your having a job,” I said, which was true.

“The point is, you’re right—I do need more in my life than just you and Meg and your dad. But even if I have those things …” Her voice started to shake, and she took a deep breath. “Even if I have those things, I’m not sure that we’re going to be able to work things out.”

I was crying for real now. “You mean you might get divorced?!” How could my parents get divorced? I mean, I knew they weren’t exactly the perfect couple or anything. But divorce?

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” said my mom, and she was crying too. “It’s not what either of us wants. But neither of us wants to be unhappy either.” She put her arms around me. Since I was sitting on the washer, I was a little taller than she was, and I put my head on her shoulder and just bawled. I kept thinking about how mad my dad had been when we were on the phone the last time. Was that what our family was going to be like from now on—people who just yelled mean things and accusations at each other?

Were we technically even going to
be
a family anymore?

The thought made me cry harder, and for a minute it was like I almost forgot my mom was even there. But then I realized she was patting me on the back and humming a little. It was the kind of thing you might do to a little kid, or even a baby, but it actually made me feel better.

Finally I pulled away from her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I got you all snotty and wet.”

She laughed and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I used to change your diapers,” she said. “A little snot’s not a big deal.”

“So what happens now?” I asked.

She handed me a washcloth still warm from the dryer, and I wiped my face with it. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “We’re trying to figure out what the next step is. So I’m going to have to ask you to be patient and understanding for a little while longer. Do you think you can do that?”

I nodded. “Of course,” I said.

What I didn’t say was that things had been a whole lot simpler when I’d been convinced my mom was just being a prima donna.

I headed to the guesthouse and got into bed with
Lolita
, even though it was still the middle of the day. Sarah knocked at the door around six and said she and Jenna were going to play mini golf, but I pretended I was napping. My mom invited me to go to the movies and dinner with her and Henry and Tina, but I told her I wanted to be by myself.