Before school let out for the summer, Sarah managed to ace her GED on the first try and also helped me win second place on my science fair project. There was even a picture of me, posing like a total dork holding my red ribbon, in the yearbook. I finished the year with an A-minus in math—a first for me.
Mom and Dad hadn’t put together any special travel plans for the three months I would be off from school, unsure of what Sarah might like to do. But she was content to just lie by the pool most days with a pile of magazines and her sunglasses, or to join me and Mom at the club, where another weird side effect of her amnesia became apparent: she had completely lost her tennis game. She couldn’t even seem to remember how to score, and her old tennis skirts hung loose off her hips. “Sarah, you have to move back to the baseline, this is doubles,” I told her for the tenth time, but she would just smile and bounce to the other side of the court, letting Mom and her tennis partner cream us again. And she didn’t even seem to care—Sarah used to be so competitive, she would slam her racket down and storm off the court in a huff when things didn’t go her way.
“Thirty–love is bad, right?” she asked, adjusting her visor.
“Yeah, it’s bad, unless you’re trying to let Mom win,” I said.
After yet another humiliating loss, Sarah laughed it off in the locker room. “Face it, Nico, you took all the amazing hand-eye coordination, and I got none.”
“You used to have it,” I pointed out, then quickly caught myself. “Sorry, I . . .”
Sarah rubbed her neck with a towel and smiled. “I can barely hold up my racket at the end of that beatdown!” She grinned at Mom and her friend Erin as they came into the locker room.
“The winners have to buy the losers lunch again?” Mom joked, knowing full well that everything at the club went onto their account.
As soon as we ordered our salads and iced tea, a girl with short blond hair and dark sunglasses approached our table. “Hi, all,” she said, twirling her racket.
It seemed to take Sarah a moment to remember who Paula was, maybe because of the sunglasses or because we hadn’t seen her in weeks. “Oh, Paula!” She stood and moved to embrace her. “It’s so good to see you.”
Paula’s smile was tight. “Saw you all out there on the court and I could hardly believe my eyes, Nico. You’ve gotten really good,” she said.
Sarah spoke before Paula could criticize her. “And I know I’m the embarrassment of the Morris family,” she joked, pulling out a chair for Paula and patting the seat.
“Not at all,” Mom said quickly, reaching for Sarah’s arm. “You’ll get it back—you’re just rusty.”
Paula chimed in: “Everyone knows the Morris family can play tennis, right? It’s in your genes.” She paused, glancing at Sarah. “I’m sure it will all come back to you.”
No one at the table spoke for a moment, until Mom passed a menu over to Paula. “We’ve just ordered, if you’d like to join us.” I could tell from her tone that she was just being polite.
Paula shook her head. “I can’t stay,” she said quickly. Then she looked over at me. “You know, Nico, I emailed you but I must have the wrong address or something.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I poked at my salad. I had gotten her emails.
“There’s a club tournament coming up in a few weeks—you should really sign up for the under sixteen,” Paula said, as if explaining her emails. But her notes hadn’t been about tennis.
“Oh, Nico, you should,” Sarah encouraged. “You would totally win. I’ll come and watch—and try not to embarrass you.”
“The sign-up sheet is almost full, so if you want in, you should do it pronto,” Paula pointed out.
“Go do it, Nico,” Mom said.
“I’ll show you where you sign up.” She swung her racket in her hands.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll do it on our way out.”
“By then it might be full.” Paula smirked at me. “Come on, I’m going that way anyhow.”
I stood, my legs feeling shaky below me.
“Good to see you all. Let’s get a game going one of these days, okay?” Paula smiled as she led the way out of the dining room and into the front of the club.
When we reached the front room, Paula led me to the big dry-erase board, where players were signing up for the tournament. There was an older woman in front of us, putting her information down. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Paula spoke quietly.
“The happy family, out together,” she started. “Where’s Max? Aren’t those two an item again?”
I shook my head. “They went on a date, or whatever, but . . .” I trailed off, feeling like I had said too much. It was clear that Paula and Max weren’t on speaking terms. I wondered how hard the past few weeks had been for her. To all appearances, it looked like her former best friend had returned and stolen her boyfriend again. I didn’t know how to convey that Sarah hadn’t meant any harm, she didn’t try to break them up. It had just happened. “It’s not like they’re dating,” I added.