Twenty-One

Sam was avoiding Madelyn, which meant she was avoiding tennis, which meant the tennis coach was pissed as hell.

Unfortunately, the tennis coach was also Sam's history teacher.

"Going to be at practice today?" she asked Sam icily after the class' discussion on the Battle of Gettysburg. "Or are you going to be too busy again?"

In the past week or so Sam had excused herself, saying that her brother was sick, her mom had to work, she had a paper due, she had to go to her dad's house, she had a test tomorrow, she'd pulled a muscle in her leg--anything.



All lies, of course.

But anything to get away from tennis.

The funny thing was that the more Sam avoided actual tennis practice, the more she was practicing solo, at a local park. Her serve was definitely improving. When she could get her brother to play, she played with him. He used to always beat her; now, she routinely kicked his ass. She was playing a solid three, four hours a day.

So Sam just smiled a sorry smile, full of false apologies. "Sorry, Coach," she mumbled. "No can do. I have a dentist's appointment."

Coach growled something mumbled that sounded like she may have been cursing Sam to hell and beyond. "You're walking a thin line, Samantha," she growled, more loudly this time.

Sam smiled her most innocent smile. She didn't think she was good at lying. But either Coach believed her or didn't know how to prove her wrong because she just sighed and said, "Christ, but it figures."

For a moment there, Sam felt a little badly about the whole thing. But then she figured that she was improving, anyway, and so it didn't matter. Besides, the whole guilt thing couldn't last for too long. Already it was bothering her much less than it initially did. So it was just a smooth ride from here. Surely in a week or two she could go back to tennis practice with no problem. No stress. Just regaining her role as future captain of the team, kicking ass and taking names.

"I'll be at practice next week," she promised, as the bell rang and the students behind her jumped out of their desks and bolted off to lunch. "I promise."

If she promised, she had to get the hell over herself and actually go. Which meant a lot of mental preparation over the next weekend.

And mental preparation meant playing a lot of solo tennis, maybe sometimes with her brother. Which meant she was going to show up with mad skillz with a z and that Coach would have to officially get off her case about missing four practices in a row. Because not even grumbly Coach could justify bitching and moaning if Sam had actually improved over her apparent tennis hiatus.

Coach sighed again. "I'll believe it when I see it, Sam." Sam had to wonder if she was ruining her chances at being captain for next year if she kept skipping practices. But she was, quite honestly, the best player on the team. "Go to lunch. I'll see you tomorrow. Good job in class today."

Sam beat a hasty retreat, grabbing up her books in one fluid swoop, so as to minimize time in the room. Lunch was rapidly ticking away. "Thanks Coach, sorry Coach," she called guiltily over her shoulder as the door clicked shut behind her.