“Nice set,” she said, my hand in hers. She wasn’t smiling but wasn’t frowning, either. She had a look of respect combined with wonder, like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.
“You, too.” I smiled. Then for some reason I closed my eyes, smirked, and shook my head, pulling my hand away. I started to head off the court.
“What was that for?”
I turned around. “What was what for?”
“That look. And that head shake.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I did that.”
“You did, so spill it.”
I sighed. “I’m not good with compliments.”
The right side of her mouth curled up slightly, and she tilted her head to the side as she had the first day I saw her in the doorway of Mr. Wilcox’s class. “Giving them, or taking them?”
“Either. Both.”
“Then you’re off the hook, since you’re not really giving one if someone has to force it out of you. So ’fess up.” Her tone was light, playful.
I faced skyward, unable to say the words directly to her. “I was only asking myself if there was anything you didn’t do well.” I took a deep breath and exhaled, finally meeting her eyes.
The left side of her mouth joined her right, blossoming into a genuine smile. “Why wouldn’t you want to tell me that?”
Embarrassed, I studied my racket and pulled at a couple of the strings before bringing my eyes back to hers. I shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for the set,” I said before turning and jogging toward the gate.
Over my shoulder, I heard her call out. “Good luck!”
Coach wasn’t ready to make any decisions that day, or at least wasn’t ready to announce them if she had, so we eventually went to the locker room to shower and change. As I reached the row where my stuff was, I stopped as if I’d hit a glass wall. A wet-haired Sarah, clad in jeans and a lacy off-white bra, was fishing out her top from her locker and talking to her friend Olivia, who was also changing. I blushed and immediately turned around to head back out the door to wait until the coast was clear, not trusting myself to keep my eyes off Sarah and therefore the color out of my cheeks.
I heard the familiar voice from behind me. “Cazz, hold up.”
“One sec,” I said weakly before darting to the bank of sinks around the corner, throwing on a cold-water faucet, cupping my hands below the spigot, and splashing several handfuls against my face. Hopefully the color in my face would be mistaken for the cold-water rinse rather than this combination of hot-blooded desire and monumental embarrassment. I turned off the water and stared at my wet face in the mirror. Wide, green eyes blinked back at me in surprise.
This was no coincidence. I was having unchaste thoughts about a girl. And if that wasn’t bad enough, not just any girl, but the most popular girl in school, dating the cutest boy in school.
“You okay?” Sarah asked from behind, baring miles of lovely, smooth tanned skin as she held her shirt in her right hand.
I reached for a paper towel and covered my face, nodding. Through it, I mumbled. “Just got something in my eye.” I kept my head down and tossed the paper towel into the silver trashcan. As I walked back toward my locker, I freed my dark-brown mane from its elastic band and fanned it around my shoulders in an attempt to cover my face and neck, hoping Sarah would stay behind me until she donned her shirt. I opened my locker and focused all my attention into the tall rectangular metal structure before me.
“How were tryouts? Any news?”
Still staring at my clothes hanging in front of me, I replied. “Not yet. She’s going to post the list tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you’ll make the team. All you need is to work on your serve. Coach taught me mine, so I’m sure she or I can help with yours.”
I nodded, facing my locker as if it were doing the talking.
“Lose something?”
My mind. I shook my head. “Just hoping I’m on the list.” I quickly flicked my eyes in her direction and back to my locker’s contents, exhaling deeply in relief when I processed that she was fully clothed. As I removed my toiletries and towel from my locker, some of my tension lifted once she said she’d catch me later. I heard her retreating footsteps. The aisle was clear. I could finally undress and head for the showers.
Stripped down to my bra and panties, I froze with my hand on the clasp of my bra as I heard Sarah say, “Forgot to ask. When do you want to get together to talk about our Othello assignment?” I slowly dropped my hands and stared again into my locker, reaching in as if I’d forgotten something, using every ounce of concentration not to grab the first thing I could get my hands on to cover myself. It would seem incredibly odd for me to suddenly clothe myself moments after I’d undressed to shower, but even though I was wearing the equivalent of a bikini, I felt naked and vulnerable.
Having played on many sports teams, I’d seen and been seen by hundreds of girls throughout the years, never once feeling self-conscious in the locker room or really paying attention to any of the flesh to which I was so often exposed. Until now. Why was I suddenly thinking that I would be anything to Sarah other than just another girl in a long line of girls whose bodies are seen so often they blend into the unmemorable and interchangeable? The same way I had thought—or hadn’t thought—of countless others?
“Uh. Lunch tomorrow?” I asked lamely.
“Sure. Let’s meet in the quad. We can sit outside so you can get some sun on those white shoulders. Wear a tank top.”
The command set my pulse racing. Geez.
*
The next day, wearing a green tank top under a button-down cream and light-brown plaid shirt, I sat at one of the picnic type tables in the middle of the quad and waited for Sarah. She came around the corner with Dirk, Jasper, and Amy. After spotting me, she said something to them, gave Dirk a quick kiss, and strode over to me with that killer posture of hers my mother would love for me to mimic. She wore tan shorts, burgundy sandals, and a matching burgundy ribbed tank top. The same silver necklace she’d played tennis in lay halfway between her collarbone and the top of her sleeveless shirt, a lure to roaming eyes. I quickly averted mine.
“Hey,” she said, removing the sunglasses that were doubling as a hairband and placing them over her eyes. “We’re here to get you some sun. Strip.” Some of the long hair that had been pushed behind her ears tumbled into her face, and she tossed it back over her shoulders like you’d see in a shampoo commercial.
“I’m fine,” I said as I looked down toward her painted toes, embarrassed by my paleness and how attractive I found her.
“You’re in L.A. now, so you’d better make the most of it. Besides, you practically blinded me on the court yesterday. You owe it to your fellow students not to force them to wear sunglasses in order to hang out with you.” I felt a tug at my sleeve. “Off.”
Reluctantly, I unbuttoned and removed my shirt, tossing it onto the table. Sarah looked down at my tank, then up to my face. She smiled and sat next to me on the bench seat with her back against the table, facing the opposite way I sat. Then she stretched out her interminable legs and leaned back on her elbows, her chin parallel to the sky.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asked.
Uncomfortable sitting next to her because of the hum her proximity stirred within me, I climbed on top of the table, put my shirt under my head, and, knees bent, lay back facing the sun.
“You’re right. It does.” I kept my eyes shut, realizing how close my head was to hers and not daring to look at her. I found it difficult to string simple words together coherently when she was so near. The gymnast in my stomach did another cartwheel. I concentrated on our mutual project and managed to ask, “How far are you on the reading?”
“I finished Act Three.”
“Nice.”
“We have almost two weeks until our presentation’s due. Think that’s enough time to read it and come up with what we think the major themes are?”
“Sure. Though I can tell you already.”
/> “Plagiarizing study guides doesn’t count. We need to have our own ideas and understand them thoroughly. Wilcox smells that half-assed copycat shit a mile away.”
“I agree. I’ve read it before is all.”
“You’ve already read Othello?”
“All of Shakespeare, actually. The plays, anyway. Not the sonnets.”
Sarah laughed. “I’m sure you have,” she said sarcastically.
After several moments of continuing to soak up the wonderful rays, I offered my initial thoughts on the subject. “I think the play is more about Iago than Othello, since he manipulates the other characters and preys on their weaknesses. But if you’d rather stick with the title character, I’d argue that his low self-esteem is his undoing.” I heard movement and glanced toward Sarah, who had shifted her body around on the bench to face me. Her eyes flashed angrily.
“You’re serious. You have read it.”
I nodded.
“You’re saying I’m behind already?” she asked with astonishment.
I sat up on my elbows, having already once experienced her wrath at feeling second-best, and shook my head. “No. Not even. If you’re already through Act Three, you’re way ahead of everyone.”
“Everyone except you.”
I registered the dismay and anger in her voice. I hopped off the table and faced her. “I’ll ask Wilcox to fly solo. Maybe you can work with Kip and Kevin like you wanted.” I looked at my feet, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “I…I read a lot. I didn’t mean to piss you off.” An uncomfortable silence ensued for several moments, until finally I heard her laugh.
“I’m being a bitch, Cazz. I’m sorry.” She momentarily touched my forearm. “You didn’t do anything to piss me off. I’m just not used to feeling behind.” She pushed her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose so her eyes could meet mine and gave me a devilish smile. “I should be happy I’m working with you instead of against you on this. We have an edge, thanks to you. Forgive me?”
“Yeah, no worries.”
She pushed her sunglasses to the back of her nose, covering her eyes. “All of Shakespeare, huh?”
“Only the plays.”
“You say that like it’s no big deal.”
I gave her my best you’re crazy grimace. “It’s not like I can quote from it.”
“No?” she asked with a trace of amusement.
I shook my head.
Sarah was quiet for a moment before a smile slowly lit up her face. “Well, that’s disappointing,” she said in a teasing voice.
“Why’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She turned back around on the bench and resumed her earlier sunbathing position, stretching her long legs out before her. Facing skyward, she said nonchalantly, “I can’t look forward to being swept off my feet by you comparing me to a summer’s day and all that.”
Had she just flirted with me? Did girls flirt with each other? Maybe it was a Southern California thing. Or I was simply imagining it. Real or not, it gave me a little thrill, and I went with it. “I’ll work on it.”
“Do that.”
I assumed my recumbent position on the table, then changed the only other line I knew from that poem. “Thou art more lovely, but…” I glanced at Sarah, who slid her eyes to mine. “Honestly? Not more temperate.”
Swiftly, my shirt was tugged from beneath my head and thrown over my face. “Hey!” I said in mock protest, freeing myself.
“I think I deserved that,” she said with a wry grin, before raising her chin toward the sun and closing her eyes.
Taking the hint that our study time was over prematurely, I crossed my arms behind my head and enjoyed the sunshine until the bell rang for fifth period.
That afternoon, I searched the bulletin board outside the locker room to find that my name was one of two selected to join the varsity tennis squad. I was relieved. Coach wanted the team to meet after school five days a week starting tomorrow, to be excused only for illness or student-body political duties.
Over the next two weeks, Sarah and I saw a lot of each other. During practice, we participated in a ton of group drills, though we rarely played against each other. Most of the hours we spent together were in preparation for Wilcox’s Othello challenge, and as long as she maintained a two-arms’ length distance between us, I was able to function relatively normally. She had a good sense of humor, and we laughed a lot. Cattiness wasn’t one of her attributes, unlike some popular girls I’d met at other schools. She was down-to-earth and fun to be around. I would miss our time together once the project was over.
And contrary to most of my previous project partners, Sarah was sharp. She backed each piece of plot analysis she performed with several quotes and followed through on every aspect of the assignment we’d divvied to her. More than that, her devil’s advocacy of my positions helped me refine our paper and presentation materials into some of my best work to date. Of all my project collaborators, Sarah was the first to demand more from me than I demanded of myself, the first to really earn the term “partner.” I finally understood the benefits of having one.
The day we were scheduled to present, we met in the quad before first period. I’d been the first to get there, hopping up on the table and putting my feet on the bench. I read The Great Gatsby while I waited. It helped me relax if I didn’t feel I was cramming information into my head before a test or presentation. Five minutes later, the table slightly dipped with extra weight, and the outside of Sarah’s thigh brushed against mine as she sat next to me.
“Hey. Ready for our big presentation?” She nudged my shoulder like a brother or cousin.
“You’re the one doing the speechifying. Are you?”
“If we don’t get the best grade on this project, I’ll remove my name from Homecoming court,” Sarah said confidently. “Assuming I get nominated.”
“Ha ha,” I replied, knowing how much she was hoping to be voted queen. I didn’t bother to respond to her comment about getting nominated since it was a no-brainer.
“I’m serious.” She looked at me assuredly, gauging my response. Her face was a foot away from mine, her light-blue eyes mesmerizing, her lips tantalizingly moist. I couldn’t speak.
I turned away. “Guess we’ll have to win then.”
“We will. You going, by the way?”
“Of course. It’s my grade on the line, too.”
“To Homecoming, silly.”
Ugh. The only person I wanted to go to Homecoming with was the girl sitting next to me, and that was wrong for so many reasons. “No,” I said definitively.
“No one’s asked you, or you’ve turned down your hordes of admirers?”
“You’re so amusing, Perkins.” My tone was anything but amused.
“Which is it?”
“Does it matter? I’m not going. It’s not my kind of thing,” I said, with mounting irritation.
“Your kind of thing being staying up until three AM, reading Shakespeare?”
I held up my book. “Fitzgerald, actually.”
“I heard Kip was going to ask you. He didn’t?”
“Perkins, lay off. It’s not my scene.”
“He thinks you’re pretty special, you know.”
“Well, I’m glad you two have a great time talking about me behind my back.” I nearly winced at the alarming clip at which I was regressing into childishness. She couldn’t know what buttons she was pushing, but I wasn’t proud of my reply.
Sarah jumped off the table, crossed her arms, and glared at me. “What is your fucking problem? Are you annoyed because someone finds you attractive? Or because, God forbid, I—your friend—am asking you something somewhat personal? Or are you pissy because no one’s asked you?”
Fuck. None of the above. I was jealous of Dirk and frustrated I couldn’t tell Sarah how I felt about her or how uneasy I was with the whole dating subject. “I don’t have hordes of admirers, like you, and wish you wouldn’t tease me by pretending I do.” I returned her glare and c
rossed my arms defensively, as she had done.
Sarah’s eyes burned into me almost as if she stood in the sun and held a magnifying glass to my face. “You’re a piece of work, Warner.” She dropped her hands and stalked away.
Once Wilcox called our team, Sarah strode to the front of the classroom while I claimed the stool to the left of her podium, at the ready with our flip charts. We didn’t acknowledge each other. She presented our material flawlessly and effortlessly, smiling and engaging the class throughout. Dang, I could use such a gift. No doubt about it after that performance: we’d win. And we did. Sarah charmed Wilcox and the rest of the students with her knowledge of Othello, natural poise and intellect, and we got the high score. At least we knew who Homecoming Queen would be. The thought gave me comfort, as I hated to think of iron-willed Sarah holding fast to her word and dropping out of contention over a grade on a stupid project with me.
After class, I went to the locker room to change for our team’s tennis match against our cross-town rivals. This was our only Friday match of the semester, which seemed to heighten its importance. Relieved yet disappointed not to see Sarah, I made my way to the awaiting bus that would take us to our opponent’s tennis courts. I sat in my usual seat in the far-right rear, donned earphones, stared outside, and lost myself in music. The engine roared to life, and soon after the bus lurched forward, the bench seat I occupied dipped slightly as someone sat to my left. I looked over and removed my earphones, unexpectedly finding myself gazing into Sarah’s light-blue eyes, which seemed to be searching mine for something, though I didn’t know what.
We must have stared at each other for twenty seconds or more. It was weird. Some part of me felt such a strong connection to this girl that I wondered, as I looked at her, whether she could read my thoughts. Whether with her eyes she was somehow reaching into my soul. Whether she could tell she was making me feel like I wanted to tell her things I’d never told anyone. Whether she knew how much it tore up my insides when we argued. Whether she could sense that some part of me physically ached with awe and longing to simply be near her. Of course, mind reading was impossible; yet I was anxious in a way I didn’t understand.
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