Mom might have been in New York all week, but only her body was missing. She called and texted me constantly, not wanting to miss a moment of my life. I’m used to it from when she goes on business trips, this constant checking in. I’ve tried to use it to my advantage, pointing out that if I had a phone from this century, I could text her pictures of my life while she’s away, but so far it hasn’t worked. I still have this ancient phone that doesn’t have a camera or even a touchscreen. And all week, it chimed with texts from my mom, trying to make sure I wasn’t hitting any major milestones without her, I guess.
In reality, she only missed one important thing: My tennis match against Central. I normally play doubles, but Sophie Volk got sick, so I got to play singles for the first time. My dad and Jaime came, and they cheered when Coach called my name for fourth singles. Dad had his video camera, of course, so Mom could watch the match when she got back, even if I double-faulted the whole thing.
My opponent was a tall, muscular girl with blond hair and red braces. We met at the net to determine who’d serve first, and she pointed with her racquet to my family. “Who are they?”
“My dad and my brother.”
Her face contorted with confusion. “Is your mom black?”
I’m used to strangers asking me obnoxious questions that are none of their business. What I’m not used to is playing singles, and fielding obnoxious questions right now could mess with my head. I needed to shut this down, but I was too nervous for the game to do anything but tell the truth. “I’m adopted,” I said. “Heads or tails?”
But she couldn’t have cared less about tossing the coin for that first serve. “That’s so cool! Have you ever met your real parents?”
“I live with them,” I said coldly.
“No, like your real parents. You know. Biologically or whatever. Do you know them?”
“No.”
“You should find them!” suggested this total stranger. “You might have this amazing history you don’t know about.”
Thank you! I thought sarcastically. That never occurred to me until you brought it up. “Heads or tails?” I asked again.
“Where are you from?” the girl asked. “Like, what are you?”
My fist tightened around my racquet. I’m allowed to wonder about that because it’s my life. But what’s it to this girl? Why would she care? It’s not like she should aim for my forehand if I’m Puerto Rican and play at the net if I’m part Chippewa.
“Tell her, Imani,” came a voice from the side of the court. It was Ethan, with his racquet and his sport goggles instead of glasses, on his way to his own singles match. “Don’t be modest.”
I looked at him. Waited.
“Imani’s really a Williams,” he told my opponent. “You’ve probably heard of her sisters, Venus and Serena?”
The blonde’s mouth dropped open, showing her full mouth of metal. “For real?”
I suppressed a smile and shrugged, trying to appear as Williams-like as I could. “They had to place me for adoption so they could focus on my sisters’ training.”
“No way . . .” the girl said.
“Watch out for her backhand!” Ethan called before jogging over to his court.
“You’re kidding, right?” the girl said. But I could tell she still wasn’t sure. And now I wasn’t sure how wrong Parker was about Ethan liking me.
My face got warm, and this time I couldn’t keep my lips from curling up. I hoped my nosy opponent thought it was because I was embarrassed that my true lineage had been revealed. Now I just had to play well enough to convince her. I drew up my shoulders and prepared, again, to flip the coin. “Heads or tails?”