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I bounced the ball as I waited for her and tried to think of clever things to say, but she pre-empted me by holding up her hand as she appeared. “Don’t even start, Luke.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say,” I said, testily.
“You were going to try to convince me to go to some lame party.”
“Was not. Okay, yes, I was. You don’t even know whose party it is, so how do you know it’s lame?”
She leaned back against the wall. “It’s Miranda’s party, and her parents are away, there will be some food, plenty of drinks. Nick Weathergale’s older brother is bringing a beer keg because he was at school with Miranda’s older brother, so they are both coming back from Uni to apparently ‘supervise’ the party but will in fact ensure it is a party to remember, do I have that right? And wait, there’s more, Bradley Barwell has a friend who’s a famous DJ and he has agreed to drop in and do a set for an hour. Also, Miranda has a huge garden with a fountain and Damon West is planning to put soap in the fountain so it turns into a bubble bonanza and all the girls will jump in and get wet t-shirts and foam in their hair, and it will be both hilarious and a turn on. Have I missed anything?”
“That is scarily accurate. How do you know all that?” I said, slightly taken aback.
“Well, duh, because I have ears.” She flicked out her racket and caught my ball mid-bounce, balancing it with relaxed ease.
“Yeah, and no friends to talk to, so you listen all the time instead,” I sniped nastily.
She raised her eyebrows, showing how little she cared about my petty meanness.
“Sorry,” I held my hand up placatingly, “that was uncalled for, you just took the wind out of my sails a bit.”
“There really wasn’t much wind to start with, I’m not impressed by stuff like that.” She flicked the ball from the racket into the air and smacked it, sending it right across the court to touch down just in the corner of the court.
I stared at the spot where the ball had bounced. “Fifteen love,” I said, without thinking.
“Just luck,” Cami replied, after a brief hesitation.
I gave her a thoughtful look. “You’ve had a lot of luck when you wanted to. Do you feel lucky enough to try an actual match yet?”
“Against you? Don’t be ridiculous, you’re semi-pro and I can’t play at all, remember?” She said, her smile slightly mocking.
“Fine,” I gave a sigh. “Let’s warm up by testing your forehand and then I’ll teach you a backhand, okay?”
“Sure.” Cami walked to the other side of the court and I gave her a very gentle serve. For a second, her footwork looked perfect but just before the ball made contact, she swung her racket wildly in totally the opposite direction.
I fetched a few new balls ready to waste a lot of time, but then an idea came to me.
“Tell you what, I’m going to serve another three exactly the same, and if you fail to return any of them, then you have to come to the party with me.”
Cami gave me a narrow look, but she didn’t respond; instead, she simply took up the ready position.
I lobbed a ball, and this time she pirouetted on the spot turning a complete circle as she totally missed it.
“Oops,” she said, with a grimace. I smiled as I picked up another ball.
The second of the three balls went straight past her, and she swung her racket when it had already hit the ground behind her.
“Oh dear,” she looked at it forlornly. I allowed myself a smug moment as I picked up the final one.
I cheated slightly, adding just a dash of under spin, but this time Cami executed a flawless forehand and it sailed straight back to me with no apparent effort at all.
“Just luck,” she said again, this time with a gleeful glint in her eye.
“Huh, I guess that didn’t work out so well, but I’ll wear you down.”
“Oh, really? How about this for a challenge. Hit me three more easy ones and if I return every single one, then you have to shut up about the party, deal?”
I pursed my lips thinking it over. The chances were slim she could return all three, especially with her current track record, so I cautiously nodded my head and fetched three fresh balls.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Yep,” she swung the racket.
I lobbed the first making it not too hard and she returned it.
“Hmm,” I said, giving her a sour look.
The second one I sent a little faster. She still returned it with ease.
The third one I sent the other way, making her switch to a backhand.
“Hey!” She swiped at it and it came straight back to me. “You were supposed to do them all the same.” She walked to the net and glared at me.
“And you are supposed to be useless at tennis, yet you just made that backhand look easy. Have you been practicing on the quiet?” I sniped, miffed she’d returned them all and now I had to uphold my end of the deal.
Cami looked away. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. Does that mean you’ve actually boned up on how to play?” I asked, not actually expecting her to say yes.
“I watched a movie, read a book or two, yes.” Her eyes were twinkling again now, like she was teasing me.
I gave her a suspicious side glance. “A movie?”
Her smile widened. “A romantic comedy, about tennis. It was quite funny, though totally unbelievable.”
I blinked at her, unable to picture Cami enjoying a romantic comedy. Horror maybe, but not a romance.
“I don’t get you in the slightest,” I said, shaking my head in bewilderment.
“Good,” she gave a genuine smile and then her expression changed suddenly, as though her guard had come up. “Actually, I really don’t care whether you get me or not, aren’t we supposed to be playing tennis?”
“Okay, we’ll play tennis, but can I ask you a question?”
She sighed, dramatically. “Very well, so long as it isn’t about the party.”
I shook my head, and even though I knew it wasn’t really a question for virtual strangers who didn’t really like each other, I asked it anyway.
“Do you have a boyfriend? Or maybe a ... girlfriend?”
Cami stifled a laugh. “A girlfriend?”
“What,” I spread my hand innocently, “you are kind of strong-willed.”
“And that makes me a lesbian? How many do you actually know? Do you think every lesbian is a stereotype? They can be just as girly and pathetic as a straight woman.”
“Sorry, my mistake!” I was alarmed at how quickly she’d gone from laughing to annoyed. “I’m not judging you.”
“Yes, you are, and every woman on the planet.” She folded her arms and glared at me.
“Geez, Cami, I was just trying to find out if you were seeing anyone, not because I want to date you, I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
“What for? We’re not going to be friends, Luke, and we’re definitely not going to be a couple. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand I just want to be left alone?”
“Maybe it’s because that’s not normal. People like people, we’re pack animals.”
“You are, you have your little ‘pack’, but I’m not.”
“Right, because you’re just way too cool for school?” We were both getting annoyed now.
“School is something I have to do, tennis is something I have to do, be the best, reach the top, no time for anything else, don’t want to let anyone down, well, I’m sick of everyone pushing me, so back off!”
“What are you talking about? I never said you have to be the best at anything.” I paused, mulling over her words. “But you weren’t talking about me, were you? Your parents?”
Cami gave me a mutinous look and turned her back. I was getting used to that now. I also thought I might have hit the nail on the head.
“Sure, just be a miserable loner for the rest of your life then!” I said.
Cami turned her head a fraction in my direction. “I’m not miserable.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t want to be pushed, so you’re punishing whoever it was that put that pressure on you by not doing anything at all, and now you’re not living, you’ve got no spirit left.”
I didn’t know where all that came from, but it sure got a reaction. Cami was back up in my face before I could take a breath.
“I have more spirit than most people have in their little finger!” she said, fury radiating off her. “But when and where I use it is up to me.”
“Yes, it is,” I took a step backwards, “except you don’t use it, hence why you are zero for fun.”
She glared into my eyes. “I can be fun, more fun than your lame friends.”
“Prove it,” I goaded. “Come to the party.”
“Fine, I will!” she retorted. Then she picked up a ball, tossed it into the air and performed a killer serve that slammed off the back wall at well over 100 miles an hour.
I watched it bounce on the ground a few times and then gave her flushed angry face an appraising look.
“I have a feeling,” I said slowly, “that you might be a tiny bit better at tennis than you’re letting on.”