Open Court by Carol Clippinger Read Free Book Online Page B

“learning was its own reward,” he had plaques for the best projects.
    When Polly's name was called, she hauled ass to the front of the room and collected her grand prize, her face beet red from embarrassment. Her mom cheered loudly; it was clear she took the achievement personally. Talk about embarrassing. The more I knew about Polly, the more I appreciated my mom's lack of involvement.
    Polly's mother seemed to be an exact replica of Janie's bewildering father. I'd go mad if I had parents like that. My mom asking about Janie was bad enough.
    I was lost in my thoughts when Polly pointed her bony finger in my face. “Are you gonna let Luke Kimber-lin stick his tongue in your mouth?”
    “Funny, Polly,” I wryly said. “Do you think he should've called by now?”
    “Don't know,” she said.
    “I'm not a country club girl. I wonder why he likes me, if he does.”
    She elbowed my arm. “Why wouldn't he? You're likable.”
    We sat for a few seconds.
    “So, are you?” she asked.
    “Am I what?”
    “Luke's tongue.”
    “Heck, yeah,” I said.
    Polly laughed hysterically.
    The air was cooler than usual. I'd forgotten to pack a warm-up jacket in my tennis bag, so I froze in my T-shirt, bouncing up and down on court, trying to get warm. I corralled the balls out of my way so I wouldn't trip. Checked my watch—I'd only been here an hour. Still had an hour to try to wrestle Coach's voice back into me.
    Rise, Coach, rise. Please.
    Step to the baseline. Bounce ball. Separate hands.Racquet back. Extend racquet. Make contact. Follow through. Out. By a fourth of an inch. Barely out. Hmmm.
    Breathe. In and out. Keep warm. Ignore the breeze. Ignore chattering teeth. The ball matters. A fourth of an inch matters. Let everything else fall away. Let Trent's voice rise.
    Rise, Coach, rise.
    Bounce ball. Separate hands. Racquet back—
    “Hey, Hall!”
    I whipped my head around. Polly was crouched down, looking at me through a patch of the torn windscreen. Thank God I wasn't hallucinating now, too. “What are you doing?”
    “Came to watch you practice. How do I get in?”
    I pointed. “You gotta go through that hole.” I jogged over and held back the jagged wire fence. “Careful, it'll rip your shirt.”
    “Whew,” she said, standing upright again, holding a paper bag, dismayed.
“This
is where you practice? Yuk.”
    “How did you know where to find me?”
    “Melissa told me. I want to watch you play. So here I am.”
    “What's in that bag?”
    She bit her lip. Scrunched up her nose. “You'll find out in a minute, nosy.” She looked back. “Melissa?”
    “How do I get in?” Melissa wailed.
    “Melissa is here, too?” I said, astonished.
    “Sure, why not? I wanted Eve to come, but she said she had something else to do.”
    Melissa struggled, getting in. “Hey, Hall,” she said.
    “Are those weeds growing out of the court?” Polly asked.
    “Yeah, this court … sucks. I usually practice alone, you know, so I can concentrate.” I felt my face burn. I was thrown. Aside from Melissa's occasional questions, my friends and my tennis never mixed. Eve would never … I laughed at the sight of them, my two separate worlds blending like this.
    Polly freed a homemade sign from the paper bag and began hitching it to the metal court fence. Melissa dropped her jacket and helped. I stood back, watching, revived.
    Melissa tipped it this way and that, getting it right, while Polly joined me, slugging my arm. “Look,” she said. “You're in a parade. This tennis court is your float. Wave to the nice children!” She pretended she was a float queen and began waving to imaginary people.
    The sign read GO, HALL!
    Not wanting to be left out, Melissa waved, too, to no one.
    I studied the sign. Plastic pink flowers were glued onto it, around the lettering. It wasn't haphazard; that sign took planning. “Who did those flowers?”
    “Me,” Polly said. “I'm artsy. Just because I've got a brain for numbers doesn't mean I'm not