And then I look down the line. Twenty-four more spots to go.
By the time I’ve finished my fifth pyramid, Lily shows up. She hands me a collared short-sleeve shirt that matches the one Coach is wearing and a badge with my name on it.
“Thanks,” I say.
“No problem. That badge will allow you into any area.” She starts to turn away but then adds with a laugh, “You’ll make all the parents jealous.”
I laugh, too, even though I don’t get the joke.
Lily gets busy marking names on little chalkboards of players who have reserved a spot on the driving range while I continue to make ball pyramids. I will dream about this shape. Everything I look at morphs into it.
Players start arriving before I can finish, so now there’s a line waiting for the few remaining spots.
There’s a girl in a white tennis skirt and she’s tapping—TAPPING—her foot at me. “We were told the practice range would be ready when we got here,” she says.
I look up at her, sweat running down my face, and blow a loose chunk of hair out of my eye. She scrunches up her nose at me.
I want to put a hex on her pyramid.
Lily finally sees my predicament and we knock out the last three spots together.
Coach Cantu walks up just as we move out of the way and a player steps up into the space. “We can’t have this happen tomorrow. It will throw everyone off.”
“Yes, Coach,” I mumble. “What should I do now?”
Coach motions to a small area near a bench. “Wait back here silently while they warm up. Once a player is done, refill the balls for that spot. If anyone needs anything…water, towel, tees, batteries…they will let you know. Inside the clubhouse is the pro shop. They can either give you money for what they need or they can charge it to their account if they have one. Most of the clubs in the state are in the same network, so they can charge it to their home club.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
He’s about to walk away but stops and adds, “I gave my players from your school your number in case they need me but can’t find me.”
Oh, God. I’ll have to tell Sophie so she can relay any messages to me. And I want to scream at himMaybe carry a phone!
I move away from the line of golfers so I’m not distracting but not too far. Looking down at the shirt Lily brought me, I really need to change but am afraid to leave my post, so I throw on the collared shirt over the tee I’m wearing, using it as a cover to wiggle out of the tee while trying to keep the shirt down and not expose myself to everyone. I must look completely ridiculous.
I ball my tee up and drop it next to my bag. I’ve only had the new shirt on for a few seconds but it’s already getting a little sweaty.
God, this heat sucks.
Trying to take my mind off how miserable I am, I concentrate on the players. It doesn’t take long to realize that not all of them hit the ball the same way. Some have a funny little ritual. The players from my school arrived a few minutes ago, so I pay particular attention to them. Along with Chloe, Tanika, and Em Beth, Lily told me Locke, David Pham, and Cal Rivers will play in this tournament as well.
Chloe uses her club to drag a ball off the little pyramid, careful not to let the whole structure fall apart. Knowing how easily they come tumbling down, I’m in awe of her. Then she lines herself up—but before she swings, she does this little hip wiggle. Then goes up on her tiptoes and back down, then wiggles again. Finally, she swings. She hits four balls with one club before changing it out for another one, but the routine is the exact same thing.
I scan down the line and watch the guys. They all seem to have a personalized routine, too. Cal holds his club above his head and does some sort of stretch before settling in for his swing. Every. Time.
It’s fascinating.
Along with the different warm-up routines, it’s clear that the part of the club where your hands go can come in lots of different colors, too. The ones we used for class were all white and pretty banged up after years of use and abuse, but Tanika’s is hot pink and Locke’s is a boring black (no surprise there).
And all the players seem to be totally in the zone. It’s very quiet out here. No chitchat at all. Just thatthwacksound when the club hits the ball. Just as Locke pulls his club back to swing, Sophie’s phone blares in my back pocket. Locke stutters on his follow-through and ends up missing his ball but hitting the pyramid. Balls scatter everywhere.
I’m digging my phone out, trying to silence it as quickly as I can.
Locke says, “Turn your ringer off.”
While David adds, “And keep it off.”
Em Beth gives me a small smile. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”
