“That’s normal.”
“What did he text you?”
I hold my phone like it’s piece of delicate fruit. “I’ll show you when we park. It’s not as good if I say it out loud!”
Sam rolls her eyes and turns up the music. The sky does that neon sherbet thing that makes you forget there’s anything wrong happening in the world, and we sing-shout along to Rascal Flatts the rest of the drive. When we finally park, I keep my promise and let Sam read through my texts with Calder. We’re both a little giddy as we walk into the club.
Luckily, Smash Point is buzzing when we enter. We’re barely on time, so Sam pulls out her wallet to check in, but Space Buns waves her off. “You’re covered.”
My eyes narrow. “Does she have a membership?”
Sam frowns. “I didn’t?—”
“She does. Paid monthly.”
I yank on Sam’s arm before she can say anything. “I think Calder got us free memberships,” I hiss as we race to the back where our group is gathered.
“What? Because of our lessons?”
I nod. “Yeah, when I came with Garrett, they said I had one, too.”
“Well, that’s amaz—” She stops, holding on the “z,” her eyes fixed dead ahead.
A man stands on a flipped-over crate, calling everyone to attention. He’s tall and tan with dark puppy-dog eyes.
Sam scoffs. “What is it with these guys? It’s like they’re factory made.”
I give her the side eye.
“Not Calder. I’m just saying.”
“You know, one of these days you could actually give one of ‘these guys’ the time of day. You might find out they’re not all bad.”
We barely make it to the tables by the time Justin—I find his name on the tag pinned to the front of his shirt—starts explaining the rules for the night.
“Each of you filled out a questionnaire online, yes?”
The group nods in unison, but I don’t.
I lean over to Sam. “There was a questionnaire?”
“Didn’t you see it in the app?”
No, I did not see it in the app.
Justin continues, “We’ve got them printed up and posted there.” He points to the wall between our courts. “So if you find someone you want to know more about, you can read their answers and get some talking points. Or, you know, just ask them.” That gets some chuckles. “Warm-ups are three minutes, then a game to five. Green wristbands rotate.”
I look down and see that most people already have on either a green or blue wristband. Failed twice already, excellent.
“Where’s your questionnaire?” A voice sounds behind me, and I jump. I’m already smiling before I see Calder’s face.
“Must’ve forgotten. Where’s yours?”
He shrugs. “Still filling it out.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah?”
The whistle blows, and we scatter. My first partner is a guy in 80s-patterned shorts, which are legitimately cool. My second is a software engineer who . . . fits the stereotype of a software engineer, and my third is a dentist who seems nice enough that I motion to Sam to get him on her list.
