“Don’t look so surprised. He’s dating you. Of course he’d be nominated.” Charlotte separated her ponytail down the middle and yanked it tighter.
“Are you ready, Hollier women?” a loud voice boomed.
Everyone looked over to see Coach Maggie in shiny navy blue Umbros and a white collared Hollier tennis shirt, standing with her hands on her hips at the edge of the courts. A couple of girls smirked. Maggie was always calling them “Hollier women,” or “women of Hollier,” or, once: “women of the racket.”
“Today’s practice will be a test of sheer will,” Maggie went on, pacing along the baseline. “I’ve pitted each of you against the player with whom your skills are most evenly matched. We’ll start with our cocaptains, Nisha and Sutton.” She paused dramatically as though expecting a round of applause. When she didn’t get one, she tossed two fuzzy tennis balls in Nisha’s direction. “Court six, ladies,” she said, gesturing to the court farthest from where the team sat.
Charlotte gave Emma a sympathetic glance—normally being paired with Nisha wasn’t something Sutton exactly celebrated.
Emma shrugged. “She’s okay,” she murmured.
Charlotte looked surprised, but didn’t say anything.
Nisha glanced sideways at Emma as they made their way across the court, like she was trying to gauge whether she and Emma would slip back into rival mode, or if their truce from the previous night would hold.
Emma gave Nisha a reassuring smile, hoping to put the girl at ease. “Can we stretch some more first?” she asked. “I’m sore after last night.”
Nisha sighed with relief. “Me, too.”
A series of footfalls sounded behind them, and the boys’ soccer team thundered past for their warm-up laps around the field. “Hey, Nisha,” Garrett called.
“Hey,” Nisha said faintly, waving back.
Then Garrett noticed Emma next to her. His expression soured.
There was an uncomfortable pause, and the girls walked quietly for a few seconds. “So you are still seeing Garrett?” Emma asked in as friendly a voice as she could muster, thinking about how Nisha had avoided the question last night.
Nisha adjusted the strap of her dark purple tank. “We were never really seeing each other,” she said. “He only went with me to get back at you.”
Then Emma remembered the real answer she had wanted from Nisha last night. “Can I ask you a weird question?”
Nisha put a hand on the hip of her neatly pleated white shorts and waited.
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