Page 39 of Carrie Soto Is Back

“Yes,” my dad says. “I believe Carrie knows him…well.”

I glare at my father. “All right, keep it to yourself.”

Gwen looks at me. “The bottom line is, if it’s uncomfortable for you, don’t do it. But if you do want a player you can test yourself against…Bowe is in.”

“You already asked him?”

“I wasn’t going to get you on board without knowing if he would do it.”

I look at my dad.

“You can just get a hitter,” he says. “We can even do two-on-ones, to keep you running around the court.”

I consider it. I imagine myself growing more and more confident heading into Melbourne, hitting against amateurs. Only to be clobbered once I’m up against anybody on the circuit. The thought of it knocks the wind out of me.

But I also really don’t want to see Bowe Huntley. That knocks the wind out of me too.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have to think about it.”

—

Later that evening, I am in my sweatpants with a seltzer water in my hand, sitting down to watchER,when the phone rings. I mute the television just as the theme song begins.

I put my drink down and pick up the receiver, expecting it to be my father telling me he ran out of toilet paper or shampoo and asking me if I have any.

But it’s Bowe.

“Oh, hi,” I say.

“Long time,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess it has been.”

“Well,” he says, “sorry to call so late, but Gwen said you might want to hit together, and I realized if we’re doing this, we need to make a plan ASAP.”

“You are interrupting my new favorite show, but fine, we can talk.”

Bowe laughs. “Are you watchingER? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I’m talking to you instead of watching because you think it’s all right to call people at ten at night.”

“Well, I’ll wait,” he says.

“You want me to tell you what’s happening onER? You can’t just turn it on?”

“I’m staying at the home of a nice lady friend I just met who doesn’t believe in owning a television.”

“Oh, jeez,” I say. “I don’t know who is worse, you or her.” I turn to the TV. “Dr. Lewis is talking to Carter.” I pause. “Do you really want me to give you the play-by-play on this entire episode?”

“Sort of,” he says. “The rerun won’t be until summer.”

I sit down on my sofa, crossing my legs. “Okay, fine. Now they have rushed a teenager into an OR. Oh, here we go! Here’s George Clooney!”

“Love Dr. Ross.”

“I like the one who doesn’t put up with the bullshit. What’s his name?”

“Benton.”

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