Page 26 of All Yours

“But aren’t you tired of hiding?” I asked. It was a dangerous question, one that could lead to a fight. “They’ve dictated your life for so long?”

She sighed and smacked the stick against the side of her shoe. “I did what I had to do to get away from Julia and start over. You have no idea what all I went through.”

“That’s true. I don’t,” I said, and she seemed to relax back into the chair. “I imagine it was tough.”

“Not all of it,” she conceded. “I loved tennis and wanted to play. And that I was naturally good at it was fun, at first. Then my dad ruined it with extra lessons, entering every tournament he could find, and then IMG came along.”

“What’s IMG?” I asked.

“Boarding school for child athletes. You go to school for half the day, then practice for half the day. I was ten when he drove me from Connecticut to Florida and left me there.”

I didn’t even know that existed. Parents sent their children away from home to do that? I kept my face and posture neutral, keeping my opinion to myself.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“Not at first,” she said, pushing herself up and stabbing a log toward the flames that were taking over the wood pile. “They left me there with a trunk of my things, and said, ‘See ya at Christmas. Don’t screw this up.’”

“They said that to a ten-year-old?” I asked, unable to keep the astonishment from my voice. No wonder she had a nervous breakdown at twenty.

“Yeah, well, that opportunity costs a lot of money, so they didn’t allow any slip in grades or tennis performance. And everyone around me was in the same boat, so it became normal for me. And there they set the schedule of four hours of school and four hours of training a day. My dad had me training longer than four hours a day back at home. So that I ended up liking a lot more.”

“When did you start playing tennis?” I heard myself ask instead of allowing the incredulous feelings to slip out. Not wanting to make her feel shamed or defensive about the way her parents raised her. She’d suffered enough vocal judgement over the years.

“Five,” she said, poking at the fire again. “I can’t believe we’ve been friends for like three years, and I’ve never told you my story.”

“I never wanted to pry, and besides you changed your name to get away from it all, so I didn’t think talking about it was something you wanted.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “But I suppose if you’re going to pretend to be my boyfriend, you need to know why I need a pretend boyfriend.”

A lump formed in my throat. She didn’t have to emphasize the word pretend so much. Did she? She was pushing that point home. This was not real. Was I that unsuitable to her as a boyfriend?

“I know why.”

“You do?” she asked, pacing around the fire pit.

“Well, yeah, you’ve been so busy guarding yourself against anyone finding out about your past that it’s hard to open up.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, that’s part of it, but there’s something else…” Sloane poked at the flames again but doing nothing.

I waited for her to fill in the silence

She groaned. “I’m not any good with men… I have little experience with your kind… Sebastian’s been my only boyfriend.”

I blinked, not sure if I heard her correctly. “How is that possible?”

“It’s so embarrassing. I just don’t know what to do with flirting or dating, or any of it,” she sputtered, falling into the Adirondack chair, and covering her face with her hands.

“What about sex?” I blurted out, my curiosity getting the better of me. Then I slapped my hand over my mouth. How could I ask her that?

Sloane laughed, and some the tension in my shoulders eased.

“I’m so sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay,” she giggled. “The look on your face was funny.”

“Sometimes my filter is broken.”

“To answer your question…”

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