than his partner and his opponents. He sometimes flails at the ball, but he has a surprisingly accurate serve, a fact that appears to please him, even though he answers pure luck to Ben's nice serve. To Ben's serves, Jeff responds with speed, his backhand almost faster than the eye can register, trying to erase the carefully placed shots.
"Julie," Jeff says, noticing his sister. He has his hands on his hips, and he is panting hard.
"Hey, guys," Julie says, stepping forward.
"Want to play?" Ben asks.
Julie lifts a shoulder to her cheek.
"Just taking a walk," Sydney explains, moving away from the shadow of the trees as well. "Who's winning?"
"We are," Jeff answers quickly, revealing a certain investment in the game.
"Great," Sydney says, although she feels confused. She cannot think of any reason she would root for Ben over Jeff, though it would give her great satisfaction to see Mr. Edwards come home with a victory.
"We'll watch for a minute," Sydney says. "Don't mind us."
But the players do appear to mind Julie and Sydney, or at least to pay them mind. Sydney registers a self-consciousness that wasn't there before: in Victoria's exaggerated moue of disappointment when she misses a shot; in a dramatic lifting backhand from Ben; even in a spectacular net smash by Jeff from which he walks away with unnatural indifference. For a moment, Sydney longs to be on the court with them, paired with Jeff, lost in the competition, the easy laughs, the sweat.
"Do you play?" Sydney asks Julie.
"I've had lessons."
"Would you like to play later?"
But each of them knows that to play later would be to invite a sense of afterthought. The only game that matters is the one happening now, and they are not a part of it.
"Had enough?" Sydney asks after a time.
"I guess so."
"Want to go out to the rocks?"
"Maybe."
They turn away from the court. Sydney notices two boys, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, walking in their direction. Deep in conversation, they carry golf bags on their shoulders. The taller of the two glances up. "Julie," he says with some surprise.
"Joe," Julie answers, dipping her head as she does so. She crosses her arms over her chest.
"I didn't know you were here," Joe says, hoisting his bag further up his shoulder. Dressed in a white golf shirt and a pair of khakis, the boy has thick brown hair that invites fingers, maternal or otherwise. "You know Nick, right?"
"I think so," Julie says. "This is Sydney," the girl adds, remembering her manners.
"Hello," Sydney says, nodding to the boys.
There is an awkward pause, during which no one speaks.
"Well," Joe says finally. "Maybe we'll see you around?"
"Maybe," Julie repeats, clearly at a loss for words.
Through the trees, Sydney hears a shout from Jeff.
"So. . .," Joe says, apparently reluctant to move on.
"Good luck with the golf?!" Sydney offers with some finality.
With a small wave, the boys pass by. Sydney doesn't have to turn around to know that Joe, the one with the lovely brown hair, has stopped to look at Julie from behind. After a minute, she lets Julie get a step ahead of her. Sydney studies the girl through the eyes of an eighteen-year-old boy.
Luscious is a word that comes to mind.
Ripe for the picking.
On the rocks, Sydney leads the way, though she is less sure of foot than Julie, who is more afraid than incapable.
"We'll sit on that one," Sydney says, pointing to a flat rock far enough out from shore for them to feel that they've accomplished something, but not so far as to feel the spray of the ocean.
Julie hesitates, and Sydney takes her hand. Together, they negotiate the jagged surfaces of the granite boulders, their feet sometimes slipping on bits of seaweed.
"There," Sydney says when they are settled.
The sky is aqua with fast-moving fair-weather clouds. A spray, majestic and rhythmic, beats against the least sheltered of the boulders. To the left is an abandoned lighthouse, the red roof of its keeper's cottage picturesque in the
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