back and forth and then struck the golf ball. The ball traveled six feet straight into the hole.
"That's not how you play golf!" Becky exclaimed.
Dulce rose to her feet, her knees powdered brown from the sandy dirt. "The ball went in, didn't it?"
Becky fumed. She didn't know the rules of golf but
didn't believe that using a club like a pool stick was in the books. Still, she didn't say anything more. She felt confident.
"Okay, my turn," Becky said, and lowered her club, eyeing first the golf ball, then the hole. She wiggled her body a little, just like the pros do on television, and then tapped the golf ball. The ball rolled four feet and to the left.
"Too bad, girl!" Dulce cried.
Becky furrowed her brow and bit her lip. She took a second shot and that one stopped an inch short of the hole.
"You got to put a little meat into it!" Dulce sang.
Becky got the ball into the hole on the third putt. She picked up her ball and said, "Dulce, you're not supposed to talk to the other player."
"What other player?" Dulce asked seriously. She looked around.
"The other player is ... me," Becky said. She swallowed painfully. The score was one to three.
How is that possible?
she wondered.
They studied the second of eighteen holes. It was in a small valley and the ground was cement hard.
"You go first," Becky said.
"Nah, girl," Dulce mumbled. She had a length of red whip licorice hanging from her mouth. She chewed a little and said, "You go first."
"But you're in the lead."
Dulce shrugged. She stood and used the club properly. She took a practice swing, the red whip licorice dangling from her mouth. She swung the club back and smacked the ball, which went racing left and then corrected to the right. The golf ball disappeared into the hole.
Dulce threw the golf club into the air. She pumped her arm and yelled, "I'm hot, man!" She fitted a few inches of red whip into her mouth.
"Dulce," Becky growled, "you're not supposed to be eating in the presence of the other player."
Dulce laughed. "And you're the other player, huh?"
Becky nodded.
Dulce gobbled more of the red whip but first offered Becky a few inches by pulling and breaking it into halves.
"No, thank you," Becky said as she dropped her golf ball and lined up a putt. She measured in her mind the distance between the ball and the hole. She wiggled and adjusted her stance. She then let the club rise and fall, striking the ball past the hole by four feet.
"That's too bad, girl!" Dulce said. "You got to do it a little smoother. Let me show you." Dulce stepped toward Becky, who turned her body away and suddenly had a great interest in the house across the street.
"Don't be like that!" Dulce warned.
"Like what?"
"Like a friend can't teach you. I mean, Tiger had to learn from someone.
¿Qué no?
"
Becky glowered at Dulce but was surprised that Tiger Woods was in her vocabulary. She thought,
Yeah, maybe she's right.
Tiger started somewhere and with someone's help. But for the time being, Becky felt she should play by instinct. She approached her golf ball and knelt down, her hands cupped around her eyes as she studied the distance and terrain of the course.
"Whatta you doing?" Dulce asked.
Becky rose quickly and ignored her friend.
"I'm studying the ball," Becky said.
Dulce laughed. "That's funnyâstudying the ball, like you're in school or something."
Becky mumbled and took her stance. She placed her club behind the golf ball. But while she was adjusting her stance, her club struck the golf ball by mistake.
"Hey, that counts!" Dulce yelled, jabbing a finger at the golf ball. "I saw it."
Becky swung around to her friend. "It was a mistake."
"Yeah, but you hit the ball, didn't you?" She was gobbling a handful of Nerds. The corners of her mouth were stained red from candy.
Becky had to admit that she had struck the golf ball. But it had traveled only two inches. "That wasn't a hit," she argued to herself. Wasn't there a rule about a golf ball touched by
"That's not how you play golf!" Becky exclaimed.
Dulce rose to her feet, her knees powdered brown from the sandy dirt. "The ball went in, didn't it?"
Becky fumed. She didn't know the rules of golf but
didn't believe that using a club like a pool stick was in the books. Still, she didn't say anything more. She felt confident.
"Okay, my turn," Becky said, and lowered her club, eyeing first the golf ball, then the hole. She wiggled her body a little, just like the pros do on television, and then tapped the golf ball. The ball rolled four feet and to the left.
"Too bad, girl!" Dulce cried.
Becky furrowed her brow and bit her lip. She took a second shot and that one stopped an inch short of the hole.
"You got to put a little meat into it!" Dulce sang.
Becky got the ball into the hole on the third putt. She picked up her ball and said, "Dulce, you're not supposed to talk to the other player."
"What other player?" Dulce asked seriously. She looked around.
"The other player is ... me," Becky said. She swallowed painfully. The score was one to three.
How is that possible?
she wondered.
They studied the second of eighteen holes. It was in a small valley and the ground was cement hard.
"You go first," Becky said.
"Nah, girl," Dulce mumbled. She had a length of red whip licorice hanging from her mouth. She chewed a little and said, "You go first."
"But you're in the lead."
Dulce shrugged. She stood and used the club properly. She took a practice swing, the red whip licorice dangling from her mouth. She swung the club back and smacked the ball, which went racing left and then corrected to the right. The golf ball disappeared into the hole.
Dulce threw the golf club into the air. She pumped her arm and yelled, "I'm hot, man!" She fitted a few inches of red whip into her mouth.
"Dulce," Becky growled, "you're not supposed to be eating in the presence of the other player."
Dulce laughed. "And you're the other player, huh?"
Becky nodded.
Dulce gobbled more of the red whip but first offered Becky a few inches by pulling and breaking it into halves.
"No, thank you," Becky said as she dropped her golf ball and lined up a putt. She measured in her mind the distance between the ball and the hole. She wiggled and adjusted her stance. She then let the club rise and fall, striking the ball past the hole by four feet.
"That's too bad, girl!" Dulce said. "You got to do it a little smoother. Let me show you." Dulce stepped toward Becky, who turned her body away and suddenly had a great interest in the house across the street.
"Don't be like that!" Dulce warned.
"Like what?"
"Like a friend can't teach you. I mean, Tiger had to learn from someone.
¿Qué no?
"
Becky glowered at Dulce but was surprised that Tiger Woods was in her vocabulary. She thought,
Yeah, maybe she's right.
Tiger started somewhere and with someone's help. But for the time being, Becky felt she should play by instinct. She approached her golf ball and knelt down, her hands cupped around her eyes as she studied the distance and terrain of the course.
"Whatta you doing?" Dulce asked.
Becky rose quickly and ignored her friend.
"I'm studying the ball," Becky said.
Dulce laughed. "That's funnyâstudying the ball, like you're in school or something."
Becky mumbled and took her stance. She placed her club behind the golf ball. But while she was adjusting her stance, her club struck the golf ball by mistake.
"Hey, that counts!" Dulce yelled, jabbing a finger at the golf ball. "I saw it."
Becky swung around to her friend. "It was a mistake."
"Yeah, but you hit the ball, didn't you?" She was gobbling a handful of Nerds. The corners of her mouth were stained red from candy.
Becky had to admit that she had struck the golf ball. But it had traveled only two inches. "That wasn't a hit," she argued to herself. Wasn't there a rule about a golf ball touched by
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