Taking Off by Jenny Moss Page B

started.
    Each team had extra players, so they rotated people into the game between points. Some of them were pretty good, some very good. A girl with frizzy brown hair couldn’t play well, but the others didn’t seem to mind—except for a guy with glasses. He fussed at her once for missing an easy shot. She just laughed. I figured out later they were dating.
    Everyone was having fun, and no one more than Christa. She seemed to have a new surge of energy, leaping up to shoot the ball over the net. I realized she didn’t know very many of these people, but she was laughing, and congratulating them when they made a good play. Like Lea did.
    I wondered what it must be like to be so comfortable in your own skin that you could just blend in seamlessly with others. Christa excelled at that. She was so natural and sure of herself. It must be so freeing: to be able to always be yourself. You wouldn’t have to hide anything away, out of fear that others might not like what they see.
    I stood and leaned against the wall, watching.
    Lea had been right about me. I hadn’t wanted to try out for the tennis team. I hadn’t wanted to mess up in front of anyone, so I didn’t even try—even though I loved tennis.
    I went over to the two women sitting on a bench on the sidelines, talking and waiting for their turn. I sat by them.
    “Hey,” one asked, “you’re Christa’s friend, right?”
    I smiled, liking the sound of that. “Yeah.”
    “Did you want to play?” she asked, gesturing to the court.
    My heart was speeding up. “Yeah.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Annie.”
    The woman called out. “Hey, y’all, Annie wants to play. Put her in.”
    “Annie!” yelled out Lea happily.
    The guy with glasses ran out. “Take my place. I need a break.”
    I walked out on the court. “Where do I stand, Lea?”
    “Right here,” said Christa, pointing next to her in the back.
    I moved to the spot, trying to remember how to play. I’d seen how the others hit, some of them going low, bumping the ball back up with a two-handed fist, others pushing the ball up with their open hands, setting it up for another player to spike over the net. I just wanted to get the ball over.
    Standing here, though, waiting for the serve, I realized I just wanted the ball to go someplace else.
    “This guy’s got a killer serve,” Christa told me. “Watch out for it.”
    As the ball flew toward us, I realized I wasn’t going to get my wish: it was coming right for me. Reflexively, I raised my hands to hit it, and the ball smashed into my nose.
    My hands went to my face. It hurt .
    “Annie!” I heard Lea yell. She was right beside me.
    I looked at my hand. No blood. Good. I tended to have nosebleeds. But it still really hurt. I pressed on my nose with both hands, wiggling it around gently. I didn’t think it was broken.
    The other players crowded around me. A woman with long blond hair hit the server on the arm. “God! You didn’t have to give the girl a facial.”
    “I didn’t mean to,” said the guy, leaning in to me. “Are you all right?”
    I felt the heat rise in my face. The attention was freaking me out. “I’m okay.” Christa was looking at me with concern. I repeated, “I’m okay.”
    All these eyes were on me. I was trying to figure out how to retreat to the sidelines without looking like a complete dork. “Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Lea, her hand gently touching my nose. “It’s red.” I just wanted her to go back to her spot and for everyone to stop staring at me.
    “She’s okay,” said Christa, clapping her hands. “Get the ball, Annie? It’s behind you.” And with that, everyone went back to their positions, like Christa was the teacher and we were the students. I picked up the ball, and Christa pointed for me to throw it back to the server. “Thanks, Annie,” she said. “Let’s play.”
    I missed every ball that came at me. Since Christa was beside me, I thought she might run in and take my