Ignore this Title

I never understood it. I mean, I always thought the populars were, you know, just good at being popular. But, imagine my surprise when I saw them at the sophomore tennis tryouts. Apparently they were blessed with good looks and good physical shape. Why did I bother showing up?

As I walked by they gave me the group glare, then turned back to each other whispering. I squeezed my racket, wishing I could bring it over one of their heads, but, that’s very immature. I settled for just looking at them and the others who had shown up at tryouts. Some of the other girls were bouncing a tennis ball against the ground, while others were whirling around wielding their racket like a sword; didn’t they know that this wasn’t fencing?

I loved having a last name near the end of the alphabet today. This gave me the opportunity to watch the rest of the girls play tennis. The first girl up (Christine Andrews) looked positively terrified when they said the words “forehand” and “backhand”. When they served to her she dodged the balls, holding her racket up in front of her as a shield. The neon green balls bumped into her repeatedly until the coach finally stopped. Guess she won’t be trying out next year.

The other girls, including the populars, did relatively well. One popular girl accidentally hit the coach in the head, but otherwise all the balls veered away from him. She smirked in a satisfied when they said “Simmons, Andrea”. I frowned, walking over to the net.

At the end of the tryouts, I felt positive about my performance. They had asked me to do basic warm-ups, like ground strokes and volleys. Eventually they asked me to stop because they had seven more girls to try out. If only the populars hadn’t come. The next day I approached the bulletin board. I scanned the flapping pages on the bulletin board and opened my mouth. I hadn’t made it, or at least, on the team I wanted to. It was the B team, and all the populars had made the A team.  So much for Wimbledon.

Light spilled into the cloudless sky. A layer of gold gilted the treetops and splashed onto the ground, accenting each curve of the land with honyed tones. Light breezes threaded their way through the branches, sending a waft of warm air over the bark. A young girl rocked on the tireswing below, curling an arm around one of the frayed ropes. Bare feet skimmed the land below, leaving deep ridges in the grass.

Her ears pricked up as she heard distant footsteps, and anxiously she scrambled up the two ropes that tethered the tire onto one of the thick limbs of the tree. Deftly she leaped onto another branch and clung to it, glancing down below. A tall man called out, shielding his eyes from the sun. He called out again, slowly turning around. Suddenly his eyes alighted on her, and she swung off from the branch and landed on the ground with a small thud.

“Hey there,” he said. The young girl eyed him angrily. “You’re back,” she snarled. In the distance she could see his Mercedes parked on the dirt road. He shook one of his cuffs and tugged on the lapels of his suit; in the other hand he held a sleek silver briefcase. The man half-smiled at her, and she returned it with a grimace.

“Yes, I’m back,” he said. “I believe the land you own is a prospective offer that would be foolish to ignore. I’m hoping this time your family will accept my offer.” His eyes roved over the house on the hill, and he started toward it, but the little girl jumped out in front of him.

“Stop. This land has been ours forever, and I know my parents would never sell it to you.” He looked down at her. “Well, then there’s nothing to be worried about if I try.” And she jogged behind him as he headed over to the house.

Threads of shadow encompassed the roof. The man got onto the front step and knocked on the door.  As it opened, the young girl plunged inside, hastily trying to explain to her parents that they should shut the door.  But, a moment later, he was already inside.  He draped his black coat over one of the hooks, looking very out of place in their country home.
“I wish to restate my proposition.  Last time my offer was foolish, but I beg you listen to me now.  I have decidede to triple the previous offer.  This wealth would leave you–very well off.”  The little girl tugged on her father’s pant leg.  Her parents looked at each other, calculating the amount they could receive.  Her father said,”The money first, then the property.”  The man didn’t look at all startled, and, reaching for the briefcase, undid the clasps.  Even the little girl had to gasp before he snapped it shut.  He smiled coldly.  “Do you accept?”  Her parents conversed quietly.  Then they turned to him.  “It will take a while to decide.”

“Yes, yes, I’m not surprised.  I will be back at this time tomorrow to see to your decision.”  And with that he left.

The sun dropped behind the mountains, casting its final rays of light out over the grounds.  The man walked calmly down the sloping lawn and then collapsed, or so it seemed. He placed an ear to the ground, smiling.  “It’s a worthy price to pay,” he said, patting the ground.  Then he unlocked his car and sat down inside.  “There’s so much more to this place than meets the eye,” he whispered.  “So much more wealth beneath.”  And with that, he was gone, a satisfied smile residing on his lips.