T-MINUS 22 DAYS.
I survived my first week without Zach.
During that week, I met with cops and lawyers to discuss the case, hung around the Costa house with Dallas and occasionally Frankie (much to Romeo’s displeasure), and avoided staring at the key, which I finally shoved deep into one of the birthday shoes from Zach.
Today, Dallas had managed to convince me to watch a local youth fencing tournament. Paranoia tingled up and down my limbs as I speed-walked to the bleachers, chin down.
“Slow down. My belly bounces against my thighs each time I take a step.” Dallas latched onto my arm. “You know, everyone’s looking at you because of what you’re wearing.”
I wore my waves tucked into a baseball cap, black-out sunglasses blocking my eyes, and the striped uniform of a bowling alley I’d recently picked up a shift at, just for a little pocket money until the house sold.
Vera had agreed to put it on the market, since she needed money for her mounting legal fees.
Dallas and I settled into a seat for two seconds before she turned her nose up, sniffing. “What’s that scent?”
“Puke.” I groaned, shaking out my uniform. “The con of women’s suffrage. We girls have girl-bossed too close to the sun, and now we’re spending our weekends cleaning up puke instead of reading books in the hot tub.”
“Speak for yourself.” She scrunched her nose. “I binge-watched all seasons of One Tree Hill this week while you worked.”
The scent of acid wafted up from my shirt. I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’m gonna wash up and change.”
Dallas waved me off, already lost in the competition.
The familiar symphony of swords clashing tickled my ears. I wanted to stand near the piste, close to the action, but I didn’t feel the urge to suit up.
Odd.
On my way back from the bathroom, I ran into a fencer, practicing her lunges in the hall. I’d spotted her warming up earlier with the other under-14 girls.
I hesitated near the entrance back into the gym, still in my glasses and hat. “You’re an épéeist, right?”
She nodded, her face screaming stranger danger. “I’m up next.”
“I noticed you practicing.” I bounced from foot to foot, wondering if I was overstepping. “You’re focusing too much on fancy moves instead of distance and timing. Focus on your basic footwork, and you’ll end up seconds ahead of your opponent.”
“Really?”
I shrugged, realizing I’d only ever taught Zach, who was a natural. “Just food for thought.”
And yet, I found myself leaning forward when the announcer called out her name and the match began.
Anna lost the first two touches, too hellbent on making snappy moves.
Footwork, kid. Focus on your advances and retreats.
“Ow.” Dallas jerked her arm out beneath my grip. Whoops. “You need a chill pill. You don’t even know her.”
“I know, but…”
But what?
But you still love the sport. You love analyzing fencers. You love the thrill of the game. You just… don’t want to compete anymore.
I reeled back at the realization, lost in my thoughts.
Not for long.
Anna lost another point, a step behind her opponent.
I shot up and cupped my hands around my mouth. “Focus on your footwork.”
“Oh my God.” Dallas shrunk in her seat as much as she could with her pregnant belly. “Is this how Romeo feels when I debate cheese versus no cheese at fast food drive-thru windows and there are cars behind us?”
But I didn’t care.
It worked.
Anna won three points back-to-back, catching up on the scoreboard. And when she finished her bout 15-11, I jumped into the air, cheering as if I’d coached her myself.
The black sunglasses toppled off my face with the movement. I froze, realizing my hat had fallen off my face sometime during the bout.
Whispers floated across the benches. Some people pointed at me, obviously recognizing me. I waited for someone to get up and yell at me. To call me a fraud.
Instead, they mostly ignored me.
A few smiled.
Someone even asked for a selfie.
At the end of the tournament, Dallas and I made our way down the bleachers.
“Hey.”
Dallas pointed to me. “Is she talking to you?”
I spun, catching sight of a woman dressed head to toe in Lululemon.
She began marching to us from across the gym. “Did you tell my daughter something before her match?”
“Oh, shit.” Dallas nudged me. “She looks mad. Does she look mad?”
I backed up a step, dragging her with me. “Maybe we should get out of here.”
We pivoted to make a break for it, but Anna ran up to me, clutching my stomach in a hug.
“That was awesome. I did exactly as you said. Can you coach me? Please?” She pressed her palms together, waiting for the moment the lady caught up to us to say, “My mom coaches me right now, and she has no clue what she’s doing.”
Anna’s mom nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s true. We just moved here. I haven’t had the chance to find her a coach. Are you open to new students?”
“Oh, um.” I toed a circle on the gym floor. “I…”
“She’s available.” Dallas beamed, lacing her fingers with mine. “She’s totally free.”
I rocked back and forth on my feet, not sure how to say this. “You know I…”
“Yeah. You’re Farrow Ballantine. We recognize you.” Anna’s mom offered a soft smile. “Everyone in the fencing world knows about the match in Korea.”
“Oh.” I wanted to make like Homer Simpson and disappear into the hedges.
“We all support you, by the way.” She offered a thumbs up. “Even before the news about your family stuff came out.”
I stared down at Anna, embarrassed, flattered, and a little weirded out by total strangers discussing my life like it was some Netflix true-crime documentary.
I mean, you never know. Tabby always wanted a shot at Hollywood.
Anna nodded, grinning. “If I knew that it was Farrow Ballantine under the weird glasses and hat, I would’ve listened to your advice sooner.” She turned to Dallas. “You let your friend leave the house like that?”
Just like that, on a sleepy weekday evening, I ended up the coach of a sassy thirteen-year-old.
