It carried over into Latin class too, as if he was intent on training her in and out of the gym. He never called on her anymore. He never even smiled. Shy was worried about him. He seemed preoccupied. Maybe someone in his family had died. Maybe his cat was sick. But the last thing she wanted was to let him down. So she dug in and practiced hard. She did squats and bench-pressed the weighted bar. She learned to serve backhand and forehand and tried to be quick on her feet. To her surprise, she enjoyed table tennis. She liked the rigor of it, the concentration, and how it was exercise without too much exercise.
Today was their first away match, against the Berkeley Carroll girls’ team. Sun Kim, one of the captains, always warmed them up. Sun was tiny and never stopped smiling. She also had the quickest volley on the team. She was an inspiration. Mr. Streko was always saying, “Watch Sun. Watch Sun.” Shy kind of hated her.
“Fifty laps, fifty crunches, then fifty jumping jacks!” Sun shouted gleefully, and the team took off, running around the Berkeley Carroll gym in their matching white Under Armour quick-dry polo shirts and black mesh shorts.
Shy trailed behind them. She hated running. Bruises dotted her bony shins. Her skin looked gray. She’d almost invited Liam to the match but then decided to wait until she improved her game. Liam was being weird anyway. He’d gotten a bad grade on that calculus test—which for him meant an 89 instead of a 100—and she felt certain he blamed her.
The girls circled the gym, jogging in a silently determined clump. Mr. Streko and the Berkeley Carroll coach, a wiry woman in a red tracksuit with a smoker’s voice and a dyed-red pixie cut, volleyed back and forth at one of the two tables set up in the center of the gym, the ping and pong of the ball echoing loudly.
“Your point,” the woman growled at Mr. Streko in a Russian accent as Shy staggered by.
“Non vincere omnes,” Mr. Streko called back.
To win is not all. Was he flirting? Shy wondered.
The girls finished their warm-up and collapsed on the bench to sip water from matching water bottles and receive the lineup from the coaches.
“Sun and Suraya, you’re first,” Mr. Streko called, making notes on his clipboard. “Jill and Danielle go second. Then Amy and Kylie. Then Sun again and Tati. Suraya and Jill are last. Go team!”
He hadn’t said Shy’s name. And Suraya was a freshman. Why did she get to play twice?
“Mr. Streko?” Shy asked, breaking the code of silence.
He ignored her, already standing at the ready beside the table, clipboard in hand, bushy black eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration.
Beep, beep! The other coach blew her whistle. “First match.”
Shy jumped to her feet. “Go Phinney!” she shouted. If she couldn’t play, she could at least show some enthusiasm.
Immediately, Mr. Streko pointed at her, shook his head, and then pointed at the bench. She sat down again and kicked off her black team Nikes, which made her hideously pale legs look even paler. No playing, no cheering. This was so much fun.
Ping, pong. Ping, pong. Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Table tennis was the most boring game in the world to watch. More boring than regular tennis, or American football, or golf.
Kylie nudged Shy’s arm with her elbow. “Hey, your grandfather is here.”
“Hello, darling.” Roy sat down next to his daughter, marveling at how a school gymnasium in Brooklyn could smell exactly the same as a school gymnasium in the middle of England. Sweaty socks, sticky floorboards, and exhausted fluorescent lightbulbs.
“We’re not allowed to talk, Dad,” Shy said through her teeth. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I was curious.” Roy had never mentioned his altercation with Mr. Streko at Monte. “Just offering a bit of moral support.”
Beep, beep! Mr. Streko blew his whistle and pointed at them to be quiet.
“They’re good, aren’t they?” Roy went on, ignoring Mr. Streko completely. “And I like their red tops. It’s a good, deep red. I do like a good red,” he mused.
“The reds are the other team. Shush, Dad. You’re going to get kicked out.”
“Go girl!” Berkeley Carroll’s coach shouted after a particularly brutal serve. Why was she allowed to yell?
Berkeley Carroll won all four of the first matches. Then the next one was called.
Beep, beep! Mr. Streko blew his whistle. “Sun, you sit out. Shy, you’re up,” he shouted without even looking at her.