Free Holding On by Rachael Brownell Page A

strike up a conversation. Her name was Natalie, and she seemed friendly enough.
    The last bell rang, and I turned back around in my seat just as Ethan walked in. I heard Natalie say something to the girl next to her. I think her name was Jill. Ms. Phillips took role, and people started to scatter to begin their work. I walked up to Ms. Phillips’s desk to find out what she would like for me to do. I was assigned to take some photos of the campus from my “new” perspective earlier in the week, and we went through the prints yesterday, so my plate was clear.
    “Why don’t you partner up with Natalie? I’m sure she can use some help wrapping up the editorials for the sports pages.” She never looked up from her desk as she spoke, and I could see that she probably never even noticed me talking with Natalie earlier. I was starting to reply when she motioned for me to get going by moving her hand through the air.
    I went into the computer lab to find Natalie. She was tucked in the corner talking to Jill and staring at the pictures on the screen. She would move them a bit left or right before stopping to ensure they were where she wanted them and then would start to move them again. It was obvious that she was a bit of a perfectionist, maybe even a little OCD like me.
    “Hey, Ms. Phillips wants me to get with you and lend a hand with the sports editorials. What would you like for me to do?” I asked trying not to sound overly excited.
    “Well, I have everything printed out over there if you want to proofread it. The player stat sheets are in the pile too, and the professional sports stats we are including this year are at the very bottom somewhere.” Natalie stated plainly. Her tone was warm and polite, but her smile was not, and when I realized she was not looking at me, I felt a bit of relief. She was staring over my shoulder at someone. “I will be right back if you want to get started,” she said as she got up and walked out of the lab.
    I sneaked a peek over my shoulder as she walked past me, but no one was there now. I grabbed the stack of papers and started editing the articles. They were really well - written, and I enjoyed reading them more than I thought I would. As I got down to the bottom of the stack, I see stats about each athlete, and then the last few pages fascinated me. The information they planned on including about each sport was unique. They were including things like who won the World Series this year, how their local college teams performed, and who from the school’s teams were most likely to go pro.
    When I reached the stats about tennis, I knew them already, most of them anyway. I read who of my favorite players were doing well and who were not. I wondered if they were going to wait for the results of any more big tournaments before getting the book published, and as the thought crossed my mind, I saw his name.
    Most likely to go pro: Ethan Green
    I dropped the page, and it floated to the floor in slow motion. I thought back to Monday when we played after school. He kept up with me, and most people can’t. He had some really strong volleys, and I would kill for the power on his backhand. He kept the ball in play, no matter how hard I tried to get it past him. He was good, really good. Crap!
    I should have noticed it sooner. He was a great player, but his amazing looks seemed to distract me at every turn. He said that he started playing at a young age, just like me, but that didn’t always mean that you turned out to be a great player. All the practice in the world won’t make you a great player unless you love the sport.
    I should have known that someone who just happened to have a racket with him at school would be able to keep pace with me. It’s the offseason, so why would anyone be bringing their equipment to school unless they had ulterior motives? He didn’t just want to play tennis after school—he wanted to play me.
    I picked up the piece of paper on the floor and scanned it