Free Amigas and School Scandals by Diana Rodriguez Wallach Page B

encourage Lilly’s newfound fame.
    Over breakfast this morning, she not-so-subtly recommended that I stop by Lilly’s tennis practice to “offer support,” which was interesting because in fifteen years, I couldn’t remember anyone swinging by a ballet rehearsal on my behalf. But I didn’t say that. And of course, my mother knew I’d do what she asked. I always did.
    The trick was getting my friends to do it too.
    â€œI don’t see why we’re being dragged into this,” Madison protested as she slammed her locker shut.
    â€œTo make my mom happy.”
    â€œWhy do I need to make your mom happy?” She cocked her head.
    â€œYou don’t, but I do. And you’re my ride to ballet practice.”
    In an hour, I’d be putting on my ballet shoes for the first time since I got back from Puerto Rico. I didn’t want to think about the pain I’d feel tomorrow. Two months and I was already out of shape.
    â€œYou’re lucky I’m such a good friend,” Madison grumbled as we strolled toward the tennis courts.
    â€œYou’re right. I am.”
    I nodded politely at her before discreetly rolling my eyes at Emily. She smiled.
    â€œSo how long has Little Miss Puertorriqueña been playing tennis?” Madison asked.
    â€œA week.”
    â€œAre you serious?” she shouted. “This is ridiculous.”
    â€œHey, we’ll pop in, watch her hit a few balls, and go. My mom thinks I’ve been ditching her all week.”
    â€œWhatever! She’s the one who’s up Betsy Sumner’s butt,” Madison corrected nastily.
    â€œI know, but try telling my mom that.”
    â€œUh, guys, what the heck is that?” Emily stopped and pointed toward the bleachers.
    A crowd of freshmen boys sat behind Lilly’s court, hooting and hollering at the action. I watched, motionless, as Lilly dove for balls, her chest heaving as she swung violently at the fuzzy green targets. Each ball she rocketed into the parking lot only made her legion of fans cheer louder. My mouth hung open. I had never seen anyone make a lack of talent appear so endearing.
    â€œOh. My. God,” Madison choked. We watched as Lilly bent to pick up a tennis ball and delight the crowd of spectators. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œShe has a fan club,” Emily stated.
    â€œIt’s not even a real match. It’s just practice,” I noted.
    â€œHow? Why?” Madison asked in a muffled voice, clearly dumbfounded.
    I silently grappled with the spectacle, my insecurities surfacing with unprecedented force. I didn’t draw this much attention from my own parents, let alone a pack of teenage boys. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like.
    Finally, Emily swung toward us.
    â€œShe’s the new girl. That’s it. We go through this every year, especially with exchange students. Don’t you remember that French chick from last year?”
    â€œOh, Micheline. You have a point,” I said softly, as I watched my cousin wave to her fans. “Vince had a shrine to her.”
    â€œI think every boy had a shrine to Micheline. The football team practically erected a statue in her honor,” Emily added.
    â€œThey erected a lot more than that.” I giggled.
    â€œStill, it’s different. She’s your cousin .” Madison tossed her hand towards Lilly, who was preparing for a serve. “She looks just like you.”
    â€œSo? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNothing. It’s just, I don’t see why everyone’s going all gaga over Version 2.0, when they have the real thing right here,” Madison covered, smiling innocently at me.
    I watched Lilly bat two serves out of bounds. The boys in the crowd applauded her effort with a standing ovation. She pretended to remain focused. She pretended not to notice their reactions. But I knew she was loving the attention. How could she not be?
    â€œYou know, I