When Life Gives You O.J. by Erica S. Perl

Author:Erica S. Perl [Perl, Erica S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-375-89783-2
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-06-14T04:00:00+00:00

“So much for upping the ante,” I told Jeremy.

We were on our bikes, riding over to the tennis courts. With all the dog walking, I hadn’t seen him for days, so I had to catch him up on the whole O.J. situation, which seemed to be going nowhere faster than ever.

When we stopped at a traffic light, Jeremy suggested, “Maybe you need to add something else. Did you ever ask them about volunteering at the animal shelter?”

“Yes,” I said. “But you have to do an orientation, so we haven’t actually gone yet. Although I’m having second thoughts, since, if I go, I’m just going to want to adopt everything, and you know that’s just never going to happen.”

“That’s what I thought too,” said Jeremy pointedly. He chimed his bike bell for emphasis.

“How exactly did you earn that bike?”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Trust me,” he said. “It was harder than dragging O.J. around, that’s for sure.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do?”

The light turned green. Jeremy hopped on his bike and pushed off, calling, “Race you!”

“No fair!” I yelled, jumping on my bike and pedaling hard to catch up. We rode in silence, neck and neck, through the darkened campus, past the tall dorm buildings, gliding down the final hill to the tennis courts with Jeremy just barely keeping his lead.

I would’ve kept bugging him to tell me how he got his bike, but when we reached the courts, I forgot all about it. It was the first time we’d gone there to play at night, which took some convincing on both of our parts. My parents were worried about bike safety, which was why we both ended up with reflective tape on our shoes, racket bags, and helmets. And Jeremy’s parents were also worried about other kinds of safety, which is why after some pleading my mom agreed to call and reassure them. And which is why we each had been loaned a cell phone to use in case of an emergency. Don’t even get me started on what age they think I’ll have to be to get my own phone.

Just as I had expected, it was really cool to be out on our own at night. The courts were lit from above by big lights, while everything around them was in shadow, dusky and still. The old soda machine didn’t look quite so old because it was glowing, while the rest of the area was dark.

I walked out onto the court like I was stepping onstage and struck a pose—ball in one hand, racket in the other—in the spotlight. The ball bounced up and down, its shadow stretching and shrinking dramatically. My racket swatted jerkily at the ball, fluttering through the intense brightness like the moths hovering around the lights. When it connected, the ball shot forward, and I stumbled back, excitement washing over me. And surprise, because I still hadn’t figured out how to consistently swing with my eyes open.

Occasionally, the ball would set off toward the net, though more often it would arc skyward, like a shooting star.

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