“How did they fix it?”
“Simone doesn’t want to be my doubles partner. She loses our matches on purpose. She says it’s more important for me to lose than for her to win.”
Memories of the sweet, smart girl from across the street played through Amy’s mind. Simone had been Phoebe’s other half growing up: they’d set up lemonade stands, planned sleepovers, and choreographed dance routines, never a bitter word between them.
“That doesn’t sound like Simone.”
Phoebe glared at her mother.
“I can talk to Nicolette—”
“No.”
Amy lifted her chin. “Maybe you can play singles?”
Phoebe shook her head. “They wait for the coaches to move to another court, then call my shots out, even if the ball is in by a foot. They get inside my head and make it so I can’t win.”
Amy’s muscles tensed, a flame of rage igniting inside her. “You need to tell the coach.”
“Then I’m a snitch.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they do this to you?”
Phoebe shrugged again.
“Phoebe. Please, tell me. There must be a reason.”
Phoebe picked at her fingernail, the corners of her mouth twitching. “It started last spring when I missed Dawn’s surprise party. I was supposed to bring the cake, but you and Dad…” Phoebe’s voice trailed off. “I didn’t bring it. I didn’t even bother to show up.”
“Phoebe, I’m sorry.” A gulp of emotion expanded in Amy’s throat. She didn’t remember any birthday party for Dawn.
Phoebe placed her hands on the sides of her head and pushed her hair behind her ears. “After that, they started acting weird toward me. They told me I wasn’t fun to hang out with anymore. They stopped inviting me to things. McKenzie was always flirting with Ethan. It was so obvious.” Phoebe bit her lip and stopped talking.
Amy rubbed her palms across her jeans, not sure what to say. “Is that when you and Ethan broke up?”
Phoebe nodded. “Then I made a mistake.”
“What was it?” Amy held her breath.
“I started hanging around Brandon.”
“Isn’t he McKenzie’s boyfriend?” Amy asked, fear gripping her voice.
“Yeah. He was the only person who was nice to me. I made plans to meet him one night at the park. I just wanted McKenzie to know how it felt.”
Amy’s eyes stretched wide, her stomach flipping.
Phoebe fluttered her eyelids. “Relax, Mom. We only kissed, but it got back to McKenzie pretty fast. Brandon made sure to add in a bunch of details that never happened. That’s when things got bad.”
Amy closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she known about this last spring? Why hadn’t she been there to guide her daughter?
“Thankfully, school got out a few days later and I didn’t have to see their backstabbing faces for a while.”
Amy blinked. Simone lived directly across the street. Had Phoebe been actively avoiding her all summer? Amy crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them, wondering what kind of negligent mother would miss something so obvious. “Thank you for telling me all that.” She leaned forward, softening her voice. “The thing is, you’ve known these girls for a long time, especially Simone. It might be worth it to try and make amends.” Amy thought of the hurtful note hidden in her jewelry box, and it now seemed even more obvious Simone, Dawn, Grace, and McKenzie were behind it. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so keen on Phoebe reconciling with her former friends. Maybe it was because she remembered how happy Phoebe used to be with her bubbly clique, or maybe it was because the girls’ parents were good people, or maybe she just couldn’t bear the thought of any more failed relationships.
Phoebe slouched sideways. “No. It’s not worth it. They aren’t the kind of people I want to be friends with anyway.”
Amy edged closer. “Simone lives across the street, for God’s sake. You should talk to her, at least. Friendships are worth a second chance.”
Phoebe pulled her knees into her chest. “Just because we used to be friends doesn’t mean we always have to be friends. We’ll probably all go to different colleges in a couple of years. Nothing lasts forever.”
Amy’s shoulders slumped at her daughter’s gloomy outlook. She hoped this wasn’t the lesson Phoebe had learned from the divorce “You don’t just throw friendships away over a little tiff. These things usually blow over pretty quickly, especially if you take the lead and apologize. Just think about it.”
Phoebe’s lips pulled back.
Sensing she’d said too much, Amy rose from the bed, pulling off the nest of sheets as she stood. “Looks like these need a wash.” She leaned forward to kiss the top of Phoebe’s head before opening the shades and allowing the light to spill into the room.
As the sunlight washed over her, she vowed to be a better mom, more aware, and more proactive. She’d ask more questions and be a patient listener. Instead of getting bogged down in her own negative thoughts, she’d put her kids’ feelings first. Her position in the school office would help her stay close and keep an eye on things. She’d already lost her husband. She wouldn’t lose her kids, too. Someday, she might find herself just like her elderly mother, an invalid lying in a hopeless room in a chemical-smelling nursing home. Who would she have to take care of her then? Amy clutched the mess of sheets closer to her chest and shuddered. Every decision she made from now on would be to support her kids.
Sunday morning brought a thick layer of clouds and occasional pelting rain. Droplets rolled off Amy’s waterproof boots as she ducked beneath her hood and scurried through a curtain of mist away from her parking spot. Her favorite coffee shop sat just around the corner, where she planned to pick up some breakfast sandwiches for Ben and Phoebe. Through the haze, a wooden sign with a ball of yarn painted on it caught her eye. She unclenched her teeth, remembering the comfort knitting had once brought her. Her rain boots dragged to a stop in the middle of a puddle, causing a woman trailing a few steps behind to bump into her back and scowl as she passed on the sidewalk. Amy turned from her original path toward the cafe and rerouted herself, climbing the narrow stairway up to the second-story hole-in-the-wall shop. The scent of cotton and wool warmed her nose as she entered. She pulled back her hood, rows of brightly colored loops of yarn dancing in her eyes like a rainbow emerging after a storm.
A woman with cropped curls and ruddy cheeks raised her eyebrows at her new customer. “Can I help you find something?”
Amy hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed by the wide selection of needles. “I’m not sure exactly.” She shuffled sideways, taking in the floor-to-ceiling stacks of yarn. “I haven’t knitted in years, but I was thinking about starting a project. Something simple.”
The woman offered a knowing nod. A minute later, she produced a hat pattern from a drawer behind the counter, along with a pair of knitting needles, assuring Amy that even an inexperienced knitter could accomplish the stitching.
Amy thanked her and took her time browsing for the perfect colors, feeling the texture of each spool of hand-dyed, locally spun yarn, the quality reflected in the exorbitant pricing. At last, she selected a skein of fuchsia yarn, knowing it was a color Phoebe would like. She also laid coils of baby-blue and warm gray yarn on the counter, so she’d be prepared for future projects.