“Stalling for time?” My father chuckled.
“Oh, so you’re eager for everyone to see that I’m better than you, Dad?”
Erin laughed at our banter. “Go on, Ame. Show him how good you are.”
The racquet became part of me. I fed off my father’s pace, returning each shot with a bullet of my own. Applause—louder than Erin’s family alone could have given. Campers and parents on the other courts stopped hitting. The strike of the ball. The movement of my feet. That’s all there was. On your toes, Amy. On your toes. Jody’s words in my mind kept me light, made me fly. “One of the strongest players in camp,” she had said. “A good bet to win the senior tournament.”
I slammed a backhand down the line. “Great shot!” My father clapped the strings of his racquet.
“Way to go!” Erin’s voice pulled me back into myself. I glanced behind to catch a smile stretch across her face, Charlie still in front of her, her parents to her left. My mother stood next to them now. She left just enough space between her and the Hollanders so no one would think they were together. And on my mother’s other side, Rory and Robin gabbed as if they belonged there. Not an inch between them and my mother.
I took in the crowd fanning out across the fence. No dogs. No barking. Charlie’s fine, I assured myself. Erin will protect him.
“Stalling for time again?” my father kidded.
Rory won’t hurt Charlie now, I decided, shaking off my fear of another attack. He looked so peaceful up against the fence, Erin’s hands gentle on his shoulders. Show Mom how good you’ve gotten, I told myself. Show her you’re special. Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard.
I whammed a forehand down the center, a backhand to the corner. Yet despite my shots, the audience thinned. Campers pulled their parents away until not one spectator remained to Erin and Charlie’s right.
I waited a moment to see if my mother would stay. Though she didn’t move from her position near the Hollanders, I knew she had no interest in watching me. My mother wouldn’t care that I was one of the best players in camp. What good was tennis if I wasn’t friendly enough or pretty enough or popular enough? Yet I wanted her to hear the “Great shot!” and “What a player!” I wanted her to know that some people thought I was good enough at something.
“What’s the matter? Tired already?” My father seemed to enjoy the spotlight we shared. He was proud of my playing. He had taught me well. Not bad for a father who never had time for his own game. Not bad for a man upstaged his whole life by his kid brother, Eddie Becker, the boy the girls came to watch, as my father had said. Uncle Ed, whose own daughter, with private tennis lessons and indoor winter practice, had to fight to keep up with me on the court.
I started a rally, but my focus scattered. The Hollanders still applauded, and my mother stood, straight as a pine tree, in her spot. But Rory and Robin were gone.
I should have left the court when I saw they weren’t there. Yet Charlie seemed fine. And I wanted my mother to see that tennis wasn’t a waste—not for me, anyhow. Focus. Concentrate. Make Mom see you’re special.
I tried again to shrink my universe to the ball spinning toward me. Racquet back. Step. Swing. A shot to my father’s backhand. I tracked the ball, heard the thump of his contact. Then Charlie screamed.
I spun around as a tan dog zoomed in from the right, claiming Charlie before Erin saw it coming. The cocker spaniel jumped and barked. It licked Charlie’s leg. I dropped my racquet and ran from the court. “Get him off!” I yelled to Erin. She grabbed the dog’s collar while my mother squeezed in front of Mr. and Mrs. Hollander. By the time I circled behind the fence, my mother held Charlie from the back, her arms binding his chest as if trying to hold his wails in. Long, howling cries—a huge sound from such a little boy. Louder than the barking, which hadn’t stopped, though Erin held the dog at a distance now.
I didn’t pay attention to the gathering of campers and parents as I lifted my brother. “It’s all right, buddy. I’ve got you.” My words did nothing to thaw his frozen body, nothing to stop his shrieks. “See, buddy, no more dog. You’re okay now.”
My father, who had raced on my heels, tried to help. “Calm down now, son. See?” He pointed to Erin. “The dog’s way over there. Erin’s holding him so he can’t get near you.”
“Sorry. I’m really, really sorry,” Erin called. “I got him off as fast as I could.”
“It’s not your fault,” I told her, knowing who was responsible. Surely Rory had masterminded the attack.
Something else I knew too: Charlie’s screams could go on for an hour. And with each new yell, with every “No!”—as if my brother still felt the dog on his leg—my anger doubled. Let Rory threaten me all she pleased, whip me all she wanted. But Charlie? She couldn’t hurt him and get away with it. I wouldn’t allow that.
“Does anyone know whose dog that is?” Uncle Ed marched across the field, Nancy beside him. “Who owns that dog?” He veered toward the rec hall, leaving Nancy to disperse campers and parents, still huddled around us. “Mr. and Mrs. Becker,” she said, “I’m so sorry about this.” I tried not to meet Nancy’s eyes, couldn’t risk crying. “I’m going to find out who that dog belongs to,” she went on, patting Charlie’s shoulder. I knew he didn’t feel her touch.
“Why don’t you find Rory and ask her whose dog it is?” Though I wasn’t angry with Nancy, I finally unmuzzled my rage.
“Amy!” my mother said.
“What? Rory did this, and she’s gonna pay.”
Charlie started to shake.
“Now look what you’ve done.” My mother reminded me this was my fault as much as Rory’s. If I hadn’t been showing off on the tennis court, maybe Rory wouldn’t have struck.
“Sonia, please, Sonia.” Then, as if Dad read my mind, he said, “None of this is Amy’s fault.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe Rory would have found a way to get Charlie no matter where I had been and what I had done. I turned to Nancy. “Rory and Robin can tell you whose dog they borrowed for this stunt, and where—”
“Amy!” My mother cut me off. “What in the world is wrong with you? What could Rory and your cousin have to do with that dog?”
I couldn’t stop myself. “What’s wrong with you, Mom? You think that dog just came out of nowhere?”
“Don’t use that tone on your mother, young lady.” My father made it clear I had gone too far.
“Amy, this isn’t getting us anywhere.” Nancy sounded annoyed, like when I hadn’t told her about Rory emptying my trunk. But now things were different. This time I wanted to tell—no, needed to tell—and no one would listen. “I think we’re upsetting your brother even more,” Nancy said. “So I’m going to go take care of this. I’ll be back.”
“Find Rory,” I called after her, issuing the order as if I were the one with a clipboard. “Ask her whose dog she borrowed.”
Charlie trembled in my arms as I spoke, though his crying weakened. “Get down now, son,” my father told him.
“No.”
“Come on, Charlie.” My father tried to coax him from me. “That dog can’t get you anymore.”
“No. No!” Charlie’s arms tightened around me as Uncle Ed approached. No wink, just a subtle shake of his head. And not a word to my mother as my uncle pulled my father behind the far court. I didn’t care anymore what he might say about me. All I wanted was for my mother to know the truth. All I wanted was for Rory to be punished.
I thought I heard laughter. I looked in the direction of the dog, Erin and her parents restraining it, the spaniel nothing but a playful pup. And skipping toward it, Rory, Robin, and Susie Barr, one of Robin’s bunkmates. “Well, there you are, Tiger,” Susie sang out. “We thought we’d lost you.”