Chapter Seventeen
Liz and I got up early on Saturday and hurried to the tennis courts. Several boys were playing, but one court was vacant.
We ran onto the court and began batting the ball back and forth.
Liz lobbed the ball high, and I backpedaled, watching the ball arch over my head. My heel caught on the hem of my long skirt, and I stumbled, almost falling on my backside.
“I wish we could wear trousers,” Liz said, “like the boys.”
“Yes, that would be—”
Liz interrupted me. “Look who’s coming.” She pointed her racquet toward Hannibal House.
“Cadet Herbert Conway,” I whispered. “And he’s smiling.”
“And he has his racquet.”
We watched him for a moment.
“Cadet Conway,” Liz said, “get yourself over here. Your shunning is over, isn’t it?”
He nodded, still smiling.
I ran to give him
