Lost Along the Way by Erin Duffy Page A

break the lock on the gate of the school tennis courts. “Come on! This will make you feel better, Cara, I promise.”
    Jane hurried over to the electrical box located at the far end of the court and flicked a switch. The lights above the court blazed, forcing the three girls to shield their eyes for a minute while they adjusted from the darkness. She dropped the duffel bag on the court and removed a tennis racket. She promptly tossed it to Cara, yelling, “Catch!”
    Cara always used her athleticism as a way to relieve stress and tension in her life. Whenever she needed to clear her head she went running, or golfing, or skiing, or swimming, depending on the weather and the circumstance. Jane knew that in this case, nothing in the world would make Cara feel better than to blast tennis balls flying at her into oblivion. She’d be picturing Mark’s face with every swing. He should be very happy that Jane had the brilliant idea to break into the tennis courts so his scorned girlfriend could work off her rage. Otherwise he’d probably be sporting a broken nose or a black eye tomorrow with his cap and gown.
    â€œWe’re going to hit tennis balls? Seriously?” Cara asked as she crossed to the far side of the court.
    â€œNo. We aren’t hitting anything. I want you to hit tennis balls. Meg and I are just going to man this ball machine thing.” Jane ran to the corner and pulled out the ball machine. She plugged it into the small electrical socket and turned it on. She fished two dozen tennis balls out of the duffel bag and loaded them into the ball machine.
    â€œHow do you work this thing? I’ve never used one of these before in my life,” Meg said, biting her cuticles as usual.
    â€œThat’s because you’ve been too busy making muffins,” Cara replied, never missing the opportunity to jab her best friend for her love of home economics and her general apathy toward any and all athletic endeavors.
    â€œYou never mind eating the muffins!” Meg reminded her, still biting her cuticles.
    â€œThat’s true,” Jane said. “You make a mean chocolate chip muffin. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. Now, let’s focus and stop biting your nails. Cara, I think you need to work out some of your aggression toward Mark.”
    â€œDon’t even say his name to me. I hate him so much it hurts. I mean, do you believe this guy? He’s going to cheat on me with a sophomore? Seriously?”
    â€œGross,” Meg said. “He’s a pig.”
    â€I want to slash his tires or something.”
    â€œI believe you. That’s why you’re going to take your anger out on the tennis balls. It’ll feel great!”
    â€œYou think it’s that simple, huh?” Cara asked.
    â€œI think it’s a pretty good place to start. Pretend the ball is Mark. Tell him what you really think of him and then nail these tennis balls! Really hit them, Cara!”
    Cara laughed as she twirled the racket in her hand. “I’ve played on this court thousands of times, but for some reason it’s a lot more fun when we’re not allowed to be here!”
    â€œEverything is more fun when you’re not allowed to do it. Have I taught you nothing?”
    â€œSeriously, Jane, I will never understand how your brain works. You couldn’t come up with a better way to let her burn off some steam?” Meg asked, constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming to arrest them.
    â€œI had a lot of ideas, but I decided that breaking onto the tennis courts was the best one!” Jane answered with a shrug.
    â€œOh jeez,” Meg moaned.
    â€œOkay, ready? I’m going to let this one fly,” Jane said as she took her position behind the ball machine.
    â€œBring it!” Cara said, her knees bent, her back straight, and her racket poised squarely in front of her.
    â€œOkay, Cara, here it comes! Crack