The Underdogs by Sara Hammel Page A

come rushing back to St. Claire and move them into a house with a white picket fence and start taking her to dance classes, oboe lessons, or what have you, but a phone call now and then wouldn’t have hurt.
    Evie checked herself in the mirror one last time, sighed, and then we headed out to the lobby. We ran smack into the tennis people sitting around the elites’ table waiting for Lucky, who’d be driving them to the movies in the club’s beat-up old white utility van. They were all freshly washed and could’ve posed for a J.Crew catalog. Nicholas appeared and walked up to the table in vintage Levi’s.
    â€œWhere’s your sister?” Patrick asked him. I noticed that in the face of a six-foot-one protective older brother, Patrick acted like he was inquiring about a library book, not like he was flirt of the year.
    Still, Nicholas bristled. “She’s not here,” he said testily. Patrick put his hands up defensively. Mr. Perfect, Nicholas Harper, was not in a good mood. It was rare, I had to admit, but he had his moments, like anyone else. He took a seat and there was a tense silence. Perhaps that was the moment more people started to get it. Because here’s the thing: Who else was missing? That’s right: Goran Vanek.
    Celia noticed us then and beckoned us over. “Hey girls, come on over here.”
    I smiled and went over to her. She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Where were you all day? Your mom asked me to keep an eye on you, but you were running all over the place.”
    Patrick leaned over and said to Evie, “Sorry about tonight. I’m afraid you’re a little too young for this one.”
    Evie shook her head. “No. Jump Town ’s only rated PG. I checked.”
    â€œThis is true,” Patrick admitted. “But we’re seeing Die, Die, Die . It’s an R.”
    Lisa, sitting as close to Patrick as she could get, said to Evie condescendingly, “It’s way too old for you. You can stay here with Beth and Chelsea.”
    Ouch . Evie would be so hurt to be left out—again. But at least now we could hang together tonight until Lucky got back from the movies. I wasn’t invited, of course, because they’d never let me in to see Die, Die, Die . Celia was hugging me a little too hard, so I pulled away. She was checking Evie out with concern. She was one of the few people who treated my friend like a normal person, and she happened to be a legend around here. Nine out of ten tennis experts agreed: Celia Emerson could have been the next Martina Hingis. Celia was classically pretty, delicately slender, and moved like silk on the tennis court. But to the extreme consternation of her coaches, her ambition had never matched her talent. They’d winced when she talked about applying to Princeton next year instead of going pro—without so much as a blink. Now, not everyone loved Celia. She had no time for fake people, the type who happened to be drawn to her. Some believed she was a colossal snob; I would say she had a silence about her, and when you wrapped that in a package as attractive as Celia’s, you were going to get misunderstandings. I always thought that was one reason she and Annabel had become friends.
    Celia put her arm around my friend’s shoulder. “Come with me.”
    I went along because I wanted to know what the deal was. We followed Celia, who was now locking eyes with my mom as she approached the front desk. Celia gave her one of those knowing looks grownups are always exchanging, and tilted her head subtly in Evie’s direction. Mom seemed to get it right away. Her face went from confused to— bam —wide-eyed, and then she grimaced.
    Celia brought Evie back behind the desk. “Doesn’t she look nice all dressed up?” she said to my mom.
    â€œAbsolutely,” my mom said, nodding energetically.
    Evie looked to me for help, as if I’d know what the heck was