Chapter 11
A mistake was made. A colossal, all-encompassing mistake. I’m the ONLY girl taking golf. To make it worse, not only is Ben in the class, he’s the teacher’s assistant. I’ve spent the last hour missing every single ball I have tried to hit, then having one of the boys in the class offer to correct my form, to which Ben quickly responds by shooing them away. He has now separated us from the rest of the class and is working with me one-on-one. “Yippee”. Can you detect the sarcasm? Thankfully, he hasn’t offered to correct my form. Still, he is becoming visibly frustrated with my lack of progress. I’m going to flunk out of private school because I can’t hit a damn ball.
“Okay, adjust the placement of your hands. Make sure that your thumb presses down right there.” Ben verbally adjusts my feet and my hands for the thousandth time, and I still can’t make contact with anything other than grass.
“This is pointless. I’m never going to get it, and I’m probably going to have to add a work-study to pay to replace all the grass I’ve ruined.” My shoulders slump in defeat, feeling just as frustrated as Ben.
“Watch me one more time.” It didn’t help the first five times, and I doubt it will help now. But I watch as Ben takes his stance. He sets his feet, explains his hand placement, lines up his driver with the ball, and swings back. The ball soars through the air and hits the net at the end of the driving range. He smoothly turns to me, “Your turn.” Like it’s that easy.
“Ben, I’ll never be able to do that.” All my confidence is lost. I should’ve signed up for fencing. At least then I would have a sword.
Ben scrubs his hand over his face and then sighs. “Okay, listen. We can try something new, but I don’t know if you will be comfortable with it.”
“Ben.” I shake my head, knowing exactly what he means, and he is right. I’m not comfortable with it AT ALL. However, the idea of failing wins out. “Ugh, fine.”
“I promise, it really is so you can get the feeling of the correct motion, and not feel... anything, um, else.” Apparently, he’s the one who is uncomfortable. It’s actually kind of cute. Dang it, Amelia, no.
“It’s fine, desperate times and all of that.” I move back to the tee and set my ball up, thankful that I was allowed to trade out my normal uniform skirt with an athletic skort today. Once my ball is set, Ben steps up behind me.
“Ready?” His voice shakes a little as he asks.
“Yeah,” but not really. How the hell does he smell this good after being out in the sun all morning? I’m immediately self-conscious about how I smell or that he will be able to feel the sweat on my back. Curse the Georgia heat. Ben steps forward and wraps his arm around me, placing his hands on top of mine. I try to focus only on the way he adjusts my hands, but then he uses his foot to knock one of my feet to widen my stance.
“You have your feet too close together. You have to widen your stance a bit to get more power behind your swing.”
“Mm-hm,” is all I can manage. Then he glides our arms back, and the feel of his hands on top of mine tingles. He slowly glides our arms back and forth, the movement far smoother than what I managed on my own, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the way he feels pressed against me. I hear him mumble some instructions, but I can’t focus on his words. The next thing I know, there is more power to his movements, and our arms come back and swing down. The sound of the driver hitting the ball pops, and I watch as the ball connects with the net. I did it. Kind of.
“Feel the difference.” I’m reminded of Ben behind me. He still hasn’t released me. A shout from down the range causes him to let go. “What, you can teach her but not us?” One of the boys, whose name I don’t know, yells. Then I hear something like “Classic Ben” come from his mouth. The group of boys he’s with laugh. The comment grounds me and another red flag waves across my mind.
“Thanks, I got it now.” My comment is terse, and Ben scowls in the direction of the boy. I reset the ball and then line my feet up, remembering to take a wider stance and blushing a little at the memory of Ben knocking my feet apart. I take a deep breath, swing back, and to my surprise, I actually hit the ball. It doesn’t go as far as when Ben helped me, but I hit it.
Pride swells when I hear Ben shout “That’s my girl!” He picks me up and spins me around. I’m so elated and don’t even mind. It isn’t until he sets me back on the ground that the moment registers, and my cheeks flush again. I back away and smile shyly.
“Thanks,” is all I can manage.
I spend the last bit of class hitting the ball almost every time and trying to ignore how giddy I felt in Ben”s arms or hearing him call me ”his girl.” Sarah Mae’s words plague my thoughts. There’s no denying he is attractive. Objectively, people date in high school all the time, and it never becomes a distraction. Part of the issue with Tyler was that he couldn’t imagine life outside of the small town. Ben is already out of that environment. However, there was another big problem with Tyler that I am almost positive would be a problem in any relationship. I doubt this much thought ever goes into buying a pair of shoes.