Chapter 2
THE FIRST TIME I SAW RORY CAMPBELL, I HAD WHAT MANY PEOPLE horrifyingly refer to as “buds”—rubbery, disc-shaped nipples that popped out of my twelve-year-old chest like a dropped soda can that failed to explode on impact.
What was supposed to be my second day wearing a training bra became the chilly November day I spent walking around Juniper Golf Club having forgotten my jacket and holding my youth-size golf bag over my front to save the embarrassment of my sudden nips poking out like two mismatched pushpins.
My dad took me to Juniper’s two-storied, covered driving range for the first time, and it was so much fancier than all the other ranges my sister and I had been going to since I was six.
A range picker plowed through an enormous field littered with white, yellow, and the occasional orange balls.
The first level had about twenty or so stalls with wooden dividers separating each person, and the entire range was enclosed by mile-high Douglas firs and Japanese maples lining hidden fences and nets.
It started to rain. I breathed in deeply and could feel my body cleanse.
I tucked away the scent of sap mixed with damp grass into my memory bank.
In the not-too-distant background, there was a churning rumble of balls from the ball dispenser and a popping sound as balls dropped from the machine into the bucket.
This was followed by the click-clacking of golf spikes making their way down the path toward the range.
My dad was in the stall behind me, hitting balls while simultaneously chirping away about my foot placement, my grip, my distribution of weight, you name it.
Every now and then, I would swing and really smack the ball a good distance, but my aim was always horrendous.
I wasn’t consistent in the slightest, but when magic struck, I could really hit the crap out of a golf ball.
I was competitive and determined, and that determination rocketed through most aspects of my life, including my swing.
THWACK!
“That’s it, Ellie! What are you hitting?” my dad asked.
The sound of spikes on the cement softened as footsteps grew closer. Clearly, the golfers closing in didn’t want to distract us.
“Is that a six iron?” my dad prodded.
I picked up the club, flipped it around to have another look, though I already knew the answer. “Nine iron,” I said casually, feigning modesty.
My dad’s eyes brightened. He nodded. That was all he was going to give, but it was enough for me to puff out my braless chest.
“Not bad, right, boys?” My dad turned to the golfers who were slowly walking toward us.
“Not bad.” A boy’s voice cracked from behind me.
Three teenage boys had golf bags slung over their shoulders, their clubs cracking together as they walked.
The spikes at the bottom of their shoes clattered like a chorus over the rain.
Not many people wore spikes at the club, as they were becoming outdated and even banned on some courses, but these guys still did.
The two oldest boys confidently strode up to my dad and me, while the youngest trailed behind.
“Hi, Dr. McCain.” The oldest boy’s wobbly voice broke through his wide smile.
The youngest looked directly at me, and I had to look away, as if I had caught myself accidentally staring at an eclipse.
He had coffee-colored eyes and unruly brown hair with streaks of auburn hidden beneath his wild, wet curls.
His nose and cheeks were delicately freckled, as if they had been painted on by hand.
When I gathered the courage to look at him again, it felt like I knew him.
It was like he had already been in my life, circling the outside, knocking on my door as steadfast as my heartbeat, and when we actually looked at each other for the very first time, the quiet knocking stopped.
I felt so deeply exposed in my white Costco polo.
White shirt, no jacket, forgotten training bra, Dad, cute boy, buds. For the love of God, someone kill me.
Hopefully the boys couldn’t hear me curse my boobs and my lack of foresight to cover them the hell up.
“You boys playing in the rain today?” My dad pulled out his enormous driver in its protective sleeve.
I was incredibly thrilled when he didn’t forget to grab my dinky three wood, hidden beneath a stuffed orange tiger sleeve.
“Try this one now, Ellie-Bee,” my dad insisted, handing me my club and throwing the tiger over the top of my bag.
Nooooooo! Not the tiger stuffy!
The oldest boy flicked his eyes over to me briefly before answering my dad. “We’re just out to hit some balls.”
After hitting a shot straight down the center of the range, my dad decided it was time to introduce us. “Ellie, these are the Campbell boys. Blair, Cameron, and Rory.”
I looked over, and all three boys stood wearing rain jackets and khakis, looking back at me as if I were an alien.
Blair, the oldest at fifteen, had chestnut-brown hair that swooped and brown eyes with long lashes.
He had noodle-like arms and legs, and you could tell in an instant that he was the flirt, with a smile that overtook his entire face.
Cameron, the middle brother at thirteen, was lanky, like Blair, and had short, blondish-brown hair and gray-blue eyes.
He was looking at me like he wasn’t sure about me, with a slightly confused frown.
Rory, the youngest, was twelve like me, and pretending not to look at me at all through his curly tresses.
“Wanna go again, Ellie? Show ’em the goods?” my dad asked, breaking my hypnosis and absolutely demolishing my vibe. I couldn’t bear the idea of my father saying “Show ’em the goods,” and yet here we were.
“Nope. Not at all.” I shook my head like it was on a swivel and then bent down to put a ball on the rubber tee.
“Alright, well. Let us know if you need any tips on your swing, Dr. McCain,” Blair teased.
My dad chuckled, flicking the driver in his wrists. “Didn’t you need to borrow one of my balls the last time you played because of all the ones you lost over the summer? Oh, and speaking of balls, have yours dropped yet?” My dad’s grin lit him up like a firecracker.
Blair and Cameron doubled over with laughter, while Rory blushed. His lips twitched at the edges, and a hidden dimple appeared. I can only imagine what my face looked like when my dad dropped the testicle bomb. I diverted Rory’s quick glance like I was under attack on the battlefield.
“Make sure you don’t accidentally hit your old-man danglers instead of the ball, Dr. McCain,” Cameron shot back like a devil.
“Cameron Campbell!” My dad let out a belly laugh that rumbled through the tall evergreens.
“Them’s fightin’ words.” It was clear my dad already loved these boys, whom I had never met before, and the feeling was mutual.
He turned to me. “Stay away from these boys, Ellie, or you’ll be forever branded a traitor in our family. Got it?”
I looked over at Rory once more, and his dimple deepened. Everything inside me dropped to the pit of my stomach at the sight of his shy, downturned smile. My heart thunked. Just . . . thunk.
“Got it,” I said quietly. I brought my attention back to my mat as the boys finally made their way past us. I kept my head down but slowly raised my eyes.
Blair had ducked into an opening three stalls away, Cameron was beside him, and Rory placed his bag on the stand directly in front of mine in the next stall.
He was left-handed. I was right-handed. He was facing me, and I was facing him, while we were about to hit balls in total and complete silence with nothing but a waist-high green wooden divider between us.
Settle down, Ellie. Just breathe. Hit the ball. He’ll sneak a peek, and there’s nothing you can do about it, so calm down and swing. Calm down and swing. Calm down, Ellie. CALM DOWN!
I took a deep breath, swung my three wood back, and—
SMACK!
I shanked it. I shanked it so badly that the ball didn’t fly out into the grass, it flew ninety degrees from where it was supposed to and directly in front of me, hitting the wooden divider that separated me from Rory.
Oh. My. God.
A woman at the end of the line cried out when the smack heard round the world rattled the tree line. I knew I was fire engine red, but when my dad chimed in with “You gotta hit the ball that way, honey,” and pointed out toward the range with his club, I thought I would combust.
I looked up to see Rory, looking down, holding back a smile as he dumped his bucket of balls into the tray in front of him. Blair and Cameron were both right-handed, so I could only see the backs of them, but their shoulders were shaking while they tried to suppress their laughter.
I placed another ball on the tee.
Back on the horse. It’s out of my system. Trade the bad for the good. Calm down. Calm down, Ellie. Calm down and swing. Calm down and—
SMACK!
Well, I did it again. The lady yelped a little louder.
My eyes shot up to Rory, who had just hit a ball and had squared his body to the range.
His eyes were wide. He pretended not to have seen or heard what happened.
His club was over his shoulders . . . which were .
. . shaking. Rory held back a smile so tight that it looked like he might strain something.
Awesome. Super awesome.
“Ellie, be careful,” my dad said in a not-so-whispery whisper. “Rory’s right in front of you. Six inches higher and you’ve killed the kid.”
I could hear Cameron start to wheeze. I looked all the way over to Blair, and he was the only one looking back at me, shaking his head with a playful smirk.
Here we go again. I placed another ball onto the tee. I have to hit at least one solid, mind-blowing shot, or I, 100 percent, will die. Let’s do this. No more messing around. Here we go.
WHIFF!
Not only did I miss the ball entirely, but my club slipped out of my hand, and I accidentally threw it into the rain. My whole body spun wildly with my momentum, and the wind delicately knocked the ball off the tee.
“That’s one,” my dad joked as if those two inches were my intended shot.
“Isn’t the ball supposed to go farther than the club?” an elderly man grumbled with a condescending chuckle as he walked past us, his empty bucket in hand.
I could hear the boys laughing now. I looked up.
Blair and Cameron had fully spun around to enjoy the show.
Rory was standing, holding his club in front of him and leaning it against his shoulder.
He was looking directly at me with a tight-lipped smile, staring straight into my soul.
His dark-brown eyes sparkled as brightly as a Christmas tree.
My insides shriveled as I stepped out into the grass to retrieve my club. The rain was dumping on me, and everyone at the range had to stop what they were doing so as not to hit me with their flying balls.
So this is how I die. This will be on the news, no doubt. “Ellie McCain, twelve, died in the rain on the fourth of November from embarrassment at Juniper Golf Club.”
I couldn’t lift my head or connect with the ten or so sets of eyeballs that lit me on fire as I made my way back to my stall. I set my jaw, picked up my whiffed ball, and popped it back onto the tee. I was stubborn and furious and swung for dear life.
SMACK!
This time, I shanked it so hard that the ball left a dent in the barrier between me and Rory.
“Ellie!” My dad couldn’t control his shout.
The woman screamed. Blair threw his body forward in hysterics, clutching his belly.
Cameron cackled, “Oh my god! It’s like a magic trick!
” And Rory tossed his head backward from laughing so hard.
He threw his free hand over his eyes, which were squeezed shut.
I stopped and held my club to my chest with crossed arms. I waited for the laughter to subside. Rory pulled at his sleeve and wiped away his tears, his smile taking over his entire face, building up his cheeks, and pouring out of his eyes.
Once he, Cameron, and Blair finally settled, Rory and I locked eyes.
“You done?” I attempted to conceal my mortification.
“I don’t know. Are you?” Rory quipped back. We held each other’s stare for a moment longer than I was prepared for, and my heart rate quickened.
“How about this,” my dad interrupted. “How about once you boys are all finished up here, you come and have some hot dogs with Ellie and me in the clubhouse? Her sister, Hannah, will be up there, too. It’ll be fun!”
Blair responded with an enthusiastic “That would be great! Thank you, Dr. McCain!”
Rory looked down. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from breaking into another full-blown, face-morphing smile, but it wasn’t working.
Once everyone resumed positions, I heard Rory whisper, “You’re funny.
” He pulled a ball out with the head of his iron, then took a smooth swing, cracking the ball perfectly down the middle.
“Anyway, we saw that other shot when you didn’t know we were watching.
” His eyes flicked up to meet mine, which dropped like boulders.
I looked down at my last ball, took a deep breath, squared my body, and swung.
THWACK!
My attention darted to Rory. He was watching my ball arc through the air.
Once my ball hit the ground, he glanced back over at me and smiled.
Impressing Rory somehow suddenly meant so much more than impressing anyone else ever.
I would never be the same. He quickly looked over the barrier between us at my empty bucket.
“You’re already finished?” Rory asked quietly.
I nodded, taking longer than necessary to put my club back in my bag. “You gonna come up and have a hot dog with us later?” I asked nonchalantly, simulating confidence.
“Yeah.” He dug into his tray for another ball. “You gonna come back tomorrow?” He avoided eye contact.
I looked back at my dad, who had grown increasingly quiet. The swell of his smile was unmistakable—he was eavesdropping as he packed up.
I turned back to Rory. “Yeah, I think so.”
Rory took a deep breath, as if he had been holding it.
He kept his eyes down and nodded. “Good, you need the practice.” He smacked another perfect shot.
I saw Blair and Cameron sneak glances at each other, also eavesdropping.
Once Blair saw me notice him, he tucked his head back down and took another swing.