Chapter 4
IT WAS OFFICIALLY THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER, AND RORY AND I had been spending almost every day together.
It would have been unusual if a day had gone by at Juniper and the regular junior golfers weren’t all there.
When it was sunny, we were golfing. When it was raining, we were in the clubhouse eating, playing games, or watching movies in the small games room.
Rory and I would fight over which movie to watch, and our squabbles had become so common that we were often overruled.
Whenever Rory looked at me and asked, “Do you wanna watch a movie?” I would look back at him and scowl, knowing he would never agree to my movie choice no matter what I suggested. Those spirited debates lit me on fire.
I was looking in the woods for my lost ball, which happened to be the very last ball in my bag.
There was a coyote den between the sixteenth and seventeenth holes, so Rory left his ball, perfectly placed in the center of the sixteenth fairway, and came to help me look for mine.
His brother Blair and the club’s newest junior, Jacob Griffin, were already ahead of us, making their way to their own balls.
Everyone was smack dab in the center of the fairway, and I was hacking at the brush, sidestepping tree roots, and making shrill ca-caw sounds to ward off hungry wild animals looking for a feast. Rory chuckled when my last ca-caw caught in my throat and turned into a cough.
Rory never made me feel bad for hitting a terrible shot. It was probably because it happened so frequently in front of him. Aside from the driving range debacle two years earlier, I’d had one other horrifying display of terrible golf that I was certain would be etched into my tombstone.
I had signed up for the Women’s Long Drive competition at the beginning of the summer after my dad and Rory spent two weeks convincing me that I would place.
I had no hope in the junior category when people like Rory, his brother Blair, and another junior named Caleb Davis, the rich kid, were competing.
But when it came to the ladies, I was okay.
I constantly had older men at the driving range commenting to my dad (never to me) about how impressive my swing was.
I had five chances. I just had to hit it far and within bounds.
Rory volunteered to be the person who’d stake where my ball landed.
About a hundred people showed up to watch the competition, including my mom.
My sister and my best friend, Kara, Jacob’s sister, were sitting on top of golf carts with some other juniors, lining the rough.
Competitors gathered around the first tee.
I had auditioned for a bunch of commercials, was a body double for a lead in a made-for-TV movie, and had been the lead in two school plays, but the Long Drive competition felt like I was in a pressure cooker. I had the nervous poops for thirty minutes before they called my name.
“Let’s go, Cainey!” Cameron Campbell shouted as he climbed onto the hood of Kara’s golf cart.
The Campbell brothers had started calling me Cainey, sometimes Cains, two years earlier, after I trounced them in a hot-dog-eating contest. Only my sister knew how violently ill I was after that exhibition of competitive assholery.
“Come on, Hollywood!” Orson Whitlock, another junior, the same age as me, called out—yet another nickname he started after learning that I liked to act. I turned around to smile at Orson. He was standing behind me with Blair, Jacob, and Caleb. They were ready to compete.
Rory jogged up to me at the tee box, his brownish curly hair swooped along the sides of his black Titleist hat, which he had flipped backward. His dark-brown eyes sparkled with excitement, and his dimple dipped into his cheek. He handed me five balls.
“You got this, Ellie.” Rory said my name. He never said my real name. My throat closed. He tossed me a wink and ran down the fairway to capture my drives.
Rory Campbell called me Ellie. Rory Campbell only calls me Cainey. Why was Rory Campbell calling me Ellie, and why did he wink? A wink? He really did wink, right? Did I imagine that?
DUFF. DUFF. DUFF. DUFF. And DUFF.
I didn’t hit any of my balls. I hit the ground behind them, taking chunks out of the grass every time.
All five balls rolled into the hedge at the front of the first tee box.
Rory didn’t see a single shot and only knew my turn was over once another player was called.
I came in last place—thirty-fifth, to be exact.
I went and picked up one of my five duffed balls and put it in my pocket to bring it home with me.
I wouldn’t be able to tape it to a diary, but I was certainly going to keep it, to remind myself that I was a piece of shit.
“The plan is the theater program at UCLA. I’m gonna get a yellow Jeep.
I’ll wear a bright-blue Dodgers hat, like, every day.
” I swung my club in the tall grass next to the sand trap, looking for my lost ball.
“I’ll marry a celebrity, and every time I come back, I’ll have to get my dad to remind me what your name is because I won’t be able to keep all the normies straight. You’ll understand,” I teased.
“Oh, will I?” Rory took his trusty black hat off to readjust. The sporadic sunlight caught in his auburn streaks, making him look like the quintessential teenage heartthrob.
“That’s the plan.”
“Which celebrity are you marrying?” Rory played along with my game and trudged farther into the weeds to look for my ball.
“Elijah Wood,” I answered with absolute certainty.
“Is that the hobbit?” Rory smirked.
“Yes. And?” I popped my foot out and leaned on my club.
Watching Rory laugh always sent a shock wave through my system. I could see his dimple form, his eyes blaze. He would run his fingers through his curly hair or adjust his hat mid-laugh, and I would think, “That was because of me.”
The sky rumbled overhead.
“Alright, three questions each. Go.” I checked behind a random tree along the rough.
“Hmm . . .” Rory swung his club through the thick grass, smacking a log. “What’s your favorite movie? And what’s your favorite song?”
“Scream, and . . .” I had to think carefully about what to say for the song.
Something older, and mature, maybe? Something unexpected and maybe even a little abstract or unpopular.
The perfect answer would make me sound like I was cool, unique, and an interesting conversationalist with lots of provocative and sexy thoughts.
“Maybe . . . anything by . . . I don’t know, the Beatles? ”
“The Beatles? You hang out with your friends listening to the Beatles? I think you’ve been spending a little bit too much time with your dad. I don’t know your grandparents, but I’m guessing them, too.” His smile twitched, teasing me.
Goddamn it.
Instead of embarrassing me further, he dropped his gaze and then dropped a grenade. “I have some music that reminds me of you, you know.”
“You do?!” I said, louder than I meant to, scaring away a flock of birds. “What music?” I heard my voice go up an octave and told myself to chill out.
He shook his head and doubled back, checking to see if my ball was nestled by a rake in the sand trap. “Nope. I still have one more question.”
“What is it?”
Rory kept his back to me as he asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
My heart pounded through the top of my head. There may have been ringing in my ears. I may have been levitating. “Um.” I choked over my spit, then cleared my throat. So far, I was nailing this. “No. No boyfriend.”
Rory turned back to me, unfazed and unbothered. “Alright, your turn.”
I took a deep breath. “Um, okay . . . What’s your favorite movie? Do you have a girlfriend? And what song makes you think of me?” I think I died.
I could see Rory holding back his smile as he pressed his lips together. “Favorite movie will always be Terminator 2. No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He flicked his eyes up to me very briefly and then flipped his hat around. “And the song ‘November Rain.’ You know it?”
“No.” But you better believe I was going to listen to that song on repeat every day for the rest of my life. Rory’s eyes hooked on to mine, and we both released small, shy smiles.
“Hurry up, ya freakin’ turtles!” Jacob bellowed from a hundred yards ahead of us, jolting us back to Earth. I looked up to the dark clouds that had seemingly come out of nowhere.
“It’s going to rain. It’s super warm, too. I bet there’s a storm.” Things were looking ominous. “Do I just forget the ball and walk?” I looked at Rory and knew he could see humiliation dripping from me. I slammed my club into the inside of my foot, mortified.
“No, don’t be stupid. I’ll give you a ball.”
“This is so embarrassing.” I threw my face into my hands and sighed. “Why do I keep embarrassing myself in front of you?”
“Why would that matter?”
“What do you mean?” I straightened. My organs all contracted at the exact same time.
“Embarrassing yourself in front of me. Why would that matter?”
“I don’t know.” I diverted my attention back to the forest. “Just does, I guess.”
“But you’re so good at it.” Rory’s smile tightened.
“Whatever.” I kept my eyes locked on the deep, deep woods and frowned. “Jacob’s wrong. I’m not a turtle.”
“I know you’re not,” Rory declared as he dug into his pocket to give me his spare ball. “You’re a bird.” He tossed it on the ground, flipped his hat around again so it was forward-facing, then nodded toward the ball that lay neatly in the grass. “Hit the ball,” he insisted.
“I’m a bird?” I asked, and he nodded. “What kind of bird do you think I am?”
I took a reluctant swing, and in the exact moment I connected with the ball, he said, “Maybe an ostrich?”
SHANK!
The ball flew ninety degrees in front of me, and right in Rory’s direction. Rory screamed as he dropped to the ground, ducking out of the way. The ball rocketed into the forest.
“Shut it, children! We’re on a golf course!” It was Blair shouting this time.