Tuesday, May 10th, Morning: Olivia

Six a.m. comes early. When my phone’s alarm goes off, there is arumble of moans and groans from the other side of the bed.

“Turn it off,” Sophie says. “Make it stop.” Just enough light filters into the room for me to see Sophie burrow down in the bed and drag a pillow over her head.

“Sorry,” I whisper, and tiptoe to the bathroom. Thankfully, I had my shower last night so this morning is just throwing my hair up and brushing my teeth. I pull on the pair of shorts I found in Mom’s dresser and a tee with my school logo. From the pics I saw last night, it looks like all the girls wear tennis skirts, but Coach said to come in khaki shorts, so yay for team spirit. Even though they aren’t there as a school team. Whatever.

“Sophie,” I whisper. “I’m about to go, but I need to switch phones with you.”

She makes a grunting sound. Then says, “It’s charging on the desk. Leave yours there.”

Phone swap complete, I make a cup of coffee to go and grab a granola bar for the ride to Ellerbe Hills.

I spend the drive imagining what my job will be. Maybe I’ll keep the scores for players? Or I’ll be taking pics and posting them to their social media? That would be cool.

Not going to lie, I’m a little smug when I pull back up to the guard station. It’s the same guy who wouldn’t let me through yesterday.

He steps up to my window and gives me that same look. “Can I help you?”

“Yes! I’m meeting Coach Cantu here. I’m his assistant.”

“Name?”

“Olivia Perkins.”

He runs his finger down the page and stops when he gets to my name.

“ID?”

Really? Who else would try to sneak in here to work?

I hand over my ID and he holds it up to a small camera on the wall of the guard station.

“Olivia Perkins. Here with John Cantu.”

He hands it back, then pushes a button just inside the small building and the gate across the driveway swings open.

I feel victorious.

The driveway winds through a wooded area, then opens onto the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. It’s breathtaking, honestly. And then the clubhouse comes into view. Majestic is the best word I can come up with. The main building is two stories of red brick with wraparound porches and floor-to-ceiling windows. Crape myrtles and big ferns and rosebushes fill the flower beds, and there’s a fountain front and center. All this to hit a small white ball into an equally small hole.

Coach Cantu is waiting for me on the sidewalk, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

I give him a small wave, but he looks down at his watch and I check Sophie’s phone. It’s 7:36.

“Sorry. Won’t happen again,” I say. Will he add these six minutes to the time I owe?

“Let’s get moving. We need to get everything set up.”

I follow him toward the clubhouse. “When do the players come?”

“Today is a practice day. Not every player will come out today, only the ones who want a full practice to mirror their first day’s play tomorrow. They’ll go through the course on the same schedule so there’s nothing left to the imagination when it really counts. For the out-of-towners, it’s important to run it all through at least once before the tournament begins. Especially a new course like this since most of these kids haven’t ever played here before.”

“So, you’re not here as a coach, then? Will it be weird?”

“I’m here for the club. But my players know they can ask me anything,” he says.

“Do you think there will be a lot of players practicing today?” I ask.

“If they want any chance of winning this thing, they’ll show up.”

Well, okay then.

Coach Cantu opens a door on the backside of the building, and I’m staring at huge metal bins full of golf balls, a tall stack of green trays, and a few pyramid-shape basket-looking things.

“Each spot at the range needs practice balls. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Coach grabs a regular bucket and fills it up with golf balls, setting it outside the door on a grassy area. Then he picks up one of the green square trays, putting it on the ground next to the bucket. He goes back inside the room once more and picks up the oddly pyramid-shape metal thingy. He sets it right on top of the green tray and it snaps into place. Then he pours balls from the bucket into the opening on top. Once it’s full, he very gently lifts the metal part off the tray, leaving behind a perfectly shaped pyramid of golf balls.

“Whoa,” I say. “That’s cool.”

Coach points toward the range. “There are twenty-five spots on the range for players to warm up. Each spot needs balls stacked exactly like this. Once a golfer finishes his warm-up, you’ll stack a new pyramid of balls for the next player.”

I’m nodding along as if these instructions make total sense. And then he’s gone, walking toward the front of the giant clubhouse.

So I guess I’m not here to take pics for their social media.

It’s logical to take the supplies to each spot before trying to make the pyramid because there’s no way to move it without everything collapsing, but I didn’t take into account how heavy a bucket of golf balls is. So now I’m sweating. Profusely. I get everything situated next to the first space, ready to lift the metal mold off. But then it snags on the side of the pyramid and balls scatter in every direction. I try to build it back up by hand but that’s an even bigger disaster. So I start over. Three tries until I get my first perfect pyramid.

And then I look down the line. Twenty-four more spots to go.

By the time I’ve finished my fifth pyramid, Lily shows up. She hands me a collared short-sleeve shirt that matches the one Coach is wearing and a badge with my name on it.

“Thanks,” I say.

“No problem. That badge will allow you into any area.” She starts to turn away but then adds with a laugh, “You’ll make all the parents jealous.”

I laugh, too, even though I don’t get the joke.

Lily gets busy marking names on little chalkboards of players who have reserved a spot on the driving range while I continue to make ball pyramids. I will dream about this shape. Everything I look at morphs into it.

Players start arriving before I can finish, so now there’s a line waiting for the few remaining spots.

There’s a girl in a white tennis skirt and she’s tapping—TAPPING—her foot at me. “We were told the practice range would be ready when we got here,” she says.

I look up at her, sweat running down my face, and blow a loose chunk of hair out of my eye. She scrunches up her nose at me.

I want to put a hex on her pyramid.

Lily finally sees my predicament and we knock out the last three spots together.

Coach Cantu walks up just as we move out of the way and a player steps up into the space. “We can’t have this happen tomorrow. It will throw everyone off.”

“Yes, Coach,” I mumble. “What should I do now?”

Coach motions to a small area near a bench. “Wait back here silently while they warm up. Once a player is done, refill the balls for that spot. If anyone needs anything…water, towel, tees, batteries…they will let you know. Inside the clubhouse is the pro shop. They can either give you money for what they need or they can charge it to their account if they have one. Most of the clubs in the state are in the same network, so they can charge it to their home club.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

He’s about to walk away but stops and adds, “I gave my players from your school your number in case they need me but can’t find me.”

Oh, God. I’ll have to tell Sophie so she can relay any messages to me. And I want to scream at him Maybe carry a phone!

I move away from the line of golfers so I’m not distracting but not too far. Looking down at the shirt Lily brought me, I really need to change but am afraid to leave my post, so I throw on the collared shirt over the tee I’m wearing, using it as a cover to wiggle out of the tee while trying to keep the shirt down and not expose myself to everyone. I must look completely ridiculous.

I ball my tee up and drop it next to my bag. I’ve only had the new shirt on for a few seconds but it’s already getting a little sweaty.

God, this heat sucks.

Trying to take my mind off how miserable I am, I concentrate on the players. It doesn’t take long to realize that not all of them hit the ball the same way. Some have a funny little ritual. The players from my school arrived a few minutes ago, so I pay particular attention to them. Along with Chloe, Tanika, and Em Beth, Lily told me Locke, David Pham, and Cal Rivers will play in this tournament as well.

Chloe uses her club to drag a ball off the little pyramid, careful not to let the whole structure fall apart. Knowing how easily they come tumbling down, I’m in awe of her. Then she lines herself up—but before she swings, she does this little hip wiggle. Then goes up on her tiptoes and back down, then wiggles again. Finally, she swings. She hits four balls with one club before changing it out for another one, but the routine is the exact same thing.

I scan down the line and watch the guys. They all seem to have a personalized routine, too. Cal holds his club above his head and does some sort of stretch before settling in for his swing. Every. Time.

It’s fascinating.

Along with the different warm-up routines, it’s clear that the part of the club where your hands go can come in lots of different colors, too. The ones we used for class were all white and pretty banged up after years of use and abuse, but Tanika’s is hot pink and Locke’s is a boring black (no surprise there).

And all the players seem to be totally in the zone. It’s very quiet out here. No chitchat at all. Just that thwack sound when the club hits the ball. Just as Locke pulls his club back to swing, Sophie’s phone blares in my back pocket. Locke stutters on his follow-through and ends up missing his ball but hitting the pyramid. Balls scatter everywhere.

I’m digging my phone out, trying to silence it as quickly as I can.

Locke says, “Turn your ringer off.”

While David adds, “And keep it off.”

Em Beth gives me a small smile. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

I’m embarrassed. I’ve never been so spectacularly bad at anything in my life as I am at this.

Unlocking the phone to answer it, I don’t even look at who’s calling. But I’m not surprised when I hear Sophie’s voice.

“Your mom is already texting. I thought it would be easy to answer her questions, but I’m overthinking it, I know.”

I take a few steps away from the players so the sound of my voice doesn’t completely ruin their whole day.

“What does she want?” I whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” she asks.

“Because I’m already at the golf course and this is some serious business, I’m discovering. I thought they were going to kill me when the phone rang.”

“Oh no! Sorry! I should have texted.”

“No, it’s okay. What does she want?”

She lets out a breath. “She wanted to tell me good morning. And did I know my plans for the day. I was still asleep, so honestly, she caught me a little off guard. I know there’s the luncheon at noon and the toga party tonight, but is there something else I’m supposed to be doing today?”

“Sorry, she’s just like that. Wait, is your mom not?” My mom and Sophie’s mom are twins and I’ve thought all this time that Sophie had to deal with the same stuff I did when it came to our moms.

“No. She’ll probably text me once today just to check in, but all you need to say is All good! Hanging with O! and she’ll be fine.”

Okay, now that’s not fair.

“Just text her that you’re hanging loose until the luncheon. I’m going to try to get there right at noon. I’ll make some excuse why I can’t stay until the end, then haul it back here. After the luncheon, tell her we’re all together working on our togas or something. Hopefully, I won’t be here too long today.”

“Okay, that works. The invitation says the party is at some bed-and-breakfast. I’ll be out front a few minutes early. Need me to bring you some clothes?”

I look down at my sweaty shirt. “Yes, please. Whatever you think. And some deodorant. And some shoes to match whatever outfit you bring. And my makeup bag.”

Sophie laughs. “Anything else?”

“If I could figure out how to squeeze a shower in I would.”

“Yeah, not sure I can help with that. Call me if you think of anything else.”

“Thanks, Soph! I couldn’t do this without you.”

We end the call and I make sure the ringer is off before dropping the phone back into the pocket of my shorts. I really look out of place here in these literal mom shorts and this shirt that isn’t cute at all. The girls who are playing are decked out in Lululemon everything. The short skirt, the fitted sleeveless tank, the whole outfit. And each has a big bow or a visor. All perfectly color-coordinated. Right down to the golf shoes and socks that barely peek out.

I pace slowly behind all of the golfers, keeping an eye on the shrinking pyramids.

“Nice shot, Leo!” a guy yells.

Wait. He can be loud, but I get murder glares over my phone ringing? And then my brain snags on the name.

It can’t be. It’s a coincidence. And then he turns around.

I’m about to run the other way when I hear, “Olivia? Is that you?”

Crap. This can’t be happening. So much for the family not finding out what I’m doing.

“Hey,” I say, shoving the panic deep down at being caught. “Hey! What’re you doing?”

What’re you doing?Uh, he’s playing golf. So dumb.

“Getting some practice in,” he answers easily, as if I didn’t just ask the most ridiculous question ever.

“Yes. Of course,” I say.

The other guy goes back to practicing but Leo walks toward me, his golf club still in his hand. There’s a bright green grip at the top, which sort of surprises me, but I don’t know why.

A million things run through my head. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here! If you mention you saw me, you’re a dead man. I’m not Olivia, but I get that all the time!

“I didn’t know you’d be out here. Do you work here? No one mentioned it.”

And there it is.

“Yeah, no one mentioned you’d be out here either,” I say, ignoring his question. But I would have prepared if they had! I would have been on a constant lookout for you.

“Yeah, I’m playing in tomorrow’s tournament. Hoping to get a spot on the LSU team for the fall.”

He must be pretty good to even have a shot at an SEC school team. I don’t know much about Leo since he moved away. Did he play golf before he left? No idea! All I know is he lives in Baton Rouge but still sees the Evil Joes on the regular, since there have been several holidays (minor ones like Memorial Day weekend and the Fourth of July) they’ve missed being with us because they were with Leo’s family. I guess he’s staying with Aunt Maggie Mae while he’s in town for the tournament.

“Oh, good…Good luck….” I fumble for something witty to say, but I really need to just get it over with. “Look, no one in the family knows I’m working here this week and I’d like to keep it that way, so would you please not mention it to anyone?”

One eyebrow rises, so I match him by raising one of mine. He smiles and his whole face brightens.

“Not even the other ones know?” he asks.

“What other ones?”

“The other ones in your little group.” He squints as he looks up at the bright blue sky. “What does Mary Jo call y’all?”

I can’t help flinching. “She has a name for us?” Which is the dumbest thing I can say or be surprised about because we have a name for ourselves—the Fab Four—but I’m sure that’s not the one he’s trying to think of. And we obviously have a name for the Evil Joes.

I can tell the second he remembers. “The Fake Four! That’s it!”

Fake? How are we fake? “That’s a stupid name,” I say. Wait until I tell Charlie.

“So do any of the Fake Four know you’re here?” he asks.

I raise that one eyebrow again. “Don’t call us that.” I wait a second before I continue. “And yes, Charlie, Sophie, and Wes know I’m here, but that’s it.”

He gets serious. “Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re here?” He looks around the course. “It’s not a bad thing to be here.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s my business why I’m here, and it’s important to me. Can we leave it at that?”

He studies me for a moment. “Sure. It will be our little secret.”

Oh, I’m not sure I like the way he says secret.

“Excuse me,” a golfer from down the line yells to me. “Where can I get some range balls?”

Half of the other golfers tell him to shut up.

“I gotta go,” I say, and walk away before Leo can say anything else.

This is officially the worst day ever and it’s only eight thirty a.m.

Phone Duty:Sophie

Charlie warned me Aunt Lisa would text a bunch, but it’s no joke. Though I don’t get why he was complaining so much. It’s easy when you get the hang of it. Aunt Lisa likes to talk, and as long as you give her some sort of answer, she’s all good. She’s like my mom at warp speed. We’ve texted back and forth a few times and she was actually pretty helpful reminding me what I should bring for Olivia to wear to the party, since Olivia didn’t leave any instructions. I had totally forgotten about that cute turquoise sundress she got when we were shopping in Dallas last month. Oh, and those gold hoop earrings will look great with it, especially if she pulls her hair up.

But then I remember there is a hat to go with this. Need to find the hat.

The dress is sleeveless, so I throw a razor in the bag in case she needs to shave under her arms. I’m as familiar with Olivia’s room as I am with mine, which makes it easy to find all the things I’ll need to bring her.

MOM:Those gold wedges would be adorable! Wear those!

Oh, good call, Aunt Lisa. Those would look perfect!

I type, Yes! Those will look great! But delete it since that is way too perky for Olivia. So instead I type: Ok

Olivia’s phone keeps vibrating, and I can see a group text she’s on is going a little nuts. I take a moment to check if there’s anything she needs to be aware of, but it’s really just a lot of messages flying back and forth about what everyone is wearing. Should I respond for her? Is that crossing the line? I recognize several names in the group, but it feels wrong to text them as if I’m Olivia. They’ll just have to wonder why she’s not responding.

It’s really weird handling someone else’s communications. Olivia has already forwarded me a few messages from my friend Addie back in Minden and one from Wes because he forgot I switched phones for the day. I get why she didn’t ask one of her friends she goes to school with to answer these texts. There are very few people I would trust getting a peek into my life like this.

Hmm. Maybe I should have deleted my conversation with Wes before I gave my phone to Olivia. I’ll never hear the end of it if she scrolls through our messages. I can feel myself blush just thinking about it.

I put everything in a bag and head for my car, making sure to lock up before I leave and drop the key back under the mat. Wes sent me directions to the bed-and-breakfast where the party is taking place, and I leave in plenty of time to get there in case I get turned around. It’s actually not very far from Olivia’s house.

By the time I arrive, I’ve felt Olivia’s phone vibrate several times. That group chat is really blowing up. I pull her phone out of my purse to see if she’s missing something big, but it’s her mom.

MOM:Make sure you say hello to Mrs. Woods and thank her for having you! She’s one of the hostesses and she’s in my bunco group and has been talking about this party for months!

ME:Yes ma’am!

I hit SEND before I can take back that exclamation point. Oh, well. Maybe Aunt Lisa will think Olivia is in a very good mood today. I can’t forget to tell Olivia she has to make a point to speak to Mrs. Woods when she gets here.

Exiting out of Aunt Lisa’s convo, I see there is a new unread message. I open it up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:I don’t know where you went but they are looking for you

Oh no. I call my phone immediately. Olivia answers on the first ring.

“I’m halfway there! Sorry! It was harder to sneak away than I thought it would be,” she says. She sounds flustered. Or out of breath.

“You need to turn around, I think,” I say. “Someone just texted and said they were looking for you.”

“What?” she screeches. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know. You don’t have their contact in your phone. Want me to ask?”

“No!” she answers quickly. “Coach gave my number to all the players from my school, but Locke’s was the only one I didn’t already have. It’s probably him. But ignore him—don’t text back.” I can almost hear the screech of tires as she turns around. “I guess I’m missing the luncheon.”

Oh crap!

“Wait! Your mom wants you to say hello to Mrs. Woods! I already responded to her that you would.”

We both let out a groan.

“You’ll have to go in there. Be me. She won’t know the difference,” Olivia says.

“Are you kidding me?” My voice comes out in a very high pitch that I barely recognize. “I mean, we look like we’re related, but that’s it. Anyone who knows you would know I’m not you.”

“Well, I can’t get there and we can’t fall apart on day one!” she says. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Woods in years. Literally years. You and I are the same height, same dark hair, same build. Plus, you’ll be wearing a hat. I swear she won’t know. You can do this!”

And as I start digging out the turquoise dress I packed for her, I remember she’s the master of talking me into dumb ideas. I crawl into the backseat while Olivia continues her pep talk over Bluetooth.

“Go in, find Mrs. Woods, say hi, and get out of there. I’ll send you a pic of her from Facebook so you’ll know which mom she is. They invited a ton of girls, so you’ll blend right in and they won’t miss you when you leave.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mumble. I slip the dress on and wiggle out of my shorts. I strap on the shoes and run my fingers through my hair before putting the hat on.

“Go ahead and get in there, since you’re early. You’ll run into fewer people that way. Okay, I’m back at the golf course. Call me once you’re done. I love you!”

And then she’s gone.

“I cannot be-lieve I’m about to walk into this party and act like I’m her,” I say to absolutely no one but myself. “This is the dumbest, stupidest, most ridiculous thing she has ever asked me to do. And I’m doing it.”

I get out through the backseat and half walk/half run up the driveway to the bed-and-breakfast, holding on to the hat so it doesn’t blow away. A quick glance shows there are only a few cars, so maybe Olivia is right. I can get in and get out. The house is three stories and painted a bright blue that would be ugly if this were actually your house but somehow works as a B&B. The windows are trimmed in white and there’s a wraparound porch with hanging ferns between each post. I decide against the front door and walk through the yard toward the side door. I feel like I need to know what I’m getting into before I’m in it.

The door squeaks when I open it, and I peek inside. There are four moms fluffing flowers and arranging food on trays. Their chatter bounces around the room, and I wonder how they can actually follow along with everyone talking at once. Taking a second to check the pic Olivia just sent of Mrs. Woods, I see she’s blond and thin with very straight hair that hits right at her shoulders. I peek inside the room again, and great, she looks exactly like the other three moms here.

I step back out and gently close the door. I move to the side of the building and FaceTime Wes.

“Hey, what’s up?” he says once the call connects. “You look cute in a hat!”

Awww!“You’re pretty cute yourself!”

And then I remember where I am and what I’m doing.

“I’m freaking out!” I whisper-scream. My face is so close to the screen that I’m sure he can see up my nose. “Olivia can’t make it and I have to go in and say hi to some woman named Mrs. Woods because Aunt Lisa said to and Olivia thinks this Mrs. Woods won’t know it’s not her but, come on, of course she’ll know I’m not her but there are four moms in that room and I don’t know which one she is and if the others would know Olivia on sight and did I tell you I’m freaking out.” I finish and have to drag in a deep breath.

“Okay, it’s going to be okay. Don’t panic,” he whispers back. “Can you point the phone in the direction of the moms? I played soccer a few years ago with her son. I think I can pick her out.”

I tiptoe back to the door and open it just enough to hold the phone up. I give him four full seconds before I pull it back.

“Did you see her?”

And there’s that big smile I love so much. “Yeah, she’s in the yellow dress. The other moms will definitely know Olivia, so steer clear of them. Wait until Mrs. Woods is alone, and you’ll be fine. She’s kind of clueless, so Olivia’s right, she probably won’t know you from her.”

I kiss the screen and promise to call him as soon as I’m done. I need to get my bearings and see if there’s a better way in where I can single out Mrs. Woods, so I walk around to the back of the bed-and-breakfast, stopping in front of a white wooden gate set into a brick wall. Peeking through the slats, I see the party is set up back here. It’s like a secret garden. Small trees, flowering plants, and creeping vines flank an old brick path that leads to a fountain in the center. There is a long table set to the side with three huge flower arrangements in big vases—one on each end and one in the middle. I zoom in and get the pictures I know Aunt Lisa will ask for later. Round tables are scattered through the space, each with smaller versions of the main arrangements. I get pics of those, too.

I’m determined to be the best Olivia.

The moms come from inside the house bearing trays of food they take extra care to arrange on the long table. There’s no yellow dress in the mix, so I run back to the side door, hoping to catch Mrs. Woods alone while I have the chance.

I throw open the door and head straight to her.

“Hi!” I say, more loudly than I mean to.

She jumps, but then she gives me a gigantic smile and it’s clear she has no idea who I am. So here goes nothing.

“I’m Olivia…”

“Yes, of course! Lisa’s daughter. You are her spitting image!” Our moms are twins, so I guess that makes sense? Now she’s beaming and coming at me with outstretched arms.

“Thank you so much for inviting me! Everything looks beautiful.”

She pulls me in for a hug, but it’s the kind that still maintains a little distance so as not to knock off our hats or mess up our makeup. “We’re so glad to have you. Sarah is upstairs and should be down any second.” And then she lets go and turns back to the tray of croissants fresh from the oven. My mouth waters just looking at them. “Go make yourself at home. Grab some punch!”

Now I’m stuck. I can’t turn back around and walk out. But I can’t go out to the courtyard because then I’ll have to speak to the woman who will know for sure I’m not Olivia.

“I need a bathroom,” I say. Smooth.

Mrs. Woods points down a narrow hall. “Any one of these bedrooms has a bathroom. Take your pick!”

And off I go. I find the bedroom farthest away and lock the door once I’m inside. I call Wes back.

“Did you make it out alive?” he says as soon as he answers.

“No!” I’m back to whisper-shouting. “I’m trapped in this bedroom. I spoke to Mrs. Woods but then I panicked.”

I’m pacing the room. And sweating. Sweating like a common criminal! I should have used the deodorant I brought for Olivia.

“Just turn around and walk out. I promise you are overthinking this. No one will say anything. Just walk out.”

“Of course I’m overthinking it! But it doesn’t help knowing it and I can’t stop.” I pause in front of one of the windows. “I’m crawling out of the window.”

“What?” he yells. “Soph, just walk through the door. Any door.”

I’m shaking my head. “Nope. I can’t go back out there. I’ll call you back.” I end the call and shove Olivia’s phone into my bra, since this dress doesn’t have pockets and I’m going to need both hands. Pushing the drapes apart, I open the window and let out a breath of relief when I realize it faces the front porch. I run back to the door and unlock it but keep it closed. Then I’m back at the window and throw one leg out. God, if anyone saw me right now I don’t know how I would explain this.

Sophie Patrick, Tea Party Crasher and Escapee.

I try to pull the other leg through, but my wedge gets caught on the windowsill and I end up exiting headfirst. My hat rolls across the porch. I look up to see three girls standing in front of what is probably the main entrance.

“Are you okay?” one of the girls asks. I’m sure I exposed myself in some way when my dress flew up, but I can’t worry about that right now.

I don’t recognize any of them, which is good. “Yes, I’m so clumsy. Sorry. I got locked in that room, trying to find a bathroom.”

They think I’m losing it, but at least they don’t ask me any questions. The girl closest to the door reaches for the doorbell and I know I’ve got to get out of here before that door opens or I’m right back where I started.

I speed-walk past them, grabbing my hat as I go down the front steps and around the corner. I hear one of them say, “Who was that?” and another one answer, “I have no idea, but love her shoes.”

I don’t relax until I’m back in my car. Olivia’s phone rings from inside my bra and I jump in my seat. It’s Wes.

“Are you okay?” he says as soon as the call connects.

“Yes, I’m out. And I’m never doing that again.”

He laughs for so long I almost hang up on him. Finally he says, “Come meet me for lunch. I want to hear all about it.”

“I can’t! I’m Olivia, remember? I have to sit here until the party’s over, or Aunt Lisa will know.”

“Okay, I’ll pick up some food and come to you. Picnic in your car?”

“Yes! Croissants if you can find them!”

Olivia

I’ve only been gone from Ellerbe Hills for about nine minutes, but it feels like hours. Or maybe I’ve lost all concept of time, since I feel like I live here now.

When I left, the players had teed off and were playing a round just like they will tomorrow when it counts. I’ve fetched for them, replenished snacks and water, found batteries for devices I don’t even recognize, so what could Coach possibly want from me now?

At least the guard at the entrance recognizes me and waves me through.

I park in the far corner in case Coach is close by, so he won’t see me getting out of my car. I have to hustle to cross the parking lot, but it only takes me a few minutes to get past the clubhouse and out onto the course. And sure enough, there is Coach Cantu, hand shading his eyes from the sun overhead, searching for me.

He looks frustrated when he finally spots me. “Olivia, I need you to take a cart and this box of flagging.” The box is full of small red flags on metal stakes. He points to the green that’s closest to us. “See how I put those flags in the ground on the edge of the cart path next to the green? You know what the green is, right? The section with the really short grass right around the hole?”

I nod, trying not to be embarrassed by how little he thinks I understand the game. I mean, I know what the green is, but other than that he’s not far off.

“I need you to set these flags beside the cart path at each green to keep the parents out of the action. They always try to get too close, but hopefully this will help.”

“Every couple of feet?”

“Yes, just next to the path when it gets close to the green.”

I thought golf was all about quiet and not disrupting anyone, but I’ll be flying from spot to spot if I’m supposed to do this throughout the entire course before midnight.

“Keep to the cart path. Stay still if you come up to someone teeing off,” Coach says as if he can read my mind, then hands me a walkie-talkie. “Keep this on the lowest volume setting. This way I can let you know if I need you.”

He won’t carry a phone, but he’ll carry a walkie-talkie. And now there’s never going to be a chance for me to leave the grounds if he can call me on this.

Coach Cantu puts an ice chest in the back of my cart along with a bag full of extra snacks, paper towels, and a stack of washcloths.

“The cold snacks are in the chest with water and Gatorades,” he says. “The washrags can be soaked in the watered-down ice if one of the players is getting overheated. There’s also a first aid kit back here. Call me if you need anything.”

He waves his walkie-talkie at me, then heads back to the clubhouse. It takes me longer than it should to get the hang of the golf cart. The slightest tap to the gas has me shooting off, and the same small tap on the brake almost throws me through the nonexistent front windshield. And don’t get me started on the high-pitched whining noise that draws every eye to me when I put the cart in reverse.

The front and back nine holes basically start in the same general area, then head in opposite directions. I decide to go in numerical order, so hole one’s up first. From what I can tell, there are both lots of tournament players practicing today and a lot of random golfers getting in a game before the course is closed to anyone who isn’t playing in the tournament the rest of the week. It’s easy to tell who’s who, since there is about a forty-year age gap between the two groups.

I drive fast when there’s no one around, then take it slow and easy when I get near anyone. People are playing everywhere, and I don’t want to mess anyone up. There are several carts on the path driven by what must be a few of the players’ parents. Some of them are videoing their kids, while others are calling out tips, but the one who is quickly becoming my least favorite is the dad literally berating his daughter every time she hits the ball in a way he doesn’t like.

“Sierra, you shanked it! It’s like you’re not even listening to me!”

And somehow Sierra doesn’t react to him at all. She puts the club she just finished using back into the bag and heads toward where her ball landed.

“Freddy, you have got to stop yelling at her,” a woman from another cart says. “They’ll kick you out of here just like last time.”

Freddy bangs his hand on the top of the steering wheel. “I swear to God she’s doing it on purpose. Does she not know how important this tournament is?”

Does he not know how awful he is? I pull slightly off the path so I can get around them and then speed away.

Each hole is different. On some, there’s a long stretch to flag as the cart path snakes around, but on others, it’s only a few feet.

I find the guys from my school on hole four. There are a few parents following behind them, too, but none as loud as Sierra’s dad. And I finally feel useful when Cal and David both need waters. Just as they walk back to their bags, Locke heads in my direction.

“Hey! Need a drink? A snack?” I’m trying to be extra nice, since he gave me a heads-up about Coach looking for me, but it’s wasted on him.

“No, but do you have any Advil in there?”

I turn around and grab the first aid kit. It takes some digging, but I finally pull out a small bottle. “How many you want?” I ask.

“Give me four,” he says.

That’s probably over the recommended dosage, but I just give him what he asks for. “Anything else?” I ask after he throws the pills back and chases them with some water.

“Are you going to be here all week?” he asks.

I shrug. “I guess. It’s up to Coach.” Even though I know I will be.

He’s quiet a second, then says, “Most of us here need to do well. Especially those of us graduating. Just don’t make it harder than it already is.”

And then he’s gone.

What was that about? Am I screwing up his game in some way I’m unaware of? Was taking twenty seconds to text me that Coach was looking for me enough to ruin his whole day?

I get back in my cart and drive off to the next hole. I’m not sure I can take a week of this.