The Season Read Online Free Page A

doorway, I nodded. Turns out sleep deprivation really does affect decision making.
    â€œPractice ends at four, and the orientation isn’t until four thirty,” I said. “That’ll give me time to shower, dress, and make it over to the club—it’s only a few blocks.”
    That Tuesday marked the unofficial start of the Season. Julia and I and the other girls were invited to tea at Turtle Creek Country Club with our governess, Ann Foster.She would look us over, tell us what to expect and how to behave.
    â€œYou won’t be hot?”
    â€œThe weather’s cooled off,” I said breezily. “And practice is just a walk-through and drills. Besides, if anything does happen, I don’t want us both to be late.”
    â€œOkay,” she replied, falling back onto her pillow. “I’ll save you a seat.”
    Stifling pangs of jealousy—I never get to sleep in—I closed her door softly, went downstairs, and rode to the gym, my sandals hooked over the handlebar and my then unwrinkled, immaculate, and bagged red dress billowing out behind me like Superman’s cape.
    Alas, things did not go as planned. First, it was hot—blast furnace hot. Summers in Texas are always steamy, but by September the weather usually backs off from freaking unbearable to nearly tolerable. But not that day. By 2 p.m. the temperature hovered at 102 degrees, with rain forest humidity.
    Then a series of sloppy passes and general buffoonery sent Coach Nash over the edge, and the whole “drills and a walk-through” was replaced by running the stadium stairs.
    â€œPush it, push it, push it!” Coach Nash screamed as a pack of girls climbed up, up, up. At the top I turned left and sprinted for the next aisle. Then down, down, down the stairs. Up one flight, down another. Rinse and repeat. “It’s overtime, you’ve been running for two hours, you’re exhausted, and so are they. Now it’s just about will. Who wants it more?”
    â€œNot any harder than climbing Mount McKinley,” I managed to wheeze to Cat as we climbed the top section, using three breaths to get out the seven words.
    â€œAt least it’s cold in Alaska,” Cat gasped back.
    Word. The metal bleachers were scalding hot to the touch, the stadium was damp as a terrarium, and the sun roared down like a blow torch. When Coach finally released us at 4:15 I was drenched. Worse, my core was hot as a pizza oven.
    I entered the shower at 4:19 and blasted myself with ice-cold water for five straight minutes. This wasn’t nearly enough to cool off, and as I stood in front of the mirror at 4:28 applying mascara, beads of sweat popped out on my beet-red forehead. I left the locker room, unstuck my dress from my moist ass, and stole a quick peek at my watch. 4:37—I willed myself to stay calm.
    â€œYour highness! Oh your highness,” Mariah squealed as I turned the corner by the bike stall. Lindsay and Lachelle immediately started blowing on pink-and-white “princess” kazoos and genuflecting while Cat stood at attention and set off a child’s confetti cannon. It went off with as much oomph as a good fart, and the confetti flew up six inches before falling pathetically in the grass.
    â€œFail,” Lachelle said.
    â€œRight? So lame,” Cat said, looking at the empty canister. “This thing cost four ninety-nine.”
    â€œFunny, guys, thanks,” I said. I wasn’t that surprisedby the Prank Brigade, as news of my debut had spread quickly through the team. As I unlocked my bike, Cat ran over and handed me my bike helmet.
    â€œYour crown, milady,” she said, and then she too bowed before breaking into peals of laughter.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have,” I said. I spent exactly three seconds trying to pry off the tiara she had superglued to the brim, then gave up and stuck it on my head. I didn’t even bother to try and remove the glittering streamers