Page 28 of Unexpected Shot
Except now she’s taking it from people. And call me curious that I want to know who “people” are.
“If you must know, Chad said I should try it.”
I don’t mean to bark out a laugh, but I can’t hold it in. She’s taking swing advice from Chad? Don’t get me wrong, the guy’s my best friend, and a pretty good golfer in his own right, but the dude has paid for every part of his swing. He’s had private coaches since he was a toddler. What does he know about fixing anyone else?
“Is it working?”
“Kind of,” she says, though it’s more of her way of admitting a half truth. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”
I lean against my driver as I stand back and watch her line up her drive. For years, she’s been trying to outdrive me. And Chad. But mostly me. She hasn’t said it out loud, but when you play with someone as much as I’ve played with Shelby over the years, I know her tells. I know when she’s working on something. I know when she’s determined to reach a goal. And right now, it’s to go toe-to-toe with me in driving distance. And while I don’t know if it can happen, I sure as shit know she’s going to kill herself trying.
I watch intently as she takes her backswing, but I know it’s going to be a disaster before the club reaches the top of her swing. Her weight isall off. Her hands, feet, and hips are all out of sync. Oh this is going to be so bad.
“Fuck!”
I bite my lip so I don’t laugh at Shelby’s outburst, even though it is the right response. The ball went so high, I lost it for a second in the sun, but it barely went over a hundred yards. I’m not sure what Chad was thinking telling her this—unless he wanted to seriously fuck up her game—but this isn’t going to help her.
She hangs her head, starting to walk back toward our bags, when I toss another ball at her, landing next to her feet.
“What’s this?”
“A ball.”
She rolls her eyes at me, which always makes me snicker. I don’t know what it is about getting under her skin, but every time I do it, I consider it a point of pride.
“I already hit my ball.”
“I know.” I let out a frustrated breath because I don’t know why she’s even fighting this. “Hit another one. But this time, get rid of that shit grip.”
She shakes her head. “I already hit my ball.”
“It’s called a mulligan.”
“Mulligans aren’t allowed.”
Golf is all about rules. Rules and tradition are what make the game what it is. But we’re not playing in a tournament, or even in our junior league. It’s just me and Shelby playing a round after dinner.
“Then don’t consider it a mulligan,” I say as I walk toward her. “Consider it a practice shot.”
Shelby looks down at the ball, then back up at me, then back down at the ball like it's going to grow legs and attack her.
“Do you think anybody will get mad?”
“It’s just the two of us on this course. No one is gonna get mad. And if they do, they’ll have to deal with me.”
I know she's always been worried about what other golfers think about her. It sucks to see how differently she’s treated by the regulars here. It’s apublic golf course, for God’s sake. It’s not like we’re at Augusta, or even the fancy country club I play at because Chad’s family are members. Shelby has proven time and time again that she's the real deal. I don't think the old men on this course realize they’re watching a future professional golfer. All they see is a girl who has the audacity to play their sport. They don’t see that even though she’s only fourteen, she’s better than most of the adults here.
I hate that for her. So I know why she doesn’t want to hit the second ball. But what she doesn’t know is that, more than that, I really don’t want to see her use that weird-ass grip again.
“Can I help you?” I ask, walking up behind her. “I just want to show you what’s helped me.”
She looks around again, making sure we’re alone, before nodding her head.
“Okay,” I say as she turns to face her ball. “First thing, don’t do that dumbass grip Chad suggested. I know he uses it, but frankly, I think it’s because he has weird muscles, because it doesn’t look comfortable.”
That makes her laugh. “It’s the worst.”
“Go back to your normal grip,” I instruct. “Now…shoulders like this…hands like this…good.”
