Today was their first away match, against the Berkeley Carroll girls’ team. Sun Kim, one of the captains, always warmed them up. Sun was tiny and never stopped smiling. She also had the quickest volley on the team. She was an inspiration. Mr. Streko was always saying, “Watch Sun. Watch Sun.” Shy kind of hated her.

“Fifty laps, fifty crunches, then fifty jumping jacks!” Sun shouted gleefully, and the team took off, running around the Berkeley Carroll gym in their matching white Under Armour quick-dry polo shirts and black mesh shorts.

Shy trailed behind them. She hated running. Bruises dotted her bony shins. Her skin looked gray. She’d almost invited Liam to the match but then decided to wait until she improved her game. Liam was being weird anyway. He’d gotten a bad grade on that calculus test—which for him meant an 89 instead of a 100—and she felt certain he blamed her.

The girls circled the gym, jogging in a silently determined clump. Mr. Streko and the Berkeley Carroll coach, a wiry woman in a red tracksuit with a smoker’s voice and a dyed-red pixie cut, volleyed back and forth at one of the two tables set up in the center of the gym, the ping and pong of the ball echoing loudly.

“Your point,” the woman growled at Mr. Streko in a Russian accent as Shy staggered by.

“Non vincere omnes,” Mr. Streko called back.

To win is not all. Was he flirting? Shy wondered.

The girls finished their warm-up and collapsed on the bench to sip water from matching water bottles and receive the lineup from the coaches.

“Sun and Suraya, you’re first,” Mr. Streko called, making notes on his clipboard. “Jill and Danielle go second. Then Amy and Kylie. Then Sun again and Tati. Suraya and Jill are last. Go team!”

He hadn’t said Shy’s name. And Suraya was a freshman. Why did she get to play twice?

“Mr. Streko?” Shy asked, breaking the code of silence.

He ignored her, already standing at the ready beside the table, clipboard in hand, bushy black eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration.

Beep, beep! The other coach blew her whistle. “First match.”

Shy jumped to her feet. “Go Phinney!” she shouted. If she couldn’t play, she could at least show some enthusiasm.

Immediately, Mr. Streko pointed at her, shook his head, and then pointed at the bench. She sat down again and kicked off her black team Nikes, which made her hideously pale legs look even paler. No playing, no cheering. This was so much fun.

Ping, pong. Ping, pong. Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Table tennis was the most boring game in the world to watch. More boring than regular tennis, or American football, or golf.

Kylie nudged Shy’s arm with her elbow. “Hey, your grandfather is here.”