“Coach Colette asked me about you,” Elisa went on. “She was practically salivating about how she’ll get to coach you once you’re fourteen, because she thinks your technique’s so good.”

Connor finished his other conversation and turned back, slinging one arm around Elisa’s shoulders and the other arm around Kayla’s.

“What’s that now? Who’s salivating?”

Elisa shook her head. “You’re like a dog that perks up when someone says the word food. If anybody says anything that could in any way be twisted around to sound inappropriate, there you are.”

Connor let out a puppy-like yip. “But a cute dog, right?”

Then he swung his long, muscly arms off the girls’ shoulders.

“Gotta run. See ya, ladies,” he said. “Have a good practice, HB.”

Annabelle’s heart swelled. A nickname for her nickname!

He gave all three of them a little salute and started to go. Annabelle waved at him like a little kid, closing her hand and then opening it, before she caught herself and pinned her arm behind her back.

That was definitely a super-excited-open-mouth-catemoji kind of interaction she and Connor had just had. She hoped Mia had seen some of it so they could talk later about what it had meant.

Elisa and Kayla said goodbye, and Jeremy came out of the guys’ locker room all ready for practice. He stopped when he saw that Annabelle was still holding her bag and wearing her clothes over her suit.

“What, did you get lost?” he joked.

Connor turned his head before he reached his friends and saluted Annabelle again. Just in time, she remembered to straighten her posture and bend one leg a tiny bit, because Mia said that’s what models do, to make their legs look thinner.

“Annabelle?” Jeremy said. “Hello?”

It took her a second to realize he was still there, waiting for her to respond.

When practice ended, Mitch was sitting at one of the tables, still wearing his collared shirt and dress pants from work. He always got to practice before it ended if he could. He wanted to make sure he and Coach Eric were on the same page with Annabelle’s training.

But today, Coach Colette was with him, her clipboard balanced on the edge of the table.

Annabelle dried off with her purple towel and wrapped it around her, twisting it so nobody could see her name, which was stitched into one end in babyish, sea-green letters thanks to Mom, who would monogram Annabelle’s underwear if she could.

“Meet you back out here after we change?” Jeremy asked.

He had just rubbed his towel over his hair, so it stuck up in spikes. Mia would probably come over to smooth them down any second, and then Jeremy would yank on her ponytail to get her back.

“Hey, Bananabelle!” Mitch called. “Come on over! Coach Colette wants to talk to you.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows, and the red indents from his goggles went up with them.

“Sorry,” Annabelle said. “I guess I might be a little while.”