I was convinced that Derrick Rhodes was a serial killer. No normal person could be that freaking unemotional. Megan joked that he was probably a robot, like the Terminator. It was an apt comparison, because I had never met anyone else with that kind of singular focus. His opponents got angry and frustrated while he kept his cool and played with laser precision. It was his reaction when he lost, however, that made me want to shake him and yell in his face. He had no reaction, just like he really didn't have much of a reaction when he won. At least that could be attributed to having good sportsmanship and not wanting to gloat. Losing, though, should have elicited at least a frown, but his face revealed no signs of disappointment. Already he would look like he was concentrating on strategies to win next time. It was inhuman, and it drove me crazy.
My name is Cassandra Morgan, and I play tennis too. That's the only thing I have in common with Derrick. I try to be a good sport, but I've been accused of having a temper. I'm not out of control or anything. Anger is a normal human emotion, especially when you're off your game and getting your ass kicked on the court. I was a pretty good tennis player, but not as good as Derrick. Then again, I had a life off the court that included friends and a boyfriend. All Derrick does is go to school and train to improve his game. I'm not talking about his game with girls either, or even boys. He has no romantic life.
How do I know all this? He lives on my street, not next door to me but across the street. His family moved in about two years ago, and I was excited about that at first. The old lady across the street had moved to Florida according to my mom, and I was happy to find out that the new neighbors had a son my age. I had a boyfriend at the time, but there was no harm in looking. Derrick wasn't gorgeous, but he wasn't ugly either. He had brown eyes and light brown hair that he kept short. I wasn't gorgeous either, but I knew that I was pretty. My golden blond hair looked good with my summer tan and baby blue eyes. I was almost sixteen and in full boy crazy mode. There were promiscuous girls at our school, but I wasn't one of them. It just gave me a little thrill when a guy would notice me or flirt with me. Derrick, I soon realized, would never be one of those guys.
I had noticed that he went jogging every evening as the day began to cool, and I had decided that it was time to meet my new neighbor. My white shorts showed off my tan legs, and my light blue top helped to draw attention to my blue eyes. Jogging wasn't my thing, but it would be a good way to start a conversation with this boy. I kept watch at the window until I saw him leave his house, and then I dashed outside and ran to catch up with him. He hadn't gone through his growth spurt yet, so I could still keep up with him back then.
"Hi," I said as I came up along side him. "I'm Cassie."
He didn't even glance toward me. "Hi.".
I tried again. "What's your name?"
Now his eyes flicked to me before returning to the sidewalk in front of him. "Derrick."
"It's nice to meet you, Derrick. I'm your new neighbor. I live across the street from you," I supplied in case he was interested, which he didn't seem to be.
"Is there something that you needed?" He looked at me again.
His question confused me. "What?"
"Do you need help with anything?" His question was polite, but I didn't get the sense that he cared if I did need help.
"No," I said uncertainly. "I was just saying hi."
"I don't mean to be rude, Cassie, but I need to focus on my workout." He looked briefly at me again.
"Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you." I was getting annoyed, but I tried not to show it.
Most people would have said that I wasn't bothering them, if only to be polite. "That's okay," Derrick said.
I stopped running, and he continued without me, not looking back even once.