The club struck the ball with a resounding ping. Birdie Eagleton looked up, peering into the dusk, as the white ball became a gleaming speck. She watched it rise before falling back to the manicured grass. The ping still reverberated in her ears.

She lived for that ping. It was the same ping she heard every morning as she woke up, and the same ping she heard as she fell asleep.

Lining up her next ball on the tee, she listened as her teammates added their own pings to the mix. The range sounded like a xylophone. She watched some of her teammates as they took their swings. They were her closest friends, but she couldn't stop herself from criticizing their every move in her head.

Bonus points if you can hit that tree on the right. We don't like the way it's looking at us.

Birdie was most critical of herself. On the worst nights, she ate an entire cheese and sausage pizza alone while watching old reruns of Laguna Beach. "Is there anything more comforting in the world, off the green?" she asked herself.

Yesterday, Birdie's team had returned from a tournament, a 54-hole gauntlet in another state. Birdie cost her team the win. They came in third place.

"Eagle, that won't fly next time," Coach Puttsberg had told her. "You know we need more from you. And we both know you've got it in you."

"I know, Coach. I know…" Birdie had replied, re-fastening the Velcro on her glove. (Don't worry; she took those dirty gloves off before attacking that pizza.)

She had to miss a midterm for the tournament, so there was a makeup test in the morning. She ended up doing about as well on the test as she did in the tournament. She was losing confidence in her academic abilities, as well as her golf game. She was exhausted.

She coulda been a contendah. But now…not so much.

After finishing up at the first practice session of the day, Birdie walked back to her dorm room and crawled into bed. She fell asleep right as her head hit the pillow.

Birdie. Put the book away.

As always, her dreams were filled with rolling golf greens, the melodious thwack! and ping! of balls being sent a-flying, and the most delightful caddie banter. In some dreams, her caddie looked uncannily like Ryan Gosling, but she had to resist his charm. The success of her team depended on it. Or did it?

No, she was a serious golfer. She'd have hit Mr. Gosling in the face with a nine iron to get at a first place championship. Ah, to be first—

"Hey, loser, get up."

Birdie opened her groggy eyes and saw her roommate, Izzy Goodfriend. The two had been inseparable since they met in freshman year. Even though Izzy didn't know the first thing about golf, she was Birdie's biggest fan.

"Don't you have driving practice with Coach Puttsberg?"

Birdie looked at her bedside clock. "Starts in fifteen minutes," she replied.

"You don't exactly look like you're ready to go."

"Probably because I'm not going." Birdie covered her head with the cover. She can be sarcastic, too.

"What's wrong?" Izzy could read Birdie like a book. After all, "good friend" was her middle name. Er, last name.

Birdie peered up at Izzy from under the blanket. "I was terrible at the tournament. And I flunked this stupid math test. Everything is awful. Ugh. I'm sorry for being lame and depressed. I know I haven't seen you in like four days."

Izzy smiled. "Well, you are pretty lame. But I'm sure you weren't that terrible. Like, what, you only scored two touchdowns this time?"

Birdie chuckled weakly. Sure, Izzy's "clueless about golf" jokes were funny—classic, you might say. But she was sad.

"Let's talk about it after your practice. You always feel better after whacking a few balls."

We think it's asking for help.

Birdie managed to crack a smile at Izzy's innuendo—another classic Izzy. "True. Jerk…" Birdie replied.

That day, the loudest pings came from Birdie. She was crushing the ball, driving farther than ever before. Her confidence was back. She thought about Izzy, and what she would say at that moment. "Nice shot! That one's worth at least three points, right?"

She looked back at her teammates. They were all watching her drives now. Coach Puttsberg nodded at her. "I'll see you soon, championship," Birdie thought. Then she pounded her fist on her chest, put two fingers together, kissed them, and raised them up to the sky. She had seen this in a movie before, but couldn't remember which. At any rate, she thought it suited the moment. Birdie felt good.

Maybe she'd even let Izzy spike the ball after her big win. Just…not with her thousand-dollar Apex iron. Yikes.