RISKY PLAY (RED CARD #1) BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN Page 0,46
like, since you don’t really have any.”
“I have Matt,” I said defensively.
“You pay Matt,” he pointed out. “When was the last time you even hung out with the guys?”
I started getting hot and itchy as I stared him down. “I hung out with my old team all the time. Look how that turned out for me.”
Jagger’s eyebrows shot up. “Funny, I heard a bit of a different story from a few people . . . especially about your ex.”
“I know the truth,” I said through clenched teeth.
Kids started shuffling onto the field.
You could tell the minute it registered that we were on the field. There was no way to brace for the onslaught of elementary school kids running at us full speed with no plan of stopping.
Jagger’s eyes widened.
I closed mine briefly.
And then felt stickiness against my legs, arms. There was lots of jumping up and down, so I just went with it.
I started jumping up and down.
Jagger burst out laughing and joined me.
Soon we had all fifty kids jumping with us, and the adults watching in disbelief, before I blew a whistle and kicked things off with a game of freeze tag.
It was an easy way to get them warm. And it helped them loosen up around us instead of being starstruck.
Jagger blew his whistle after about twenty minutes of running around and basically getting bulldozed by all the tiny humans.
“Alright, everyone, I’m going to count you off in ones and twos. Ones go to Slade, since he’s the number-one striker in the world.” Cheers sounded around us. I actually laughed out loud when some of them started practicing their own kicks.
My ones were more than pumped to be on my team. The twos didn’t seem to mind being on his, so all in all, it was a good start.
“Alright, ones,” I called out. There was no way I was going to remember everyone’s names at this point, but I could try. “We’re going to run a quick feet drill. I’m going to line up the cones, and I need you to weave the ball through the cones like this.” I demonstrated what I meant with ease while they all stared at me slack-jawed as though I’d just performed brain surgery.
“Alright, one by one, I want you guys to follow each other. When your friend gets to the end, you start. I’m setting up ten lines.”
Once I was done, I blew my whistle and they started.
Everyone seemed to be having fun except one little boy who stood with the ball in his hands.
I tapped one of the kids on the shoulder. “Hey, who’s that?”
“Oh, Danny?” He said his name under his breath like he was afraid someone would hear. “He, uh, his papaw died yesterday. His parents made him come still, they thought it would cheer him up.”
My heart sank past my knees and onto the ground.
“And what’s your name?”
“Mitchell.” He puffed out his chest.
“Cool.” I pulled off my whistle and handed it to him. “You think you can handle the team while I go talk to Danny?”
Mitchell’s eyes widened. “For real?”
“For real.” I grinned. “Once everyone finishes, blow the whistle, have them line up again, and run lines between the cones.”
“But, Mr. Slade, what if they don’t listen?”
“You have the magic whistle, they will,” I said encouragingly, ruffling his hair. “Plus I’ll be right over here watching.”
“’Kay.” He pulled the whistle cord over his head and crossed his arms, somehow managing to look very adult. I cracked another smile, then jogged over to Danny. He was still holding the ball close to his chest, like it was a teddy bear or security blanket.
“Hey.” I gave him a head nod and then sat on the grass and patted the spot next to me. “Have a seat.”
He lowered to the ground and crossed his legs, still holding the ball, still not saying a word. His sadness was palpable; I could feel it winding its way through me. Choking me.
Had anyone walked up to me and asked me how I was doing after my father died, I was embarrassed to admit I’d probably have burst into gut-wrenching tears at the time.
“It’s Danny, right?”
He didn’t say anything.
“I heard you’re having a rough time . . .”
He scowled. “No offense, stranger that I don’t know,” he said sarcastically. Kid was probably eleven tops. “But I don’t need to hear it. Any of it. It doesn’t make it better.”