Our first game was coming up in two days, and we were not ready. I didn’t know how to make us ready. Hopefully Vicky would have a suggestion or ten to get us on track.
I took the concrete stairs to the practice field in hopes that they’d be less steep than the hill itself. No such luck. At the top, I found half of my team staring down what looked like the better part of the boys soccer team.
“This is our field time,” Angela announced.
A man wearing shorts that were entirely too short and a very shiny whistle leaned into her face. “Too bad, sweetheart. They’re reseeding our field, and we need to practice. So you can take your PMS and get off my field.”
Angela looked like she was one second away from kicking him in the balls.
“Excuse me,” I said, using my most authoritative voice.
“You’re excused,” he said dismissively. “We’re gonna start with a header drill, men.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, stopping in front of him.
“No you’re not,” one of the boys mimicked in a falsetto. It was that fucking Milton kid.
“You feel like running some more laps, Floppy?” I asked.
Ruby’s jaw dropped, and Sophie S. looked like she couldn’t decide if she was going to laugh or cry.
“You don’t have any authority over my players,” Short Shorts announced, sticking his hairy-knuckled finger in my face.
“Oooh,” I winced. “Actually I do. I’m a teacher, and this is school property, soooo…” I wasn’t sure if my authority carried over to after-school hours. But this asshole was trying to steal my field.
“Bull. Shit.” He enunciated.
“Is that what I smelled?” I asked sweetly. “You’re not taking our field.”
“Why don’t we ask an administrator? Who do you think they’ll side with? A temporary, no-experience coach and her loser girls or last year’s district champs?”
Milton moved to stand beside his coach. “Why don’t you ladies go prance around with the cheer squad?” he suggested.
Sophie S. made a dive for his face, but Ruby caught her and pulled her back. Milton gave them both a little finger waggle.
“Take a hike, ladies,” Short Shorts snapped.
“There a problem here?” Vicky, in her athleisure glory, marched across the field.
“How about this? Coaches Challenge. Half-field sprint. Winner’s team gets the field,” Short Shorts said, snapping his fingers.
Vicky sidled up to me. “Listen, I hope you’re fast because the last time I ran, it was after an ice cream truck, and I peed myself a little.”
17
Marley
“I can’t believe you didn’t even try,” Morgan E. complained.
Our entire team was mid-walk of shame up the street to commandeer an elementary school field, having lost our field to the guys team.
“You’ve seen me run. I have that vomiting problem.”
“You should have at least tried,” Angela put in.
“Me losing to Short Shorts wouldn’t have done any of us any good,” I insisted. Thank God Lisabeth hadn’t shown up for practice today. I could only imagine the nastiness my giving up would have provoked.
“Come on, ladies,” Vicky barked, rounding up the stragglers like she’d been a coach all her life.
I looked over my shoulder to where Ruby and Sophie S. were walking in sullen silence next to each other. “Okay. I gotta ask. What did you two see in that floppy-haired idiot?”
They glanced at each other and away again quickly.
“Come on. I need to know.”
The girls’ cleats made a hollow clacking noise on the asphalt.
“He was cute,” Ruby said finally.
“He had a pool,” Sophie added.
“Don’t settle for cute boys with pools when they won’t treat you with respect,” I told them, pointing a knowledgeable index finger at them.
“Amen, sister,” Vicky piped up.
“You’re like fifty and single,” Angela the Jerk reminded me.
“I’m thirty-eight and not in a relationship with a disrespectful dummy,” I countered.
“You sound like a guidance counselor. ‘It’s better to be happy alone than miserable with someone,’” one of the girls mimicked.
“Do you think we’re bs-ing you?” I asked.
Her “duh” expression translated flawlessly.
“Ladies, we’re not trying to keep you from having fun,” Vicky insisted as we trooped onto the elementary school playground. “We’re trying to save you years of agony.”
“We’ve been in your shoes,” I added.
“Yeah, right,” one of the Morgans groused. “You’re just trying to keep us celibate.”
Okay, we were tiptoeing into dicey territory. I didn’t think the girls’ parents would appreciate me talking to their teenage daughters about sex.
“I’m not talking about sex,” I said evasively. “I’m talking bigger picture. Don’t waste your time in relationships that lack respect.”
“Is that why you’re single?” one of the JV players piped up.