help it.
Me: Huh. Imagine that. They must have really pissed someone off.
Jake: It’s not permanent is it?
Me: If I had to guess—seeing as how I have no personal knowledge of the situation—I’d say it was one of those semi-permanent prank dyes. It can hold up to water for a couple of days, but baby oil will strip it right out.
Jake: I don’t feel inclined to share that information right now.
Me: I like that about you.
Jake: Good luck today, Coach.
I felt a smile spreading across my face. If we could take down the entire boys soccer team and their shithead coach, maybe we had a chance today. Starting out the season with a win? Now, that would be pretty great.
We lost.
So badly that the Bees’ head coach apologized to me when he shook my hand after the game.
7-0. And the last two goals had been scored by the Bee’s junior varsity second string.
We hadn’t been able to string passes together. Our communication was nonexistent. And while our defense worked harder than they should have had to, the offense couldn’t get anywhere near the goal.
The team mood had gone from jubilant over our secret revenge plot to dejected in ninety minutes of terrible play.
Even worse. My parents had surprised me and stood in the bleachers with a handmade sign that said Coach Marley in glitter and calligraphy. After halftime, I wanted to climb up into the stands and rip the sign into pieces. How many more ways could I disappoint them before they gave up on me completely? How many more ways could I fail before I gave up completely?
We trooped back on the bus in silence, except for Vicky, who was doling out pep talks like a panicked life coach on espresso.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, ladies!”
Ruby and Sophie S. were back to ignoring each other after the two had gotten into an argument at center field. They had to be separated by the ref, and I’d benched them both.
We really could have used Lisabeth’s beefy aggression on the field.
It felt like we were missing something. Some key component. Even worse, I worried that whatever tools I was missing in my personal life were exactly what the team was missing. It was my fault. I had a gap in my leadership. I could tell them to run and dribble all day long. But that wouldn’t lead to a W.
I had the distinct feeling that, until I figured out what was wrong with me, I wouldn’t be able to fix what was wrong with them.
Vicky flopped down in the seat next to me. “Well, that was a shit show,” she said cheerfully.
“I don’t know how to fix this, V,” I told her.
She patted me on the leg. “Some things aren’t fixable. Maybe you should just quit while you’re behind.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
She smirked and yanked her hair out of her crooked ponytail. “Babe, it’s gonna be fine. You’re not the first coach to lose a game.”
Yeah, but I had a feeling I was the first coach who had no clue how to win.
We stopped for a fast food dinner, which I skipped. The recent progress around my middle and the fact that I no longer felt like I needed a nap every day at noon and again at two felt like a move in the right direction. I had Crock-Pot chicken waiting for me at home and a beer. A big one.
The mood on the bus lightened a bit by the time we got back to the school. Apparently news of the now bright red boys soccer team had spread far and wide. The girls gleefully took turns sharing pictures and Snapchat videos of the aftermath.
“There’s a rumor going around that it was Middletown’s team that did it,” someone reported from the back of the bus. “Their school colors are red and white.”
“Do you think Coach did that on purpose?” someone else asked.
I sighed and stared out the dark window. The loss was a distant memory to everyone but me.
We got back to the school, and I waved the girls off. The parking lot slowly emptied, and I loaded the balls and my gym bag into my hatch. The night was warm, and I couldn’t believe I had to be back here in less than twelve hours. Who knew teachers worked so much?
A vehicle pulled into the lot, and I was suddenly aware that I was all alone at night in a poorly lit parking lot.
The windows were down,