take care of her.
Coach doesn’t want to hear about your cramps, he doesn’t want to know if you’re breaking out, if you bombed a test, if your mom’s being ridiculous, if you’ve been asked to homecoming, if you’ve had your heart broken.
He only wants you to perform.
For this, he’s made Phoebe into a stronger girl.
Wait. No.
He has made her stronger, no caveat.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 26
7:00 P.M.
LUCI
Luci didn’t know for sure if Coach would make a speech tonight, but she hoped he might. Now that it’s about to happen, and she’s being herded into the backyard by her teammates, she’s practically breathless with anticipation.
It’s more than mere curiosity for why he’s so beloved. Luci’s affixed something personal to her expectations of Coach. She has no idea what he’ll say and how he’ll say it. But if Coach proves he’s everything Luci thinks he might be, then maybe she can start to believe in the potential he apparently sees in her.
Her teammates forgo the party tent, where there are plenty of white wooden chairs arranged around banquet tables glittering with white tea lights. Instead they arrange themselves on the deck as if posing for a team photo, in two staggered lines. The alphabet balloons that spell out WILDCATS bob on ribbons behind them, each silver letter twisting and warping their reflections like a fun-house mirror.
Luci stares at her toes, the chalky pink polish she hastily applied. She presses her lips together, hoping to feel a little slick of the lipstick she put on earlier, but it’s worn off and Luci didn’t think to bring it with her. Getting ready for tonight was one long panic attack. She emptied her drawers looking for something to wear, horrified by all the sequins, the decorative stitching, the matchy-matchy sets. She didn’t bother putting the clothes back—they’re all still on her floor—because she will never wear that stuff again.
Instead Luci borrowed a dress from her mother’s closet that she always loved, slippery and thin, a botanical print of palm leaves and citrus. Her mother never wears a bra with it, but, um, there’s no way Luci could pull that off, so underneath she’s wearing a white cotton tank top. She briefly considered wearing one of her mother’s thongs instead of her Gap briefs to avoid VPL, but Luci chickened out because what if the girls got changed in the same room and everyone saw her bare butt?
A quiet anticipation settles over the backyard, amplifying the ambient sounds of summer. The whirl of the pool filter, a chirp of a bird, a car passing on the street, kids begging for five more minutes outside.
Two of Luci’s teammates, the girls standing directly in front of her, drop their heads together and whisper.
“He’s going to bring up the championship game, don’t you think?”
“Obviously.”
“But it’s weird, right? That he waited this long to yell at us about it?”
“Um, hi. That was his strategy.”
“Ugh, you’re so right. My dad does the same thing. He’ll tell me I’m grounded, but he won’t say for how long. It makes it way worse.”
“Only your dad isn’t as hot as Coach.”
“Eww! My dad isn’t hot at all??!”
Luci attempts to disguise her laugh by clearing her throat. The girls turn and see that she’s been eavesdropping, but they regard her warmly, sisterly. One even gently rubs Luci’s arm.
“Don’t worry, Luci. It’s never actually that bad.”
“In a weird way, it makes his speech kind of … exciting?”
“Totally. And, how cute is it that Coach takes the time to write out what he plans to say on a piece of paper?”
“He’s much better off the cuff. More relaxed.”
“Agreed, but it’s his level of caring I’m talking about. He wants to make sure he doesn’t forget anything. He takes coaching us so seriously that it hurts my heart.”
“Yes, yes, yes. That. Also, Luci, even when Coach is mad at us about something, which, I mean, he usually is, he always spins it around at the end and makes it motivational.”
“Tough love.”
“Tough love from your very hot dad.”
“Oh my God, you’re seriously depraved!”
“Um, thanks for the heads-up,” Luci says, giggling.
The sliding glass door rolls open. The two girls clutch one another with a mix of glee and dread, like they’re about to crest the hill of a roller coaster.
Coach steps onto the deck. Mrs. Gingrich and one of the caterers are right behind him, vaguely aware that something is about to happen, and they hurry to collect a stack of dirty plates. Coach centers himself on the impromptu stage the girls