of the day just wandering around. It was fun to see the places Coach had been telling her about over the last few years. She took a picture outside his old dorm. She ordered the chicken tenders from a food cart near the science labs, which he said were the best chicken tenders in the entire world. She even found one of his team pictures in the athletic center.
His freshman year, standing in a line, his hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, a confident smile. He was so handsome. And really, she couldn’t find many places where he had aged. Back then, he only had one scar, his first ACL surgery.
On Saturday, Mel was a jumble of nervous energy as she made her way across campus with her gear bag to a gorgeous athletic center, all glass. About thirty other girls had also been invited. A handful she recognized from different tournaments; many she didn’t. She overheard a few accents. Australian. Indian.
She took a smiling selfie with her stick and her Wildcats Varsity T-shirt. She sent it to Gordy and Coach. Separately, of course.
GORDY:
Truman’s women’s team head coach is a woman named Karen Backman. She’s a former assistant coach of the Women’s National Team, an Olympic alternate.
Mel was instantly struck by how cool Karen was. Karen’s long hair was streaked with gray but because she was a blonde, it looked fashionable. She had zero makeup on but still glowed, and she was incredibly fit. Karen had on a fitted Truman T-shirt, a pair of expensive-looking yoga leggings—purple and silver marble—and a hip-looking pair of sneakers.
Mel couldn’t wait to get out on the field and impress her. While Karen was introducing herself to all the girls, Mel hopped from side to side, the way she sometimes does on the sidelines when she’s waiting to get subbed back in.
Except the girls never went to the field. Instead they took a tour of the athletic facilities and went on another campus tour, though this one focused more on student athletes who attended Truman. Then they had lunch with the current players.
After lunch, the hopefuls boarded a bus—without Coach Karen—and drove away from the field and across campus to the fine arts building. There they were led into a studio full of mirrors, where an elderly man from the dance department dressed in a skin-tight black leotard and wide-legged linen pants led them in deep breathing, movement, and yoga poses like doggy-down-something-something. At one point, Mel made namaste hands at some of the other girls as a joke, but they barely smiled at her.
Back at the hotel, she was supposed to be getting ready for dinner with her parents, but instead Mel was in bed with the covers pulled up over her head. She thought about texting Gordy about what a letdown the day was, but would he even get it? Unfortunately, Coach hadn’t responded to any of her other texts about Truman. But Mel didn’t let that stop her.
MEL: First day kinda sucked.
She waited.
MEL: Haven’t taken my stick out of my bag once.
MEL: You’d hate this coach.
MEL: She made all the girls do yoga.
MEL: Everyone hated it.
He’d like hearing that, Mel thought. Coach loved comparing himself to other coaches. The ones they faced in high school who’d never even played on the collegiate level.
MEL: I know you had an amazing coach at Truman but this lady is a weirdo.
MEL: It’s got me thinking Truman might not be the best fit.
He was probably doing something. Maybe at a movie. But they’d been out of touch for so many months, she was hungry for that connection.
His came back rapid-fire.
COACH: Are you kidding me with this shit?
COACH: First of all, I’m in fucking Barcelona right now.
COACH: It’s five in the morning.
COACH: There’s some kind of loud as fuck festival thing happening on the street outside my hotel window.
COACH: We have a tournament game in a few hours.
MEL: Oh my god, I am so sorry.
COACH: I called in A LOT of favors to get you this opportunity.
COACH: I don’t care if the coach asks you to ballet dance for her.
COACH: Don’t fucking embarrass me.
Mel’s head was spinning. Had she earned her Truman invite? Or had Coach gotten it for her?
MEL: No … of course I wouldn’t. I’m just saying …
COACH: DON’T TEXT ME AGAIN.
What was she saying? She spent the entire rest of the night trying to figure it out.
The following morning, Coach Karen pulled Mel aside as she was about to take the field.