“Tigers, our first game is coming up fast.” He grins at our impending doom. “Good thing we have three more chances for two-a-days after today. That’s right, folks, you’re mine through the weekend.”
As at least one dummy grunts out a sigh, I realize it’s not just today and tomorrow I need Ryan to cover for me, it’s this weekend, too. As far as I know, he won’t be having two-a-days this weekend because tryouts are over and the team is announced Monday, and Dad and Mom are totally going to notice if I’m gone for huge chunks of the morning and afternoon without explanation. Which means the kid has to lie hard-core for me. It’s gonna cost me way more than a trip to Burger Fu, that’s for sure.
“That better be the only lily-pants whine I hear for the rest of today or every single one of you is going to run twenty laps in pads to end practice, instead of five.” Coach Lee might be small, but his voice is tough as nails. “Don’t care who whines—you’re a team, and you’ll take the punishment together.”
I could be imagining it, but I feel eyes on me again. I grit my teeth.
Sorry, boys, but you won’t be able to blame this girl.
Coach pauses for a second to confirm everyone will stay silent. Then, “Tigers, I’ve got a compliment for you, and you know I’m not big on those. No point in blowing hot air up your backsides if you’re just gonna get the wind knocked out of you on the next play.”
Danielle would love Coach Lee.
“You kids have worked your tails off so far this preseason. Drive, focus, and determination have been high. Maybe the highest I’ve seen this side of the year 2000.”
A crack of energy shoots through the manly glob of bodies surrounding me, though no one is dumb enough to beg a high five or even so much as whisper excitedly. But the thrill is there, the hairs on everyone’s arms standing at attention.
“Will that translate to a winning record?” Coach shrugs his narrow shoulders, hands raised toward the sky. “That’s up to you.”
And it is. In softball and in football, the only control you have is how prepared you are. Everything else is in the hands of chance. And chance only sides with you if you worked for it more than the other guy.
Danielle might have been the first one to teach me that, but it’s a lesson I’ve had reinforced over and over.
“Would you like one more piece of motivation, Tigers?”
As a fifty-headed beast, we nod.
Coach checks his hands on his hips. His eyes drop to the ground for a moment before he looks up.
“Last season, we were 10–2. League champs.” We nod again. “That’s pretty good. Hell, any other year, I’d take any of those things and call it golden. But this year, I want all of that and more.”
He pauses. There’s weight to it—a heaviness. A cool finger sweeps down my spine, and I’m right back in that family restroom at state, waiting for bad news to tumble out of Principal Meyer’s mouth.
“Tigers, this is my last year as head coach at Northland High.”
No one breathes. No one moves. Even the sun seems to pause in its ascent, everything frozen except for the words rushing from Coach Lee’s lips. Next to me, Grey has turned granite-stiff.
“I didn’t expect to tell you kids this until the end of the season. But that seemed like a coward’s move, and I’m no coward. And you kids aren’t kittens.”
He cracks a smile, and a few people exhale. I don’t, though, completely stunned by the fact that I’m not just a novice on this team, I’m a player whose coach wants to ride off into the sunset a champion.
“Sharpen those claws, Tigers. We’ve got winning to do.”
8
GREY’S TRUE BACKUP IS A SO-BLOND-IT-HURTS FRESHMAN named Brady Mason. He’s number seventeen, and a legacy in Northland football because his older brother, Cooper, was starting quarterback before Grey arrived.
Like my brother, he’s spindly—puberty slow to smack him across his hairless cheeks. Like Grey, he’s far too smiley. His parents must’ve paid a small fortune in middle school orthodontia because his teeth are almost beauty-queen pretty.
I’m not sure if he’s smiling so much because he doesn’t know what else to do with his facial muscles or if he’s just awkward around girls, but he looks like a toothpaste commercial as we warm up, passing balls in tandem, him to Grey and me to Coach Shanks.
He’s also totally checking me out. Not in a romantic way. The kid’s watching my arm, catching my form for a split second before passing his own ball. He’s left-handed, so we’re turned toward each other as we draw back and aim.
I can’t tell if I should be embarrassed or flattered. Because either he thinks I’m a hot mess or competition for the number two spot.
Which is kind of hilarious either way.
“Nice warm-up, folks.” Coach Shanks blows his whistle. “Routes.”
Shanks pulls over a pair of wide receivers, Chow and Gonzalez, and lines them up. As Grey fires off five different numbered routes, I study a multipage play chart binder with Brady. It’s got more Xs and Os than a Valentine’s card, but I think I get it.
As I line up, I get a clear view of the fence separating the practice fields from the stadium. And there, not even remotely pretending to be exercising, is Addie, long limbs pressed against the crosshatch of chain link.
She is truly the best friend.
Feeling Addie’s eyes at my back, I line up the balls and dig into the turf, my softball cleats doing a fine job despite being designed for a completely different sport, just like the rest of me.
Chow and Gonzalez—who turn out to be Timmy and Jaden, both seniors—are swallowing huge gulps of air while waiting for Coach to call the same five plays.
Orange Five. White Two. White Ten. Orange Nine. Orange Three.
I only miss once, overthrowing Gonzalez. But to be fair, he was gassed and it was the last play.
They walk off, replaced by two tight ends—Smith and Tate, aka Trevor and Zach—who take turns running short routes.
By the time we’ve run through that, my arm is starting to gripe at the restriction of the shoulder pads. Not that I’m about to complain. Because that is something Olive Rodinsky never does.
“Nice work, folks.” Shanks smiles, but there’s something evil in it that I recognize from when Danielle has cooked up something especially… epic. “Now go rest up, because this afternoon is going to be fun.”
After postpractice laps, I change back into my outfit from this morning, running shorts and a tank top, in a quiet locker room free of Kelly and any cheerleaders or volleyball players who’ve been banging in and out of the door since seven, heading to and from various practices. Besides the pad marks across my shoulders, I’m pretty sure I don’t look like I just came from football practice. Hopefully Mom will agree when she sees me after I get home from taking the boys for burgers.
I push into the parking lot, expecting to spot Ryan and Jesse right away, burger lust glowing stronger than the noontime sun. Instead, there’s just a single figure. The unrelenting brightness blinds me, and at first I think it might be Addie or Grey waiting for me, but the proportions are all off.
Jake.
He’s in a T-shirt and cutoff sweats, pads and jersey probably airing out in the locker room like mine.