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We head toward the fields, sorted back into our teams, any alliances formed during last night’s fun falling apart. First up on the schedule is an hour-long scrimmage, followed by rotating between clinics. This game won’t count for anything, but pride is on the line. We’ll play most of these teams, including our opponent today, Montclave College, during the regular season. This is our opportunity to warn other schools they shouldn’t be clearing any space for a national trophy.
Samantha holds out a hand as we meet with the ref, which I shake.
“Looking forward to kicking your ass, Scott,” she tells me, grinning.
I smirk back. “It’ll be fun to watch you try, Cole,” I reply before calling tails.
I choose correctly, and it sets off a domino effect of luck. Emma slides a kick behind their goalie when she thinks Emma is going to pass to me instead, and then Natalie manages a wicked header. I make a half-field shot that results in a lot of wide eyes on the field. Cressida lets one goal in, but we still emerge victorious.
Then, it’s onto the rotation of drills. My eyes seek out Beck as soon as the final whistle blows. He’s talking to William York again.
The station Mackenzie is in charge of is the first one we rotate to after a water break. She gives me a condescending smile as we gather around. I smirk back at her. If she wants to challenge me, soccer is not the way to do it. She hasn’t seen me play in two years, and I was the victor of our last match-up then. Confidence counts a lot more if you can back it up.
The drill Mackenzie describes is similar to the one Coach Taylor had us running through yesterday. Except instead of starting from side-by-side cones, we’re facing a defender already in the penalty box and a goalie in position.
“I’ll demonstrate one round,” Mackenzie announces. Her gaze roams across the group. I know she’s going to pick me long before she says my name. “Saylor. You’re a striker, right?”
“Right.” I keep my response short, and I hear Emma muffle a snort beside me.
Mackenzie knows exactly what my position is, and feigning forgetfulness isn’t the upper hand she thinks it is.
“Are you willing to help me demonstrate?” Mackenzie asks sweetly.
I tighten my ponytail. “Sure.”
She passes me a ball, and I trap it neatly, waiting for her to get into position. As soon as she’s in place, I strike, racing forward. I don’t head straight toward her, jutting out to the edge of the box so she has to come to me. As soon as she leaves her position, I employ some of the footwork I can thank Christina Weber for. Mackenzie tries to copy me, but she slips.
As soon as she does, I send the ball into the netting, easily outsmarting the goalie. It’s not the most satisfying goal I’ve ever scored—not by a long shot—but I still enjoy watching her squirm when I turn around. “Was that what you had in mind?”
“Good work, Scott,” Mackenzie mutters through gritted teeth. “Two lines, everyone.”
After Mackenzie’s, we cycle through three more drill clinics. We’re only one away from Beck’s.
William York is in charge of this one, and there’s a fair amount of whispering going on between the girls surrounding me. He’s the most popular—and good-looking—guest coach so far. He has a charming British accent and the implied importance of a member of the royal family. William seems oblivious to the attention as he talks us through a combination passing drill.
A few players struggle with the fast-paced weaving once we start.
I’m not one of them, and William comes over right after I finish.
“Excellent work out there,” he tells me, flashing a cheeky grin.
“Thanks.” My tone is polite, but don’t smile back.
“You’re the girl who went to Scholenberg, right?”
I don’t love knowing I’ve been gossiped about among the staff. “One of them, yeah.”
“The only one here,” he replies, still grinning.
I nod.
“Beck said you were amazing.”
I falter at that for a split-second. I’ve seen him and Beck talking twice now. They’re friends…maybe? Colleagues? Did Beck actually say that, or is William just joking around?
“That was nice of him.”
“Maybe even inspiring.” He winks, then moves on.
