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Bruce isn’t here.
Our fight Thursday night had been near-nuclear, but I never dreamed he’d just bail without a word. I thought he at least had the balls to send me a text saying he was out if he was going to quit after our argument.
I’ve played it over in my head more times than I can count. If the scene had been an old-school VHS tape, I would’ve worn it out. But my brain cues it up easily, ready to play it across the screen in my mind again, fresh and bright like it was the first time. I grit my teeth and blink hard, forcing the mental image to change to a set of X’s and O’s, a play that we worked on previously.
Another glare at my phone tells me that nothing from Bruce has come through, nor has any other divine intervention come my way. This is on me. I need to rally and handle this on my own. It’s fine. I’ve done harder stuff before.
I laugh at myself. Because running a football practice on the fly for twelve pre-pubescent boys might actually be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not because the rest of my life has been rainbows and unicorn shit but because these kids are vicious and I know they already smell blood in the water. My blood.
And I have an audience. It’s Saturday morning, so more of the parents are available to sit on the sidelines, not that they’ll help me, but they’ll definitely be watching me flounder in my new role.
The team crosses the finish line with customary high-fives and then they crowd around me. “Where’s Coach B?” someone asks. I’m not sure who, but we’re all thinking it so it doesn’t matter.
“Honestly, I’m not sure, guys. Something super important must’ve come up, though, because I know he wouldn’t miss out on a practice unless he really had to.” I’m trying to convince myself as much as them, but no one’s believing the meaningless crap I’m serving up. I can see their faces fall, resolute that they’ve been let down again.
But I won’t let them down.
“Let’s get to practicing. Coach B won’t want to hear about your slacking off just because he wasn’t here to push you. This is a chance to step up and push yourself, show him and each other how far you’ve come as a team.”
As far as rally speeches go, it’s not half bad. Maybe a little rah-rah, but I was a cheerleader. And I’m absolutely willing to make Bruce out to be the scary bad guy who’ll be disappointed in them if it gets me through the next hour without a revolt.
“Set up to run the play from Tuesday. It was looking good, but it could be better. You guys are better. Let’s do it!” I inject enthusiasm into my voice, but they grumble as they get set.
We run it several times, and each time it seems to get worse instead of better. I don’t know enough football to correct them and resort to calling on them to dissect their own mistakes.
Johnathan smirks. “I know what we did wrong. We got a girl as a coach. Girls don’t know football.”
Ouch. Little shit.
He’s been the hardest kid to reach, for both Mike and Bruce, and now me and Bruce. He’ll be solid gold sometimes, even show true leadership potential, and then a minute later, I want to choke him. I’m not sure what’s up with him yet, so I’m not sure how best to handle his bratty mouthiness. Especially when his brother is the most laid-back, follow-along-with-whatever kid on the team.
Cooper rears up in my defense. “Shut your mouth, Johnathan! It’s not like your mom or dad is even here to watch you practice. At least my mom is helping.” His pride that I’m here burns bright white in my heart, and I have to fight back the urge to scoop him up in a hug because he’d die if I did that right now in front of his friends on the football field.
But Johnathan isn’t done either. “Yeah, but where’s your dad, Chicken Coop?”
It’s a low blow, uncalled for and cruel.
I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly, glad that my own dad taught me that trick when I was a little girl. I’d lost the ability when I was missing teeth as a kid, but it came in handy again as a cheerleader.
The boys jerk and twelve pairs of eyes turn to me. Not a single one blinks, and quite a few look guilty even though they didn’t do anything.
“Is this how a team behaves, gentlemen?” I ask harshly.
There’s a grumble of nos.
“I asked you a question. Is this how a team behaves?” I get down in Johnathan’s face, letting loose the full powerful strength of my mom glare.
