“Everyone, line up for drills,” Coach calls beckoning us toward the line of cones.
At the opposite end of the cones are the goal posts where our keeper waits.
“Dominica, head down the other end of the cones and be the defender,” Coach says and Dominica jogs toward the top of the goal circle. “Everyone else, line up here. Dribble around the cones, beat the defender, and then shoot. When you’re done, become the defender for the next person.”
As I wait for my turn, I jump on the spot, shaking out my hands to keep my circulation pumping. The line moves quickly, and Coach rolls the ball my way.
My cleats grip to the ground as I jog, nudging the ball with care. Weaving in tight circles, I head straight for the defender, ready to fake her out. Her stance is wide and I take the opportunity to pass the ball between her legs. I smirk, holding back my laugh as I swing around her and tap the ball ahead. With open space, I wind my leg back and shoot. The keeper deflects the ball off her gloves, but I keep flying forward and connect the ball with my knee. The ball lifts into the air and I steady myself under it. When it falls back to earth, I direct my head to hit and send it darting into the net.
“Woo!“ I cheer, punching the air above my head.
“Good work, Jamie!” Coach calls from mid-field.
The previous defender has already jogged toward mid-field when I turn around. The keeper kicks the ball to Coach, and my next victim gets herself ready at the other end of the cones.
Leah navigates the cones with downcast eyes. She’s one of the weaker players on the team. It almost feels mean. My lips curve.Almost.
I run up to her at an angle that forces her to the left. It’s important to learn your teammates’ weak points. Leah tries to pass around me, but I connect my foot with the ball, sending it out of bounds. I shoot her an apologetic look before she runs to chase it.
“Okay, get up here, Jamie,” Coach calls. “Hayley, you’re up.”
“Hey, what did you do with your feet back there?” Dominica asks when I get back to mid-field.
“Huh?”
“You did a little flick before shooting the ball away from her,” Dominica says. “Could you teach me how to do that?”
“Oh, umm, no it’s…” Oh, geez. Here comes the nonsensical sounds right on cue. “It’s easy. You don’t… I can’t… Teach? Umm, no.”
Dominica’s face screws up. She looks away, clearly mumbling, “Loser.”
My stomach somersaults inside me. A perfect opening to make a better connection with a teammate and I screw it up. Why must I do this every training session and game? There’s an entire team of girls who could be potential friends, and I have to alienate myself with my brash awkwardness.
We run through a few more drills until it’s time to pack up.
“Good job today, team,” Coach says. “Hit the lockers.”
The team helps pack up cones and gather soccer balls before leaving for the lockers.
“Jamie.” Coach beckons me closer. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah, Coach?”
He eyes the team disappearing toward the lockers and I hope this isn’t another speech about being a better sport or being more encouraging to other team members.
Coach turns back to me when everyone is sufficiently out of earshot. “You’re off the team.”
I splutter a cough, leaving my mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”
“Not permanently,” he continues, and my normal breathing function becomes operational. “I’m benching you until you improve your grades.”
“You’re what?” I shake my head, dumbfounded. “Did Maddy put you up to this?”
Coach folds his arms. “I make the decisions for this team and its players.”
I gulp. “Yes, Coach.”
“Maddy told me her concerns. I don’t want soccer to get in the way of your studies.”
