“No. You know, I never said I was a teacher. This was all your idea.”
“Just think of me as someone who has never seen a soccer ball before, and that I don't know how to use my feet.”
I smirk. “That seems accurate.”
Milo gives me an uneasy look. “Can you teach me?”
I collect the ball and stand square with Milo. I plant my right foot edge-wise against the soccer ball. “This is how your foot should look when you’re stopping the ball.”
Milo turns to view my foot’s position. I step my left leg in front. “Your other leg should be in front.” I tap the ball ahead to demonstrate. I jog up as the ball rolls to a stop. As I do the actions, I say them aloud. “I hop on my left, bringing it to the side of the ball, and behind, my right foot anchors, sliding to the side and cradling the ball against the inside of my foot.”
“Huh.”
I look over my shoulder to view Milo with his hands on his hips and a curious look on his face.
I step to the side of the ball. “Do you want to try?”
“Show me one more time?”
I force myself to slow down and go through each movement slowly, trying my best to describe my actions to Milo. I plant the ball in front of him, telling him to approach it like it’s moving and do the actions like he were to stop it.
When he steps his left leg beside the ball, his toe digs into the earth, causing him to stumble. He overcompensates with his right foot, tripping over the ball. After three more awkward steps, he stops himself from face-planting the field.
I press my palm hard against my mouth and wrap my other arm around my midsection, pressuring myself not to laugh out loud.
Milo straightens up, and as he turns, I spy the frustration in his expression. As he glimpses at me, it morphs into embarrassment.
Hurriedly, I drop my hands and smile. “It’s okay. Try again.”
He walks toward me to reposition himself and start again. “You already know I’m an uncoordinated mess, so I guess you’re not seeing anything new.”
“It’s still amusing,” I tease.
His eyebrows lift. “Ha ha.”
Milo tries the drill a few more times. One time he stops short, fumbling forward to connect with the ball. Another time, his right foot connects with the ball before his left foot gets into position. This causes him to push the ball forward and stumble over his feet, falling forward while over-correcting. The last time he gives up while on the pathetic jog toward the ball.
“This is dumb,” he complains.
“You’re the one who wanted to practice.”
“Yeah, so I could pass the class. Still doesn't change the fact that this having any bearing on my academic record is a joke.”
“I have to admit, I never thought stopping in place could be so hard,” I tease.
“I did,” Milo mutters. “That’s why I gave up on soccer the week I started.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kai and I were supposed to play soccer together,” Milo explains. He shakes his head with frustration, narrowing his eyes. “Why my parents thought that was a good idea is beyond me. They already knew about my issues.”
I chew my lip, busting to ask. “What issues?”
Milo rubs his index finger against his ear. “I have an inner ear thing. It throws me off-balance sometimes.”
I puff a soft laugh of surprise. “So, there’s a medical reason for your awkward lack of coordination?”
Milo shrugs. “It’s Kai’s fault. He wrapped his umbilical cord around my neck and deprived me of oxygen before we were born.”
