So I clapped twice. They hopped up and got moving. Relieved, I made a note on my paper to order a whistle.
“These are size three balls,” No-Nonsense Rosie called from the sideline.
I frowned. “Is that wrong?”
She gave me a look that insinuatedDuh, you moron. Then she said, “I mean, those are for babies, but I guess you tried.”
Wow. Okay.
“It’s okay!” Jamie assured me with a grin. “We all have our own balls.”
And sure enough, they each retrieved balls from their backpacks, along with shin guards and water bottles.
While chatting, the girls passed the balls happily back and forth for fifteen minutes as I stood there like an idiot with my clipboard, making fake notes and having absolutely no idea what we should do next.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to figure it out because something on the sidewalk outside the school grabbed the team’s attention, and the girls took off waving and shouting.
Alarmed, I tossed my clipboard aside, unprepared for mutiny so early on. But the kids stopped running once they reached their target.
The girls swarmed an amused Bonnie Clark—or Ms. Jensen, as the children were calling her—clearly on her way home for the day.
She greeted each child by name and smiled sweetly at them while they chattered animatedly at her. Words floated back to me on the breeze, snippets of their high-pitched enthusiasm about the team and practice.
Bonnie glanced over their heads and spotted me, her expression going from politely interested to shocked in record time. She let the kids tug her over to the field.
Before I could announce something—I didn’t know what—Raeanne said it was time for a scrimmage and split the girls into two teams. They whooped and bolted onto the field.
Bonnie came to stand beside me while I watched my well-oiled machine chug away without me. She was wearing a flowy skirt with swirls of autumn colors and a gauzy white button-up tucked into it. A wide brown belt accentuated her waist, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was trying very hard not to laugh.
“So this was what the background check was for.” Oh, yeah, she was amused.
I side-eyed her.
“They’re a good group of girls,” she offered, still watching the mini-game in progress.
“Sure. Even the diabolical mastermind with butterfly clips.”
Bonnie finally turned to look at me, her grin widening. She chuckled and quickly brought a hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind this?”
I sighed. “Santiago over there came to Magnolia looking for a sponsor for the team’s jerseys and failed to mention that I was signing my life away as their head coach. Then Eloise Carter came calling and strong-armed me into the background check last Friday.”
Her brown eyes sparkled. “So you’re not actually into soccer?”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “No. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. And there are no parents here. I can’t believe they just left their kids with me.”
Bonnie laughed again. “Yeah, if there’s an adult in charge, the parents are for sure going to bail. If you want them to stay, you’ll need to explicitly spell out that it’s not a drop-off practice.”
Great. Not only would I be expected to talk to these kids, but I had tocommunicatewith their parents, too.
Suddenly, the girl in the tie-dye tracksuit ran off the field. She grabbed her bag from the sideline without saying anything and bolted toward the parking lot.
Bonnie and I watched as Judy Douglas hopped into an old Pontiac waiting at the curb. A woman in the driver’s seat waved out her open window.
“That’s her mom,” Bonnie offered helpfully.
“Who just leaves in the middle of practice?”
Bonnie’s gaze cut my way, and she said seriously, “I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with your coaching ability.” Then she ruined it by smiling widely.
