Anxiety coils its fingers around my lungs, the way it always used to whenever I was at this place. Suddenly, I’m sixteen again, pushing my body to run faster, play harder, as if I wasn’t already pushing my body past its breaking point. My ribs ache, like a phantom pain from an old memory I thought I’d forgotten. Ainsley’s face flashes in my mind, the hurt I last saw in her watery hazel eyes—the same hurt I saw moments ago, only seventeen years later.
This field is a damn time machine.
Maybe I shouldn’t have taken this position...
“What do you think, Coach?”
My shoulders jump as I’m brought back to the present by my assistant coach. “There’s a lot of potential here. Twenty-three is fast.”
Quinn nods. “She tried out last year and didn’t make it.”
My chin jerks back. “Why not?”
“Coach Ainsley didn’t think she had enough skill. Told her to practice and come back.”
“Well, she’s back. Let’s see what else she’s got.” Speed isn’t enough, but it’s a great start.
You learn a lot about kids during a tryout. After running laps and doing a series of lunges, high knees, and pushups, it’sclear who complains, who leads, and who has the potential to be better.
Ainsley’s whistle pierces through the air again. “Two lines. Grab a stick and pass to a partner.”
“You should be over there with her, you know,” Quinn says, her voice low.
I heave a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll go over well.”
After the confrontation we shared in the hallway twenty minutes ago, the last thing we need is to be side-by-side.
“You guys have to talk about things. This is where we build our team.” When I’m quiet, she adds, “Don’t let her steamroll you. You deserve to be here just as much as she does.”
My lips twitch. “Sloane talked to you, huh?”
“Sorry.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Sloane is the physical therapist I work with at the clinic, and Quinn is her older sister. Quinn was a sophomore when I was a senior in high school so we never ran in the same circles, but the whole school knew about the rivalry between me and Ainsley, regardless of their grade level.
“Don’t apologize, Quinn. You’re right.”
This is my tryout just as much as it is Ainsley’s. We should be able to work together. This isn’t about us. These girls worked hard to be here today, and we can’t let our hatred for each other get in the way of our responsibility.
My shoulders stretch and my spine straightens as my legs carry me over to Ainsley.
She shifts from one foot to the other, and I know she sees me coming. She can act as tough as she wants, but I know my presence gets under her skin. She thinks this is her field, her school. But I’m going to remind her that it’s mine too.
She hugs her clipboard to her chest, and her lips press into a firm line when I plant my feet beside her. She snaps her gum, same as she did in high school whenever she was irritated.
She chewed a lot of gum.
I purposely don’t say anything, letting her agitation build in the silence. I smirk as she tilts her body away from me whenever she writes something down so I can’t see her notes.
“Courtney, stop throwing at her feet,” Ainsley calls to one of the girls. “Catch first, then cradle, Salma. Move your hands, Shelby. You’re choking the stick.”
They scramble as she calls out commands. Ainsley has an advantage over me, knowing most of the girls here. I take the time to make sure my notes are extra detailed so I can remember each of them, knowing damn well she won’t be sharinganyhelpful information with me.
She blows the whistle again. “Stay in your lines. I’m rolling out ground balls. Each pair sprints for it on my whistle.”
Excitement bubbles under my skin. This is my favorite drill. It’ll allow me to see who attacks the ball, and who hesitates. Racing to a ground ball is the perfect way to evaluate who’ll have what it takes under pressure in a game.
I walk over to the pile of yellow balls on the ground, and don’t wait for Ainsley’s permission. I send it rolling across the field, and blow my whistle.
