Ainsley’s eyes narrow as she scowls at me.
But she can’t resist a challenge.
She lifts her hand and motions for her assistant coach, Raymond. “Roll one out for us, Ray.”
Quinn jogs over to me with a stick. “You sure about this?”
“Not one bit,” I say with absolute certainty.
“Fantastic.”
We take a few minutes to stretch our legs. We’re not as young as we used to be, and I don’t know about Ainsley, but I haven’t played the game in over ten years.
I take this opportunity—Ainsley’s big mouth is shut for one—to talk to the girls, whichever of them might be the girls I’m coaching this year. “Speed is always important in this game; beating your opponent to the ball is great, but you also need to know what to do once you get there. That’s where control and precision come in. Timing.”
Ainsley snorts. “Just focus on getting to the ball. Your instinct will take over.”
I lower my voice, speaking only to her. “Not everyone has natural abilities. These girls need to learn the skills of the game.”
“Good. You teach JV all the skills you want, and I’ll be winning games with the powerhouses on varsity.”
My skin heats, and my fingers grip the stick tighter. “That thick head of yours is still as close-minded as ever.”
She arches a brow. “Stalling? Are you afraid you’ll lose to a girl again in front of all these kids?”
I roll my eyes at her tired, old insult. “That was always your problem, Morgan. Competing with your teammates instead of working with them.”
Raymond clears his throat. “You two ready?”
Ainsley crouches down low. “Ready.”
I squat beside her, and for a second, the air shifts around us. We’re transported back in time. I anticipate the drop in her shoulders before she lowers them; the way her fingers tighten around the stick; the long stream of breath she pushes through her lips while she waits for the whistle. My body reacts to hers, adjusting alongside her.
The whistle screeches, and we both take off toward the ball like we’re shot out of cannons. Ainsley reaches the ball a fraction of a second before I do, but overshoots it like I knew she would and skids in the grass.
Lack of control.
I reach out my stick and scoop the ball, cradling it as I run toward the goal. It’s not part of the drill, but I want to ram this victory down her throat.
She’s beside me in a flash, knocking my stick with hers. But I spin around and shoot the ball straight into the net.
The girls cheer, and I swear, Ainsley growls as she stomps past me.
A smug smile spreads across my face. “And that, ladies, is what I’m talking about. In the seconds she wasted backtracking for the ball, I slowed down and snatched it out from under her. Once you have possession, the play is yours. But it’s a lot harder to make the play without the ball.”
“Let’s go again.” Ainsley crouches on the line, chest heaving. “I’ve got another lesson for all of you.”
I lean in close as I take my spot beside her. “Can’t take the L like a big girl, huh?”
“Call it, Raymond,” she shouts, ignoring me like a brat.
Raymond blows the whistle, and again, Ainsley takes off with too much power. I scoop the ball easily, but as soon as I do, her stick cracks into mine and the ball flies out of my pocket. While it’s in the air, she swipes it away, and shoots it into the goal.
The girls cheer louder this time.
Ainsley holds out her arms wide on either side of her. “Lesson of the day: If you don’t have possession of the ball,takepossession of the ball. You can make every play yours if you’re fast enough.”
I shake my head, but bite my tongue. Once I make my team, I can coach them on all of the important tactics.Myway.
