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“Hi David,” I said with a forced smile. Behind me, the girls shifted. I turned over my shoulder, and explained, “Everyone, this is Mr. Drake. You haven’t met him before, but he’s the Athletics Director for all of ULA.”
In other words, David was the behind-the-scenes guy. I’d been introduced to him last year, as team captains, in conjunction with coaches, were considered to be the point people for any athletic team. A liaison, if you will. David stayed as firmly out of the light as possible, facilitating everything from the shadows. Even given ULA’s massive presence in the collegiate sports world, he somehow managed to avoid any public scrutiny. I found him a little creepy.
But all that to say, David turning up at our locker room on a weekday was not a promising sign.
“Hi there,” he said, interrupting my running calculations as to what, exactly, could prompt his appearance.
“Hi, Mr. Drake,” they replied in an unnerving unison only acquired after months, years of tight-knit practice.
He went on, “Thanks for the introduction, Catya.”
His pulpy fingers played with one another, his hands twining and untwining rapidly.
“So,” he continued, “like she said, I’m the Athletics Director. I don’t want to beat around the bush with you, so let me get straight to the point. Coach Alan Turnpick has… has been asked to step down.”
My eyes went wide and gasps ran through the room, murmurs of ‘no way’ and ‘he can’t be serious.’
Alan had been the ULA women’s soccer coach for fifteen years. In fact, we’d just celebrated the anniversary a few weeks ago. He was as much a part of the institution as the stadium itself, universally well-liked and a key ingredient in most of our championship victories in recent memory. Only half an hour ago, we’d been working on passing drills with him. Everything had seemed, y’know, normal.
And it wasn’t like he’d just voluntarily left, moved on to greener pastures. For one, this was about the greenest pasture there was — we had one of the best track records in our division, and the job came with a hefty bucket of cash. Besides, David had chosen his words carefully, he had said Alan was “asked to step down.”
However, in my heart, I knew what happened, and suspected the other girls did, too. But now wasn’t the time.
“Okay,” I managed to reply at last. Unsure of what else to say, I continued, “Thanks for letting us know.”
“No problem,” he replied, a bit too keen for my taste. He swiveled on his heel, and began walking back to the door. Certainly not one to dwell for the sake of sentimentality.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added over his shoulder. “The new coach comes tomorrow.”
“Who is it?” Max demanded.
“Is it Ross Greenspan?” Rose piggybacked. “It’s totally him, right?”
But the door had already shut behind David.
The room broke into chaos.
“Oh my God, what happened?” queried Riri intently.
“No clue,” Sharon-Ann responded.
“There’s gotta be some explanation,” Beth said, desperate. “Shit like this doesn’t just happen.”
“Come on,” Grace offered. “We all know what happened.”
The team spun to face her, the smell of juicy gossip wafting through the room. I shot her a look, willing her to zip it. Grace raised her eyebrows at me, as if to innocently say, ‘What? They have a right to know.’ This wasn’t the hill for me to die on. Grace was one of my closest friends, both on the team and in my sorority. And as much as I loved her, I also knew that she couldn’t keep a secret to save her damn life. Generally, her candor was hilarious and captivating. At the moment, though, I was fervently wishing she could acquire a little discretion.
But it was too late. She’d already opened her mouth, and now there was no shutting it. I threw up my arms, relenting.
Grace took that as a sign of tacit endorsement.
Continuing languidly, she said simply, “Melanie.”
“Melanie?” someone replied.
Another continued, “What does Melanie have to do with this?”
Grace rolled her eyes, as if frustrated by their questions. In reality, I knew she was just enjoying the spotlight. She could be such a Leo sometimes.
“Melanie quit last week,” she said. “Alan gets fired today. Come on, do the math. You’ve probably heard the rumors.”
The room, in stark contrast to the chaos of only moments ago, went deadly silent. They had all, indeed, heard the rumor — that Melanie, a second string alternate goalie, was sleeping with Coach Alan.
There had been quiet jokes about it for months — the way she looked at him with wide doe eyes and made sure to respond to his every request with an eager nod and big smile. I’d told the girls to lay off, in part because I felt certain the little jabs were isolating, which isn’t good for team cohesion, and in part because I thought it was mean-spirited to make fun of a young girl for having an impossible crush.
