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We made our way across campus, never once discarding the subject of coach speculation. Raking through lists of possibilities, we speculated that ULA had snatched up someone from Michigan, USC or maybe BU. At our level, everyone knows everyone, and there were only so many coaches who would make sense as a replacement. Though, that being said, we were both forced to acknowledge the chance that, on such short notice, ULA might have found a temp, a filler until the real muscle could be flown in.
It was late September, about a month into the season for both soccer and fall, and the leaves on the campus were beginning to brown and hurl themselves onto the cobblestones. Brick buildings sprouted from the earth, short, squat, with an air of academia around them — you know, that kind of vague stuffiness mixed with the homey smell of fresh coffee. The famous campus squirrels had begun preparing for the winter, and they were running to fat. I’d tried to feed them once or twice when drunk, and quickly discovered that the squirrels, while cute, were not friendly.
We passed through the main quad, an area of campus approximately the size of two football fields, with adjacent wings leading off to the other triad of rectangular land plots. Like I said — small place. On our way, I was waved down by a handful of bio kids, some of my sorority sisters, and even an old roommate from my freshman year back from when I had to live in the dorms. The constant risk of encountering an enemy or old flame — not that I had many of either — was well-documented, so generally, kids either resigned themselves to dressing in PJs and giving up, or the perfectionists among us, myself included, dressed to the nines on a daily basis. There was little in between.
“What if he’s hot?” Grace asked, breaking my stream of thoughts.
I scoffed, “Please.”
“He could be! Come on, be a little more optimistic.”
I blew some hair out of my face and glanced at the nearby chapel. The school wasn’t particularly religious — I don’t think it even had ever had religious affiliation — but if I recalled correctly, the architect responsible insisted on building a chapel. ‘Because it’ll look nice,’ he’d probably asserted.
Behind the chapel was the running trail I favored, where I’d go in the mornings to clear my head. I could use a run, I thought.
Grace, meanwhile, was mouthing a fantasy.
“And maybe,” she said, “maybe he’s sweet, and funny, and also good, I want him to be really good, but more importantly hot, and—”
“Ah, stop!” I blurted out.
“Why?”
“Because! He’s gonna be what he’s gonna be. Now we’re just obsessing over it.”
“Well,” she said, miffed, “you’re as interested as I am.”
I granted that. “Yeah, but the suspense is killing me. I can’t think about it anymore. I just want this… to be settled. Right?”
Grace was clearly still itching to voice her opinions on the subject, but managed to muffle them.
We rounded the corner onto Hawkings Street, and at last found ourselves in front of the gym. While the rest of the buildings on campus were made to look old — I mean, I suppose they were, they’re from the 1800s — the gym was shiny and brand spanking new. The exterior was all curved glass and giant steel beams while the inside was a state-of-the-art facility, home to the latest in every form of sports equipment. I was intimately familiar with the gym in the way that a normal girl might be familiar with the lines of her lover.
“Catya! Grace!” a voice called.
I looked to the left of the giant doors, and what appeared to be the entire team was waiting outside, steam coming out of their mouths as they chatted.
“Why are you waiting outside?” I shouted back. Grace and I picked up our pace, and closed in on the gang. “It’s cold.”
Sharon-Ann said, “We wanted to walk in together. Like a united front.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To show him we mean business,” Riri explained, guileless as always.
Max added, “And you were running late, so we held off.”
“I’m not late,” I replied, my tone defensive.
“Whatever, boss,” Beth chimed in.
I began again slowly, trying to decipher their meanings. “So you’re waiting outside, in the cold, for some amount of time, to show the new coach we’re a team by… walking in together? That’s the big plan?”
The skepticism in my voice was contagious, and the rest of the girls were soon infected with my insistent normalcy.
“Okay, okay,” Max replied. “Maybe we didn’t think it through but this just seemed like the moment for, I dunno, visible unity.”
Occasionally, I was reminded that no matter how many hours a day I spent with these kids, I was doomed to never fully comprehend their actions and motivations.
“All right then,” I said, dropping the subject. Pick your battles. “Thanks for waiting, I guess. I think everyone is here. Let’s go.”
