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She couldn’t be serious. This was my senior year of high school, my last season of track. If any of the schools that had offered me scholarships found out, they’d pull those offers in a heartbeat. I was ruined. Everything I’d worked for gone, in a puff of smoke.
My tongue felt thick as I tried to argue. “But, Coach you can’t—”
She held up a hand. “Relax, Hale. It’s only for a short time. When your doctor and I are satisfied with your progress, then you can return to the team.”
The breath I’d been holding left my body in a whoosh. I slumped in the chair, already exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of today. At least there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My track career wasn’t totally ruined.
“Okay, I think I can handle that.” I gripped the armrests. My mother’s voice played in my ears, her sage advice from the urgent care appointment playing on repeat. “Three weeks with no practice. I can do that. I can take up a hobby. Maybe knitting? Or cooking?”
Coach Padilla made an expression that looked strangely like a smile crossed with a grimace and shook her head. “No, no, no. Like I said, I see a lot of myself in you. I know that won’t do. You’ll just find another way to involve yourself in practice. No, I’ve found something to occupy your time. Do it well, and I will approve your reentry into the track team. Fail, and you will effectively be off the team. Permanently.”
I gulped. What kind of horrendous task had Coach Padilla set out for me? Scrubbing out the tadpole tanks in the science room? Sanitizing the boys’ locker room? Whatever it was, I’d set my shoulders and tackle it with the utmost of dignity, if that’s what it took.
“I understand,” I told her, frowning. “What do I have to do?”
She nodded approvingly and it felt like the temperature in the room went up three degrees. “I’ve already spoken about it to Coach Morgan. The baseball team manager is out sick for the next few weeks. I’d like you to take his place. It should be an innocuous enough chore. Not physical enough to worsen your ankle, but busying enough to chase away the temptation to involve yourself in my track practices again. And as you’ll still be part of a team sport, you can still collect your Varsity letter at the end of the year.”
I was pretty sure I started hyperventilating. My vision spun before my eyes and the sudden desire to faint passed over me. “Wait, what? The baseball team manager? Isn’t there something else I can do? Anything else?”
“No.” The disproving pucker was back. “I’ve made up my mind, Hale. It’s this, or you’re off the team. What do you say?”
I couldn’t answer her. All I could do was envision Jayden’s smug face as I waited on him hand and foot in the team dugout. He was going to be so obnoxious. One of us wasn’t going to make it out alive.
Ugh, if my entire life wasn’t riding on this track season, I’d say screw it and walk out that door. But I couldn’t. This was my only option. I had to accept.
“I’ll do it.” My nostrils flared as I took a deep breath. “It’s only three weeks, right?”
“Only three weeks.” She made the strange grimacing expression again, which I was coming to realize was her real smile. “You can do this, Hale. Heal up, showcase to Coach Morgan our track team work ethic, and get back on the team so you can lead us to districts. I know you can do it.”
I hoped she was right, because as I walked out of that office, I was having some serious doubts as to my capability to do anything right these days. Between my ankle sprain, the fights with my little sister, my feud with Jayden, and this massive embarrassment, I was starting to wish I could just skip these last few months of my senior year.
Chapter Seven
Audrey stood next to me as we both stared in horror at the door to the boy’s locker room. A steady stream of baseball players had already come out of it, their duffel bags hanging over their shoulders.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “I can’t believe you’re going to be the baseball team’s manager.”
My stomach clenched, a last hold-out sign of the rebellion in the back of my mind. I was doing this. I had no other choice.
“You know, I seem to remember someone else who was so desperate to accomplish her goals that she wore a hundred-year-old mascot costume for several months,” I said, turning to Audrey. “So no judging, okay?”
She held up her hands. “Touché. Just don’t let them get to you.”
I straightened my shoulders. “They won’t. Nothing gets to me.”
“Right.” She smirked, her eyes searching my face. “I love you and you’re my best friend, but you’re wound tighter than Coach Padilla’s laces on her tennis shoes. If you’re not careful, one little misstep is all it’s going to take to make you lose your precious control and then you’ll snap.”
At that moment, Jayden came through the doors of the locker room, his baseball cap pulled down low over his face. He didn’t see me as he worked his fingers into his catcher’s mitt and headed toward the exit. A jolt went through my stomach at the sight of him. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his retreating figure. Whatever else I could say about him, the guy really did look good in athletic shorts, especially with those muscular calves.
“Speaking of things that get to you...” Audrey crossed her arms and wagged her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t let your burning...whatever...for Jayden frustrate you. I know how you guys love to battle. Just do your three weeks and get back to the track. You can do this.”
Her words snapped me out of my stare and I blushed when I realized what thoughts had been flying around my head. “You’re right. Just three weeks. Eyes on the prize.”
Starting now.
I rocked forward on my boot and followed the line of athletes across the school parking lot to the baseball and softball diamonds at the end of the grass. Keeping my eyes firmly away from the track, where I knew warm-ups had already begun, I scanned the field for a sign of Coach Morgan.
He wasn’t a hard guy to spot. Coach Morgan was a retired history teacher who had been with Rock Valley High for almost twenty years. He was the opposite of Coach Padilla in nearly every way. Where she was athletic, toned, and tall, he was short, soft, and large, with a swollen belly that jiggled when he laughed. He had a small tuft of dirty blond hair that peeked beneath the brim of his dusty and stained cap, effectively hiding the bald spot I knew lingered underneath. A smile sat permanently on his lips and his blue eyes twinkled with fondness as he watched his baseball players drop their gear off in the dugout and line up in front of the pitcher’s mound.
