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Chapter One
Judah
I tie the laces of Busy’s cleats as she dangles her legs out of the side of our minivan.
“You have to stay still if I am going to tie these,” I tell her.
Busy shakes her shoulders in excitement. “I’m ready to play, Dad.”
I laugh. “I know, hon, but you cannot play if your shoes are untied.”
I hurry.
When I signed Busy up for soccer this year, I had no idea how much she would take to it. She’s four. Her interests are so fickle. One day she wants to be a dancer, the next day she wants to be an astronaut.
But she had asked me about soccer for weeks, and I signed her up.
And I swear, watching her play on those fields is one of the cutest things I have ever seen in my life.
I tap the top of her cleat. “Okay, my little star, give me one second while I grab the snacks.”
Busy hops out of the car and I slide the door shut. In the trunk of the van, I grab the cooler I packed with orange slices and water bottles for the team. It’s our turn for snack day and while Busy begged for popsicles, I had to be the “mean dad” who chose the healthier option.
“Daddy, are youreadyyet?” Busy whines.
I shut the trunk door. “Alright, let’s go.”
She tried to run ahead of me and I grab her by her hand. “Not so fast. We have to walk slowly around the cars.”
She whines again.
I love how fiery she is.
Up ahead, I see Busy’s teammates kicking the ball around. Some of them pretend to stretch. And the parents settle their chairs in the sun to watch a very entertaining practice. They’re mostly mothers. Many of them carry giant water bottles and wear large sunglasses. They are athletes, too, who offer plenty of corrections to the kids from the sidelines and it’s honestly a little intimidating.
I was never an athlete.
I mean, I run, sure. I stay fit. But I never did sports. Instead, I spent my time after school holed up in my room playing video games. It all worked out in the end, though. I learned computer design. And now? I make video games of my own.
It all came full circle.
I look closer at the team and realize that Coach Trent is nowhere around. It’s strange. Trent is always there about twenty minutes early. He’s got a full evening of practices, so he gets out here and strategizes.
But today? He’s missing.
In his place, surrounded by bouncing four-year-olds, is a tall, lean woman with her black hair tied back in a ponytail. She wears a ball cap on her head and holds a whistle in her hand. She’s dressed in black shorts and a yellow shirt with the words “COACH” on it in big, white letters.
Huh.
That’s strange.
Busy and I finally reach the group.
She takes her place with her friends.
And the alleged coach turns to me, reaches out her hand, and says, “Hi, we haven’t met yet. I’m Coach Nora. I’ll be subbing in for a couple of weeks.”
I swallow.
