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“Nice work,” I congratulate her, impressed. She’s better than I was at that age. “Next.”
All twenty of my charges run through the drill twice. I correct a few of them on the first pass, but they all have it down by the second run-through.
“Okay. Next drill.” I switch up the cone formation so it’s in a large circle. “Dribble through at full speed. Knock over a cone or miss one and start over.”
“We did stuff like this ages ago,” one boy complains.
“What’s your name?” I inquire.
“Walter,” he replies sullenly.
“You can go first, Walter.” I smile sweetly.
He heaves out a sigh but does as I instruct. He runs through the drill without making a single mistake. I keep my expression neutral but internally start sorting through drills I did in high school. Evidently, they’ve surpassed the middle school level.
I have them all run through the circle twice and then announce we’ll be doing one-on-one. That perks the group up.
Three duos run through the exercise, and then it’s Walter and Mila’s turn. I have a bad feeling about the pairing as soon as Mila dribbles toward the two cones I set up as the goal.
Walter jostles her and kicks the ball away. I retrieve it and return it to Mila. “Start again. No contact, Walter.”
He mutters something in German but doesn’t touch her as he kicks the ball away for a second time, taking advantage of their size differential.
“Try again,” I encourage.
“He’s not giving me enough room,” Mila says.
“You have to make the room.” Walter replies before I can.
“You’re too tall.”
“You’re too small,” he tells her.
I ignore Walter. “Come on, Mila. Try it one more time.”
She does, but the ball slips from her foot at the last minute with no interference from Walter.
“Everyone knows girls can’t play football as well,” Walter mocks.
This little?—
I take a deep breath. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” the insolent kid insists.
Mila’s lower lip wobbles, her gaze stuck on the grass, and that’s what breaks me.
I’ve been that little girl. I’ve had more guys that I can count assume they could beat me. Guys who never played soccer a day before in their life.
“Come on.” I spin on my heel and start striding toward the other end of the field where Beck is gathered with his group. Either they see me as some sort of authority figure, despite being a girl, or they’re just curious, because my players all trail after me.
Beck sees me coming. But he keeps talking, describing a drill that has all of his charges transfixed. I’m positive none of them have suggested he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
I let my group meld with his and stride to his side.
“Who knows who this is?” I point to Beck.
They all just stare at me.
