Page 77 of His Secret Obsession

“It’ll be fun.” I don’t sound very convincing.

“I hate sports,” the kid says.

“Come on, you have to positive.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he says. “I suck.”

“That’s okay. I suck too.” It’s the first thing I can think of to make him feel better.

Even though he’s panting and running like he might collapse any second, he has enough energy to give me the side eye. “Then why are you teaching us?”

I start to explain that I’m not teaching them exactly, just helping out, but give up. “I only suck a little bit,” I say.

The kid doesn’t look reassured.

The majority of the group has finished and are spreading out along the base line. I pass by Lucas, who appears to be having an argument with a kid that’s — I widen my eyes in surprise — taller than me.

How is a Year 6 taller than me? I must have six or seven years on him.

“I was faster than you,” the tall boy says, pointing a finger at Lucas.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucas says, waving a hand. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Once I finish my fifth lap, I barely have a chance to catch my breath before Chelsea tells everyone to start stretching. We do lunges to the centre of the stadium, then back to the baseline. Then it’s opening and closing the gate.

“Everyone drink some water,” Chelsea announces. “Then we’re going to spend the first part of today working on some drills.”

The first drill is receiving. We all stand in a circle with Chelsea in the middle, giving a demonstration. Everyone copies her stance, while she gives out pointers. “Get lower”—“Chest up”—“Remember, you want the ball to hit the flat part of your arms.”

Next, she gets the kids to make five lines while us adults under-arm throw volleyballs to them so that they can practice their receives. As expected, most balls go flying all over the stadium.

“You can hit it more gently,” Chelsea calls out. “We’re not that far from you.”

Despite her additional instruction, I spend more time during the drill chasing after the ball rather than actually throwing it. The kids seem pleased though — I overhear them say things like “did you hit it?” then “Yeah!” and show each other the red marks on their inner arms proudly.

For the next drill, we’ll practice receiving in pairs. The tall kid marches up to Lucas.

“I want you to be my partner.”

“Sure,” Lucas says.

“I’m going to aim for your face.”

I almost trip over. “Volleyball isn’t about aiming for people’s faces,” I say to the kid. “If you’re partners, it means you’re on the same team. You have to work together.” I smile to soften my words. I don’t want to sound too teacher-y.

“We’re not on the same team though,” the tall boy says. “He’s my rival. He thinks he’s faster than me.”

“I am faster than you,” Lucas counters.

The tall kid straightens. “No, you’re not! I won!”

Lucas’s face breaks into a grin as he chuckles. His face is…soft when he laughs. It’s nice.

It takes me a moment to realise I’m staring and involuntarily smiling too. I quickly turn away and busy myself with making sure everyone has a partner. By the water fountain, one girl stands with a hand curled around her elbow, looking around uncertainly. She has jet black hair, with a straight fringe falling above her eyebrows, reminding me of how Jemima looked when we were kids.

“Hi,” I say, walking up to her.

Her eyes widen. Oh no, have I scared her? I suppose that to some kids, everyone older is scary.

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