Chapter 5
five
JACK
Cursing, I hoisted the mesh bag of soccer balls out of the back of my truck. While my motorcycle was my preferred mode of transportation, I had the truck for bad weather, cold winter months, and hauling things for the restaurant or my grandmother.
I would have much rather been somewhere—anywhere—on my bike right about now, but apparently I had an obligation to the community. Or at least, that was what local busybody and Kirby Falls multiple committee chair and president of everyfuckingthing, Eloise Carter, had told me recently.
When the old crone had dropped by Magnolia last Friday morning, she’d informed me of my new position as head coach of the Brookline U9 girls’ soccer club.
Apparently, that seemingly innocent form on little Jamie Santiago’s clipboard had been legally binding, and I definitely should have read through it.
I’d inadvertently agreed to coach the little schemer and her friends when I’d said Magnolia would sponsor the team and provide the funds for their jerseys this season.
No amount of arguing or cajoling had swayed Eloise Carter. That woman was a force. I’d thought I was stubborn. Jesus.
So I’d gotten the last-minute background check she’d arranged for me and bumped into Bonnie in the process, which had been an interesting encounter.
Good to know she was still off-balance around me, and that my strange inclination to push her buttons hadn’t gone anywhere either.
During our squabble over the pen, there’d been a moment when a spark had ignited in her eyes, and her words took on a razor-sharp edge.
I’d liked it—getting such a reaction out of her.
And I thought she might have liked it, too.
But now I was outside of Kirby Falls Elementary School at 2:45 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon, as instructed, for our first team practice.
The grass field was wide, and there was a goal at either end.
It seemed too big for a bunch of eight-year-olds to traverse, especially playing in a seven-on-seven game.
Yes, I’d had to email the Parks and Rec Department coordinator for a list of rules for the fall league. I’d never watched a soccer game in my life, much less knew how to instruct players.
I heard the bell ring over the outdoor speaker as I was setting up orange cones.
Last night, I’d attempted some online research to find soccer drills and activities for kids their age.
But I was sort of hoping the girls would just know what to do, and I could, more or less, babysit for the once-a-week, hour-long after-school practice.
The first two children who joined me on the field were not on my roster. Two little boys gleefully tossed their backpacks to the ground and started dribbling near the opposite goal.
The taller of the two noticed me and jogged over with the shorter one following close on his heels.
“Is it alright if we use the other half of the field?” the boy with shaggy dark brown hair asked.
He looked like he was around the same age as the kid who’d tricked me into this whole thing, but his mouth was a little too big for his face, like it’d had a growth spurt before the rest of him had caught up.
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t know what I was going to do with half of a field, much less the whole thing.
“I’m Jacob,” the tall boy offered. His attention drifted to the tattoos on my forearms.
I casually pulled my sleeves down from where I’d shoved them earlier while loading the truck.
“I’m Charlie,” the shorter one piped up.
I nodded. “I’m Jack. I’m coaching the Brookline girls’ team,” I added in case he was checking references or knew a way to get me out of this.
Jacob elbowed Charlie, and they shared a laugh. “Good luck.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I wasn’t about to start pumping kids for information. Even I, with my limited experience with children, knew that was not a good idea.
“I live in Brookline, too. Are you coaching the boys’ team?” Jacob asked hopefully. “Because our coach last year wasn’t very good and my dad left, so it’s just my mom supporting my soccer career.”
Jesus, kids were honest.
“Uh, no,” I finally managed. “I’m only coaching the girls.” They stared at me for a moment, so I added, “Sorry.”
“Okay!” Jacob announced before running off. Charlie parroted his friend and immediately followed.
I sighed. That had only been one interaction with two kids, and I was already sweating. How was I going to survive the next hour with ten little girls?
I shoved the sleeves of my hoodie back up my arms before remembering Jacob’s curious gaze and tugging them down again. Was I a bad influence? Would he want tattoos now?
I didn’t have time to have an existential crisis over the art on my body because a pack—and I mean, a pack—of girls came running toward me.
My heart rate picked up, and I swallowed hard.
“Hi, Coach Jack!” the tiny traitor of my contractual obligation nightmares called when she got to the sideline.
“Hello, Santiago,” I replied flatly. “You know, you failed to mention the coaching portion of your request when you approached me about sponsoring the team.”
Her smile widened. I thought she’d lost another baby tooth since I’d seen her last week.
“It was all there on the form,” she said, not even a whiff of apology in her tone. “It’s always a good idea to review a legally binding contract in its entirety.”
I shook my head, borderline amused. This kid.
The rest of the pack were sitting on the grass, changing into soccer cleats. Jamie went to join them. It was still pretty warm for late September, and the girls were wearing shorts and tee shirts with tall socks in a variety of colors.
I finished placing the cones at the corners of our practice space and found the team stretching in a circle, Jamie leading them in the center. Tentatively, I grabbed my clipboard with the attached roster and joined my players.
I didn’t even have to say anything or call them to attention. Ten pairs of eyes focused on me, and I was pretty sure a bead of sweat found its way down my spine.
Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m Jack. I’ll be coaching you this season.” They continued to stare. Jamie gave me a thumbs-up and a grin. “Why don’t you take turns introducing yourselves and let me know what position you play?”
I pointed to a girl with dark brown skin and a tight bun, indicating she should start things off. Clicking my pen, I prepared to make notes on my clipboard.
The kid stood with military precision. “I am Raeanne Holt. Do not call me Rae or Anne. It’s Raeanne.”
I blinked. “Okay, Raeanne. What position do you play?”
“Captain,” she replied easily and then sat, returning her attention to tying her cleats.
Uh, okay.
Jamie piped up, “Raeanne is new to our grade. She has lots of experience from her old soccer team. I think she’ll make a great captain.”
My eyes flicked to Raeanne to see how she would respond to Jamie’s brownnosing, but the little girl remained stoic and offered a single, solemn nod. Jamie beamed.
“Right, next,” I called.
A tall, skinny girl with a long, dark ponytail climbed to her feet. “I’m Rosie. I play defense.”
I made a note. “Would you like to tell us anything else about yourself?”
“No,” she said flatly and then resumed her seat.
“Okaaay.” I tilted my pen in the direction of the next kid.
She was easily the tallest person on the field, save for me, and looked a little formal with her tee shirt tucked into her shorts. “I’m Tori,” she said quietly. “I play goalie.”
I noted that she had gloves next to her spot on the grass, and I jotted that down on my paper.
Another child popped up and did a little twirl. “Hi, I’m Gia. I wanted to be a cheerleader, but my mom said I had to do this. My preferred position is sub.”
I . . . didn’t think that was a position, but whatever. “Thanks, Gia.” I smiled tightly.
The next kid didn’t even bother standing. She had a tie-dye tracksuit on. “I’m Judy Douglas, and I can only come to, like, one game this season. I only signed up because I heard the jerseys were going to be really pretty. I like singing and dancing and acting.”
“Right.” I fought a sigh and made another scribble on my roster.
Three more girls introduced themselves, and thankfully, they were here to actually play soccer.
Then two players stood up together, and I realized how similar they looked.
“I’m Callie,” one blond child said.
“And I’m Michelle,” a nearly identical one echoed.
“Our parents make us play for exercise,” Michelle added. “But please don’t make us. Callie has heart palpitations if she runs too fast.”
I stared, alarmed. “What’s too fast?”
“At all!” Michelle insisted. “If she runs at all.”
“Shouldn’t you have that looked at by a doctor?”
“Great,” Michelle huffed. “Now you’re making her feel bad.”
And sure enough, Callie’s lower lip trembled.
Oh, shit. I was already making one of them cry. “Uh, sorry, Callie,” I said quickly. “We’ll take things slow.”
Michelle crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at me.
“Really slow,” I amended.
Both girls sat, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally, Jamie Santiago stood cheerfully. “Hi, Coach. I’m Jamie, as you know. I play striker or midfield.”
Just then, a ball rolled into our circle.
“I’m ready to be the best I can be,” Jamie added enthusiastically.
Jacob, the boy from across the field, jogged over and picked up the ball resting by Jamie’s feet. “That sounds like the title of your autobiography,” he said, Charlie giggling wildly behind him. He shot her a triumphant look and then sprinted away.
The gathered girls laughed while Jamie glared in Jacob’s direction. She grumbled something under her breath and then sat back down.
There was a long moment of silence before I realized that I was the adult in charge and should probably get this show on the road.
“I thought we could start with some passing drills.” Google had told me this was a pretty common occurrence at soccer practice, for any age group. “Find a partner. There are balls in that bag over there. And get started.”