Chapter 5 #2
They stared at me.
So I clapped twice. They hopped up and got moving. Relieved, I made a note on my paper to order a whistle.
“These are size three balls,” No-Nonsense Rosie called from the sideline.
I frowned. “Is that wrong?”
She gave me a look that insinuated Duh, you moron. Then she said, “I mean, those are for babies, but I guess you tried.”
Wow. Okay.
“It’s okay!” Jamie assured me with a grin. “We all have our own balls.”
And sure enough, they each retrieved balls from their backpacks, along with shin guards and water bottles.
While chatting, the girls passed the balls happily back and forth for fifteen minutes as I stood there like an idiot with my clipboard, making fake notes and having absolutely no idea what we should do next.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to figure it out because something on the sidewalk outside the school grabbed the team’s attention, and the girls took off waving and shouting.
Alarmed, I tossed my clipboard aside, unprepared for mutiny so early on. But the kids stopped running once they reached their target.
The girls swarmed an amused Bonnie Clark—or Ms. Jensen, as the children were calling her—clearly on her way home for the day.
She greeted each child by name and smiled sweetly at them while they chattered animatedly at her. Words floated back to me on the breeze, snippets of their high-pitched enthusiasm about the team and practice.
Bonnie glanced over their heads and spotted me, her expression going from politely interested to shocked in record time. She let the kids tug her over to the field.
Before I could announce something—I didn’t know what—Raeanne said it was time for a scrimmage and split the girls into two teams. They whooped and bolted onto the field.
Bonnie came to stand beside me while I watched my well-oiled machine chug away without me. She was wearing a flowy skirt with swirls of autumn colors and a gauzy white button-up tucked into it. A wide brown belt accentuated her waist, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was trying very hard not to laugh.
“So this was what the background check was for.” Oh, yeah, she was amused.
I side-eyed her.
“They’re a good group of girls,” she offered, still watching the mini-game in progress.
“Sure. Even the diabolical mastermind with butterfly clips.”
Bonnie finally turned to look at me, her grin widening. She chuckled and quickly brought a hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind this?”
I sighed. “Santiago over there came to Magnolia looking for a sponsor for the team’s jerseys and failed to mention that I was signing my life away as their head coach. Then Eloise Carter came calling and strong-armed me into the background check last Friday.”
Her brown eyes sparkled. “So you’re not actually into soccer?”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “No. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. And there are no parents here. I can’t believe they just left their kids with me.”
Bonnie laughed again. “Yeah, if there’s an adult in charge, the parents are for sure going to bail. If you want them to stay, you’ll need to explicitly spell out that it’s not a drop-off practice.”
Great. Not only would I be expected to talk to these kids, but I had to communicate with their parents, too.
Suddenly, the girl in the tie-dye tracksuit ran off the field. She grabbed her bag from the sideline without saying anything and bolted toward the parking lot.
Bonnie and I watched as Judy Douglas hopped into an old Pontiac waiting at the curb. A woman in the driver’s seat waved out her open window.
“That’s her mom,” Bonnie offered helpfully.
“Who just leaves in the middle of practice?”
Bonnie’s gaze cut my way, and she said seriously, “I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with your coaching ability.” Then she ruined it by smiling widely.
“Ha. Ha.”
“You know,” she began, “my sister is dating a former college soccer player. Do you know Brady Judd? I could see if he’d be interested in helping coach.”
I knew of the Judds. They were recognizable in Kirby Falls the same way the Clarks were. Small-town apple royalty.
There was a prickly, prideful part of me that didn’t want Bonnie’s help—or anyone’s.
But then my eyes drifted to the field where the scrimmage had devolved into most of the players sitting on the ground while Jamie and Raeanne looked on in disappointment.
Gia was definitely FaceTiming someone, and Callie and Michelle were tossing Goldfish crackers into each other’s mouths. Christ.
I didn’t know anything about soccer. I also didn’t know what to do with these kids. And I sure as shit didn’t know how to motivate them. Turning down an offer for help from someone who actually knew that there were different-sized soccer balls was probably a dumb move.
Clearing my throat, I finally replied, “Thanks. That would be really great.”
We exchanged numbers, and I made sure Bonnie saw me enter her contact name as Clyde. I bit down on a grin as she rolled her eyes at me, but she promised to talk to Brady tonight when she had dinner with him and her sister.
The kids must have known we were nearing the end of practice because they stopped looking for four-leaf clovers long enough to come over and tell Ms. Jensen goodbye.
“You’ll come to our first game, won’t you?” Jamie asked her hopefully.
“Of course,” Bonnie said easily. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Coach Jack, your hair is long,” Gia said out of nowhere. “You could have a man-bun if you wanted.”
I must have made a face because Bonnie snorted in amusement.
“Why would I want that?” I asked.
All the girls chimed in at once.
“Because it would be cool.”
“One of the Premier League coaches wears a man-bun.”
“That would be way better than the boys in our grade with their mullets.”
“And their perms,” Raeanne added in disgust.
“And their permed mullets,” Gia concluded.
I didn’t know why, but I felt embarrassed by their attention. And then I noticed Bonnie nodding along with the girls, and my ears went hot.
Raising my brow, I asked her, “You think I need a man-bun?”
She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to picture it. “I think you could pull it off.”
The team echoed their support.
Thankfully, the girls stopped speculating about my appearance as a few parents approached from the parking lot. I checked my watch, and thank Christ, this torture was over.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably for the hundredth time this afternoon. “Alright, your parents are waiting. No game this week. I’ll see you next Tuesday for practice.”
Without warning, the girls crowded around me, and I thought for one horrifying moment that they might hug me.
“Hands in,” Rosie ordered.
Ah, a huddle. Sportsmanship and whatnot.
Cautiously, I placed my hand on top of the little ones stacked in the middle of our sloppy circle.
“You too, Ms. Jensen,” Jamie said.
Bonnie reached in, her small hand settling warm and soft over mine. Our gazes met and held.
“One, two, three. Brookline!” Rosie yelled.
And the team chorused, “U9!”
Bonnie grinned at me, and I found myself smiling softly back. I realized suddenly that everything about this day had been entirely unexpected . . . but I didn’t hate it.
Bonnie
After a delicious, if slightly awkward, dinner of Brady’s sun-dried tomato pasta, I found myself tossing and turning and unable to sleep.
My restlessness was pretty common. A few nights a week, I struggled with my anxiety at bedtime.
Usually, I thought about what I had left on my to-do list, and then I ran through scenarios of what I might be forgetting.
The recent incident with the background check hadn’t helped. My mind just couldn’t seem to quiet.
Once I realized I wasn’t getting to sleep anytime soon, I ignored my therapist’s advice and grabbed my phone from the bedside table and started scrolling. It was just after three in the morning, and I knew my school day was going to be rough.
At dinner tonight, my sister, Mac, had been careful with me, the way she’d been since the divorce. Well, since I’d shown up on her doorstep mid–panic attack back in the summer. I knew my sister was worried about me, but no matter how normal and fine I acted, she wasn’t convinced.
Brady had been present for the panic attack, too, but he was less obvious in his worry for me. He did things like ask me to dance at weddings and walk me to my car, carrying leftovers and foisting them upon me.
Mac was a little more obvious in her attention because she wasn’t a naturally soft sort of person.
My sister could be pretty abrasive and salty.
But it was like the divorce had put her on high alert.
She was always aware of me and my reactions, doing her best to cheer me up or make sure I wasn’t lonely.
Her spiteful anger at Danny had made her even more loyal and steadfast toward me.
I appreciated her. I really did. But it was exhausting trying to reassure her that I was okay all the time. I felt like I was managing her emotions as well as my own.
I’d talked to Brady at dinner about helping Jack coach soccer when Mac had been distracted. It wasn’t that I expected him to keep it a secret from Mac; I just didn’t want to have to explain how or why I was involved. It would only raise more questions and make my nosy sister that much more curious.
Brady usually gave Mac one cooking chore to handle at every dinner.
Since she wasn’t a natural in the kitchen, the task usually required all her attention.
And when she’d been keeping the breadsticks from burning, I’d quietly brought up coaching with Brady.
He’d readily agreed, and I’d promised to text him the details for the next practice.
With that settled, I figured I could text Jack later and put him out of his misery.
He’d been so out of sorts with the girls this afternoon. It was the only time I’d ever seen Jack Ellis as anything but calm, cool, and collected. He’d looked on the verge of panic the entire time.