Jacob
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
was the important thing. Yes, he had fallen off the roof, but he hadn’t broken anything. He had, however, suffered a minor
shut. Which, to be fair, was probably a good idea. But they hadn’t grounded him, which was a relief, since he had practice
every day and a shift delivering pizzas tonight. All things considered, it could have been worse.
At least that was what he’d been telling himself until he got the text from Coach Fitz.
Coach Fitz:
MY OFFICE TEN MINUTES BEFORE BELL. NO EXCUSES.
For a person who was generally good-natured, that kind of text was not a good sign.
“Have a seat, Reilly.”
Mr. Fitzgerald, a man in his fifties with a medium build, a constant sunburn, and a balding head, was standing near the window
of the office, spritzing his ferns with a spray bottle. Fitz was not only the coach of the boys’ soccer team but also the
head of the athletic department, which meant this entire twelve-by-twelve-foot cube with one tiny window belonged to him.
The wall behind his desk was lined with shelves full of trophies, and the windowsill was jam-packed with greenery.
Jacob sat in the chair across from the desk and settled in, sliding down and resting one ankle atop the other knee, trying
to play it cool. His knee betrayed him, though, bouncing up and down nervously. Outside the closed door, kids laughed and
shouted at each other, lockers slammed, and life went on as normal. Jacob really wished he could be part of it.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” Coach Fitz began, placing the spray bottle down on his desk with a bang.
The man did not look happy. His already wizened-from-the-sun face was even more wrinkled than usual as he narrowed his eyes in a scowl.
“What happened last night to Beckwidth . . . that was your doing?”
“No! I mean, kind of, but—”
“Sit up straight when I’m talking to you, Reilly,” Coach snapped.
Jacob shoved himself up, his heart full-on pounding now. “Sorry. I . . . yes, it happened at my house, and I guess technically
he fell because of me, but we were all screwing around. It wasn’t just me. Kai was there, and—”
“I suggest you stop talking before you throw any of your other teammates under this particular bus,” Fitz said, leaning forward
and pressing his fingertips onto the desktop.
Jacob’s mouth snapped shut. Sometimes he did not understand adults. Coach always told them not to lie and to take responsibility
when they did something wrong. But then they also didn’t want you to rat on your teammates. So which was it? Were Cody, Tucker,
and Kai supposed to take responsibility for their part in what had happened, or was Jacob supposed to admit only his own role
in the fiasco?
“Because of you and your . . . signature shenanigans, I’m without a goalie for the next three games,” Coach Fitz said.
“You’ve still got Everett,” Jacob pointed out.
“Everett’s too green; you know that. I’m already chalking up these three games as losses.” He waved a dismissive hand, disgusted.
Jacob cleared his throat, trying to process what he was hearing.
Another thing they were never supposed to do was to give up.
Or to believe that one person being out meant it was over.
They were a team. If Cody was out, the defense was going to have to step up.
Everett was going to get his shot, and he was going to have to make the most of it.
It was as if everything Jacob had ever been told was a lie. He had no idea which way was up.
“I’m really sorry, Coach,” he said. “But it was an accident.”
“All I know is, wherever you go, mayhem ensues,” Coach Fitz said. “If you’re not making stupid bets, you’re stealing your
teammates’ clothes while they’re in the showers or hiding all the basketballs or wrapping the chess team’s chess sets in flypaper.”
“That was a good one,” Jacob said with a chuckle. Coach picked up his spray bottle and slammed it down again. Jacob flinched.
“Sorry.”
“And what’s this I hear about you trying out for cheerleading?”
Jacob swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought this could get worse, but there it went.
“Oh, uh . . . where’d you hear that, sir?”
“How many times have I told you boys, I don’t miss a thing?” Coach asked, leaning back in his chair.
“It was just a stupid bet,” Jacob said placatingly, leaning forward. “We were messing around, and I thought I couldn’t lose,
but I—”
“Stop right there.” Coach Fitz held up a calloused hand. “You do know you can’t participate in two varsity sports at the same time.”
Jacob blinked. If his heart had been pounding, now it was slamming. There was something about Coach Fitz’s expression that
he didn’t like. “Yeah . . . I know that.”
“Okay, good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“I’m not going to actually be a cheerleader.”
Coach clicked his teeth together a few times, a sure tell that he was pissed. “But you are trying out.”
“Well, yeah.” Jacob turned his palms up, helpless. “You don’t make a bet unless you intend to follow through. My dad taught
me that.”
“Really? You know what my dad taught me? You don’t make a commitment to a team unless you intend to give it your all.” Coach
pressed one pointer finger into the desk for emphasis, the tip turning white from the pressure. “For the entire season.”
Jacob’s throat suddenly felt dry. He was already sweaty from getting Willow, Chad, and Lindsay out of the house and to their
various schools, then racing across the parking lot to get to this meeting on time. Now his underarms began to prickle all
over again.
“Like I said, Coach . . . I’m not joining the cheer squad.”
“But you are trying out,” Coach Fitz repeated pointedly.
Jacob frowned in confusion. “So?”
Coach straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, shoving both hands under his elbows. He looked down his nose at Jacob from across the desk. “So, what if you make it?”
Jacob lifted his shoulders. He hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. “Then I’ll . . . tell them I can’t?”
Coach was as still as a very judgmental statue. “See my previous statement about intending to give it your all for the entire
season.”
“Coach, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Coach squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then looked directly into Jacob’s soul. “I’m gonna
make this easy for you, Reilly. As of today, you’re suspended from the soccer team.”
“What?” Jacob blurted, his voice going up about ten octaves.
“I can’t have this level of distraction on my team anymore. You want to try out for cheer? Try out for cheer. Let Coach Maguire
deal with your crap.”
Jacob stood up quickly, shoving the chair backward into the bookshelf behind it. “Coach, no. You can’t—”
“I just did!”
Jacob’s jaw dropped. This could not be happening. “But you know I’m looking at colleges this year. And . . . and I’m your
leading scorer!”
“You’re also my leading jackass,” Coach said with a huff. “And until that changes and you show me you can be a responsible leader on this team, you’re out. You can hand in your jersey tomorrow. I’ll hold on to it until you get your head on straight.”
This was insane. Coach had just said they had no shot of winning without Cody—they had even less of a chance of winning without
him! That wasn’t Jacob’s ego talking; it was just stats. And there was no way he was going to get a scholarship if he was
suspended during his junior year. This was the most important season when it came to making an impression with scouts.
He could tell by the expression on Coach Fitzgerald’s face, however, that this was the last thing he was concerned about.
So Jacob decided to focus his arguments on what the man did care about. His own team.
“How am I supposed to prove to you I can be a responsible leader of this team if I’m not on the team?” Jacob felt like he was begging. And maybe he was.
The warning bell rang, signaling that Jacob had three minutes to get his butt to his first class. Which was clear on the other
side of the building.
“I don’t know,” Coach Fitz replied, his eyes narrowed. “But I suggest you figure it out. And fast.”