Chapter 10 Maya
Maya
The first day of my coaching job rolls around fast. Ms Jacobs is bouncing on her heels when I show up at the entrance of the park. She waves me over, while putting out her cigarette.
‘It’s so good to see you again, Maya,’ she says brightly. ‘Let’s go meet the team, shall we?’
She leads me through the park, towards the field, where a group of girls are already waiting.
They’re dressed in purple-and-white football shirts and shorts with the Westbrook school logo emblazoned on them, kicking a ball around between them.
They stop as soon as Ms Jacobs and I make our entrance, and their eyes seem to light up.
‘Good afternoon, girls,’ Ms Jacobs says.
‘Good afternoon!’ they repeat in unison. Their eyes drift towards me instead of Ms Jacobs.
‘This is Maya Alam. I know some of you probably already know her,’ Ms Jacobs says, waving an arm towards me. ‘We’re very lucky that she’s agreed to coach the team over the summer. I hope you realise just how fortunate you are that she’s found time in her busy schedule to do this for us.’
I almost wince at that. My ‘busy schedule’ includes avoiding my parents’ sympathetic glances, scrolling the r/womenssoccer subreddit to see what people have been saying about me and lying around in bed feeling sorry for myself.
‘I’m excited to be here,’ I say, smiling at the students as enthusiastically as I can, even if my enthusiasm feels put on.
In reality, I feel out of my depth, having these young girls look at me with their admiring gazes.
There’s nothing to admire about me, and I certainly don’t feel that I’m cut out to be their full-time coach for the summer.
I’m sure it won’t be long before everyone figures it out.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Ms Jacobs says, nodding to the students. ‘I expect you to be on your best behaviour, girls.’
My stomach sinks. I didn’t think Ms Jacobs would just throw me in at the deep end like this.
‘Give me a call if you need anything,’ Ms Jacobs says to me in a low voice. ‘But I know you’ve got this.’
I offer her a weak smile before turning back to the girls.
They’re watching me expectantly and suddenly I feel weird and out of place.
I’ve been practising all of the different ways I could start off today – how I would be cool and collected as I officially introduced myself as their coach – but now, as I look at their smiling faces, my mouth becomes dry.
‘Um, so … wow. Our first official practice session. I’m, uh, Maya.
It’s really nice to be here, and I’m excited to get to know all of you. ’
The girls don’t respond. They blink at me in anticipation and I feel like they must know that I’m an imposter. After this practice, they’ll probably go and tell Ms Jacobs that she hired a phony to be their coach.
‘Could you show us how you scored that penalty kick in your match against the San Diego Strikers?’ one of the girls pipes up finally, the enthusiasm clear in her voice. ‘None of us thought you’d score, but you did.’
A flood of relief washes over me. Here’s something that I know – that match and exactly how we won it.
The Strikers scored their first goal within the first fifteen minutes, and try as we might, we just couldn’t find an equaliser.
And while our defence did its job by not letting them score again, their defence had been tough too.
They managed to wrangle the ball from us at every turn, and we didn’t even make it anywhere near their goal until the second half of the match.
It was only when we went into added-on time that we actually managed to score.
The joy I’d felt at that had been overwhelming.
And then the penalties. The pressure as the time ticked by. Watching the goalkeeper with a keen eye as I calculated how to strike the ball. Where to place it.
Our entire team had already seemed to accept defeat because the Strikers were practically undefeated at shoot-outs.
‘Do your best,’ the captain, Stacey Morrow, had told me right before I took the penalty. It was make or break. I could lead the team to victory with this penalty, or lead us to defeat.
And when I scored, the entire stadium erupted into raucous shouts and applause.
For an entire minute, everything seemed to unfold in front of me as if in slow motion: my teammates as they rushed up to me, their faces split into the widest grins I’d ever seen.
The other team’s looks of bafflement. Our coach on the touchline jumping up and down with joy.
In that moment, I remembered exactly what I loved about playing football; the absolute rush of adrenaline, the thrill of victory, the shared camaraderie in all of it.
‘How about we all practise some penalties?’ I ask now, feeling a little bit more capable of being able to do this after being reminded of that victory.
The girls nod happily, moving into position before I even have to give them any instructions. They remind me of my first practice session on the school team, when Nadine, Gwen and I were bouncing on our feet to get started.
I watch from the touchline as they line up to take their penalties.
One by one they go about trying their best to score.
Only a few of them manage to get their shots past the goalie, but all of them give it their best – I can tell from each of their determined expressions, the way they seem to weigh up everything as they step up to the ball.
Once they’ve each had a chance, I step in to give them some instructions on how they can improve.
‘You should always have an idea of where you want to kick the ball when you approach it,’ I say, coming up to the ball myself. ‘Make sure you drive forward, and follow through, and don’t change your mind. If you get confused, or change your mind, your shot won’t land.’
I kick the ball, and it flies through the air and soars into the net.
The team bursts into cheers and applause, and it almost brings me back to my own team.
To being on the pitch, playing a game with them.
But when I turn back, of course, all I see are the young girls of this new team, with their beaming, enthusiastic faces.
Yet, it doesn’t seem that different, in a way. Maybe I can make a real difference here. Maybe I can love it even more than playing football myself.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s try one more time.’
The girls line up to take their penalties as my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I slip it out, Isabel’s name flashes on the screen.
‘Hey, I’m kind of busy right now,’ I say, as soon as I answer the phone. My eyes track the girls as they take their penalties.
‘Oh, sorry, I’ll be quick!’ Isabel says. Her familiar voice feels soothing. She’s been a tether for me these last few weeks. I don’t think even she understands that she is the reason I’ve managed to pick myself up and actually start to do things with my life.
‘OK, what’s up?’
‘Do you remember Nina Hall? She used to coach for the Red Royals?’
‘Yeah, I remember her.’ We played the Royals a couple of times during my time on the Vikings. Nina always got along with our own coach and her team always seemed to have a lot of respect for her.
‘Well, she’s looking for—’
One of the girls stumbles as she kicks the ball, falling flat on her face. I wince, and rush towards her, Isabel’s words a mumble in my ear.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
The girl stands up, tossing her brown ponytail behind her and brushing herself off like it’s no big deal. ‘Fine. Sorry …’ She looks at me hesitantly, like I’ll reprimand her for the accident.
‘Nothing to be sorry about. Let’s go again, I’ll help you. Give me a second.’ I press the phone to my ear again.
‘… And so I think you should do it. Will you?’ Isabel asks.
‘Sure, yeah. But I really have to go, Isabel, sorry.’
‘Oh.’ Isabel sounds surprised. ‘OK, great. I’ll text you the details.’
I have no idea what I’ve signed up for, but it’s Isabel so it can’t be that bad. Maybe Nina is over in the UK and wants to catch up over coffee sometime, and that wouldn’t be so bad. It would be nice to see her again.
I hang up the phone and turn back to the girl. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Laila.’ She sounds nervous as she speaks. I offer her a bright smile.
‘OK, Laila. Let’s do this again.’ I place the ball down in front of us and show her how to fix her stance, how to approach the ball and drive her foot through it correctly.
She frowns, but seems to take it all in. I can tell that there’s something distracting her, though, like she’s not completely here. It’s her furrowed eyebrows, the fact that she keeps looking over her shoulder.
She tries the penalty kick one more time, but there isn’t enough power in her shot and the ball only dribbles forward slightly, instead of flying goalwards. I can see the other girls get frustrated, rolling their eyes and sighing. Meanwhile, there’s a pink flush across Laila’s cheeks.
‘Let’s call it a day,’ I call out to the girls. ‘We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.’ I look to Laila. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow, all right?’
She nods, not quite looking me in the eyes, before joining the rest of the team in jogging off the field. I watch with a frown. There’s definitely something going on with Laila.
I fall into some kind of a routine over the next few days.
It almost feels like maybe I’m back on track with everything, like perhaps it’s not the end of the world that all my dreams were shattered at the youthful age of twenty-eight.
Because I wake up in the morning and I have something to do with my life – even if it’s something as simple as inspiring a young and enthusiastic group of footballers to play their hearts out.