Page 2 of Coach
Isaiah: varsity material.
I called the next group of four, then the next, and so on.
Tryouts were fun—and painful. Too many boys who had delusions of grandeur and had never played summer ball or AAU—or even team sports—decided to show up and toss their proverbial hat in the ring. They even had the gall to be upset when they didn’t make the cut. They just glared at me, as though I’d crushed their last hope of surviving a world-ending disaster.
Yeah, that was me, Coach Ricci, crusher of dreams and destroyer of youthful hopes.
The next drill was in full swing. I had the guys running a three-man weave, trying to separate the actual ball handlers from the kids who only showed up for the varsity warm-up jackets.
Sweat slicked the floor.
The sound of squeaking sneakers and bouncing balls filled the gym like music—the aggressive, chaotic soundtrack of my soul.
Everything was—dare I say—running smoothly.
Until I spotted a rogue senior, Benji Collins, edging away from the drill line like he was a cartoon burglar sneaking off with a sack of loot over his shoulder.
Fucking Benji.
He was one of my starting guards from last season, my rock-solid ace from behind the three-point arc, an all-state player with offers from multipleD-I university programs—and a real leader on the team—when he wasn’t flirting with the closest cheerleader.
Benji was a beast on the court, and a total Casanova off the hardwood.
Hardwood.
Hard wood.
The double entendre tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Not only was Benji my star player and next in line to become team captain, he was currently abandoning a live tryout to sneak over to the bleachers like we were in the middle of recess instead of a bloodthirsty state-title program.
Who is he making a beeline toward?
My gaze slipped ahead of him, then up the bleachers.
Jessica, of course.
High school’s answer to a human tractor beam.
I watched, my mouth now slightly agape, as Benji leaned one elbow against the railing at the end of the bleachers, all long limbs and misplaced confidence. Jessica, sensing fresh prey, flipped her hair and smiled like she’d just been named queen of the county fair.
I couldn’t hear them, but I didn’t need to.
Benji grinned, flexed a bicep, and said something that made Jessica giggle and bat her lashes so hard it generated enough wind to flutter the paper on my clipboard.
My eyes narrowed.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
Not today, Satan.
Not atmytryout.
Without a word, I blew the whistle so hard I might’ve triggered early hearing loss in half the gym.
The ball stopped bouncing.
