Rock Bottom Girl(109)

“We already practice all the time,” one of the JV girls said from the corner by the fireplace.

“Practice is one thing. You’re preparing for battle!”

The girls eyed each other. A few looked skeptical, but the vast majority were ready to stare down the enemy.

“Okay. How do we prepare for battle?” Ashlynn asked.





64





Marley





We ran like we’d never run before. Drilled like we’d never drilled. Whined like we’d never whined before. The Barn Owls were a machine of determination. Every day, as soon as the last school bell rang, we gathered together and did whatever the hell we could that might help us win.

Saturday, we watched game tape.

Jake lent us a couple of his top distance runners and sprinters, and my team spent Sunday huffing and puffing their way through running drills and breathing exercises. Ruby nearly tore a hamstring chasing after the cute Ricky. I noticed him slow down a little bit, allowing her to catch up to him.

Monday, Floyd got into the spirit and dressed up like a New Holland Bugler, and the girls spent two hours working on footwork drills around him.

Tuesday, we refreshed our plays for restarting play. It was go big or go home, so we let our creativity run wild with corner kick plays and a few fancy throw-in maneuvers. Rachel surprised us all with a front flip throw-in that lofted the ball across the goal. Since Lisabeth was no longer a part of the team, I’d bumped the small sophomore up to varsity, and she was thriving with Libby and Ruby on offense.

I assigned each girl a player on the Buglers to shadow. I meant for them to memorize their moves on the field. However, by Wednesday, my girls were turning in dossiers on the Bugler players and their boyfriends, grades, and after-school jobs.

I shuddered to think how much personal information was available online.

Thursday, I gave everyone the day off with strict instructions not to do anything that could get them hurt or grounded. I remembered my coaches running us into the ground the day before big games. We stepped onto the field already tired.

“You’re gripping the wheel like you’re going to strangle it,” Libby observed over my shoulder.

Jake and I were heading out to an early dinner, and Libby had bummed a ride home after school.

“I am not,” I said, loosening my grip and feeling the blood slowly trickle back into my digits.

“You guys are going to do great tomorrow,” Jake said. “I haven’t seen a girls soccer team this in sync ever.”

“Do you think so?” I asked, desperate for reassurance. I had a lot to prove tomorrow. I would do anything in my power not to ruin a second Culpepper Homecoming.

Libby patted my shoulder. “We won’t let you down, Coach.”

“I’m more worried about letting you guys down,” I confessed. I was the head coach, for Pete’s sake. Shouldn’t I know what I was doing? Shouldn’t I be leading my team with confidence? Instead, I was going to have to stash a barf bucket behind the bench so I could puke up my nerves.

“Everyone has to learn how to win and lose,” Libby said philosophically.

“I’d really like to learn how to win.”

Libby and Jake snickered.

“So, Libs, how’s Culpepper working out for you so far?” Jake asked, changing the subject.

She gave a teenagery shrug. “It’s not awful.”

“She means she adores it here and thinks I’m the role model she’s been looking for her entire life,” I interpreted for Jake.

“Naturally, that’s what I assumed.”

“How are things at home?” I asked her. I’d yet to meet Libby’s foster mom. We’d spoken on the phone and over text. But she was an RN working double shifts. I had the feeling there wasn’t a lot of adult supervision in Libby’s house.

“Fine,” she said.

I turned onto her road, not buying the fib. I had been a fibbing teenager myself…twenty years ago. I almost swerved off the road doing the math.

“Why don’t you come out to dinner with us?” Jake suggested as I pulled into her driveway.

Was there anything more attractive in this world than a good man? With tattoos. Who looked sinful in sweatpants. And had a doofy dog. And could bring me to orgasm with the bat of his manly eyelashes.

All the lights in Libby’s house were on, and there were two kids with their faces smushed up against the big window overlooking the front yard. They waved excitedly at us. The driveway was empty, but the front door was cracked open.

Libby sighed. “Can’t. It’s my night to babysit the littles.”

“We could bring dinner back,” Jake offered.

She opened the back door and dragged her backpack out. “Thanks, but I got it covered. Hot dogs and mac and cheese. Yay.”

Jake pointed at her. “The dinner of champions.”

She waved, and I waited until she got inside and secured the front door before putting my car in reverse.

“She’s a great kid,” he observed.

“Yeah. I wish she could get a little more attention,” I sighed, backing down the driveway. “I think she spends too much time either alone or being responsible for a bunch of kids.”

“What you’re doing for her is a good thing,” he said, putting his hand on my leg. “I remember what it was like to be an unsupervised teenager. My uncles were the best thing that could have happened to me then.”