I moved to the far side of the range, where Tiger and Mouse were warming up with Jess. My quiver swayed as I walked and banged into my leg until I stilled it with my right hand. With my equipment on, I felt protected, like I was wearing armor. Kids and parents were moving around, grabbing chairs and tables to lay out their supplies for the afternoon. There were books, notebooks, knitting projects, spotting scopes, and entire mobile bow repair kits everywhere. Empty bow cases littered the range, blocking seats and walkways.
I checked that no one had stolen my chairs, but Liam and Moo were stationed there, protecting them. He smiled at me and went back to talking to a judge in a red shirt and khaki pants. The entire tournament staff wore a similar combination.
Jess spotted me across the range and crossed her arms. "Di, quit dinking around and get over here."
I sucked air through my teeth. Jess was a drill sergeant, even if we had been friends for years. "Sorry, Jess. I'm here."
She pursed her lips but didn't say anything as I started windmilling my arms to warm up and loosen my shoulder joints. The movement felt great. I twisted and bent and moved, anything to give the energy in my body a place to go. I was bending over to touch the floor when someone touched my back, and I jumped a mile.
"Di? Are you alright?" Jess had an eyebrow quirked at me, while Tiger chuckled.
I took a slow, deep breath in for a count of five then slowly exhaled for another five before I answered. "Yeah, just a little wound up." I pressed my right arm across my chest, grabbing it with the left hand to stretch out my back.
"Get out your stretch band."
I grabbed the green elastic loop that hung over my arrows in the quiver. The resistance was minimal, but it allowed us to practice our shot without a bow. I put my finger sling around the band to make sure I didn't shoot it across the range. Jess stood to my right and slightly behind me as I ran through a few shots, gently reinforcing and correcting my form.
The PA system overhead crackled and snapped, then a voice echoed across the range. "Archers, we'll begin the practice rounds in ten minutes. Ten minutes. We'll have three practice ends and immediately go into scoring." The static stopped with a click.
I started to strip off my quiver. "I need to go to the bathroom."
Jess waved me away. "Go."
I jogged through the crowd and dropped my quiver on the empty chair next to Liam while the announcer asked the range to move the bow cases out of the way. Bursting into the hallway, I headed to the bathroom. I took a few extra seconds to splash water on my face and note the dark rings of sweat under my armpits soaking through my jersey.
"Just great," I mumbled to myself and caught a whiff of the acrid, bitter smell of sweat. I had a spare jersey in my office. For a split second I debated grabbing it and changing right now, but my stomach seized at the thought of being away from the range for even a second.
I jogged back into the range as they announced five minutes until practice started. I put on my quiver and sat.
Liam looked at me, studying my face. "Are you okay?"
"What?" My voice was louder than I had intended. "Yeah, why? What do you mean?"
"You seem a little... intense?"
"No, I'm good. I'm fine." I stared straight ahead, rearranging my arrows so my best three were in a compartment all their own. I didn't believe me, and I doubt Liam did either, but he didn't say anything. He just placed a warm hand on my back and rubbed back and forth for a second before placing it on the back of my chair.
"What format is this tournament?"
I looked at him, surprised.
"Sorry, there're a lot of tournaments. I can't keep up with all of them."
"Three hundred round, ten ends of three then a short break. I think they did fifteen minutes during the morning line. Then a second three hundred round. Tomorrow is the same thing." I stood up, grabbed my bow, and moved to the waiting line, dropping my bow stand next to a row of them. The redhead student, the star student that Coach Ron had kicked me off the line for, was to my left, and a girl was on my right. I rolled my shoulders and told myself that I would be okay.
***
After three practice ends, I was right. It was okay, not good, certainly not great, but not awful either. But okay wasn't good enough, at least not by my standards. Jess had done a lot to prepare me for my first foray back into competitive archery. I knew that people would stand close, but I didn't realize how claustrophobic it could feel. I knew I would have nerves, but I didn't realize how it would make my bow arm jerk all over the target, or that I would sweat like a pig.
And no one warned me about the coaches. They inched up on the line, hovering over their archers. It made the anxiety ball up in my throat, strangling me. And of course, Star, the redheaded girl, was behind me. She must have been Coach Ron's favorite student, because he spent all three practice ends inches from my back, coaching her. His body heat invaded my space as he muscled her arm into the proper follow-through position. He started talking the second the single whistle to shoot was blown and didn't stop until she stepped off the line. Mary told me between practice ends that he would need to move behind the waiting line once the tournament started.
It was the first end of scoring, and whatever nerves I had worked out during practice flared up when the announcement sounded overhead, indicating the time had come. I was up first this end to shoot my three arrows, then the second group was up, then we would go down to the target to score and pull. I was on the same target mat with a young blond girl with braces, and a very serious older teenage boy.
I took my place on the line between two girls, a redheaded teenager and a younger blond gal. I took a slow, deep breath and prepared to shoot. The girl in front of me started shooting, her entire shirt quivering as she fought her bow at full draw. I nocked an arrow and set my shoulders when Coach Ron's voice startled me as he talked to the redheaded teenager behind me.
"Nice, strong shots. Shoulders back. Stay in line. Focus on the X. Good follow-through." He continued on, words piling out on top of words. He was no longer hovering three inches behind me. Instead, he was behind the waiting line three meters back using his outside voice.
This couldn't be happening. My pulse pounded in my ears as my palm slipped in the grip of the bow from sweat. Anxiety prickled all down my spine, and a wave of nausea rolled over me. I looked into the crowd. A few people were glaring at him, but no one was making a move to stop him. I caught Jess's eyes, and she flicked her hands toward the target and mouthed, "Shoot."
The large timers between the shooting line and the targets were counting down quickly. No matter how annoyed I was, I didn't want to run out of time. Focus on strong shots. I pulled back, locked onto the X in the middle of the gold rings, and shot as aggressively as possible despite my shaking arm. The arrow winged off the right. Two more shots, and each time the arrow hit the target, but not in the center as I hoped.
The archers on either side were already off the line, so I stepped off and set my bow on the stand. I tried to keep my face smooth instead of grimacing in frustration. I walked around the bows, careful not to clip the limbs of the bows that dangled into the walkway, and flopped into the seat next to Liam. Mary and Orion had pulled over two chairs and were talking to Liam. As I approached, everyone's eyes swiveled to me.
I held my quiver out to the side so I could sit on the chair. "Fine. It's going fine."
Liam continued to chat with Mary and Orion, but he placed a hand along the back of my chair, brushing up against my back as I stared straight ahead. I had dropped a couple of points below my average minimum on each arrow I shot. Over the course of the round, that would be twenty to forty points total, forty to eighty points for the day. I guessed this was why Jess kept telling me to focus on form over score.
I could give up now, three arrows in, or I could try my best even when I was shooting badly. I already felt wrung out and exhausted. I threw my shoulders back. I would have the best attitude and the best form I could, even if I shot all miss
es for the rest of the day. I would smile and try to have a nice time. My decision made, I turned back to the group with a big smile.
Mary caught my eyes. "You okay? Your face looks funny."
The whistle blew to score and pull the arrows from our first end. "This is my happy face."
Mary did not look convinced.
I moved to the line and boogied to catch up with my target mates as they approached the target. A serious boy picked the clipboard off the ground. "My name is Matt. I'd like to do the paper scoring."
"I'm Di." I smiled at them. "I can do whatever."
"I'm--" The blond girl with braces sneezed into the bend of her elbow, muffling out a name that was either Carol, Carolyn or perhaps, Caroline, "Jones. Can I do the electronic scoring?"
"Sure, Davey Jones," I blurted out. That left me to call the arrows on each target, listing the highest-value arrow to lowest. Serious Matt and Davey Jones scored them and confirmed they had the same running score.
Davey looked at me and giggled. "Davey Jones, argh. Where's me booty?"
I giggled with her until I noticed that Matt was tapping his pencil on the clipboard. "Sorry, I'm up first." I called my arrows and waited for Davey Jones and Matt to record the scores and then compare the end score. Next they checked the running score. Once all three of us were scored, we marked the target next to the arrows as a precaution in case we had an arrow that shot through the target, then pulled our arrows.
Many of the targets had four archers and were still scoring when we were done. Judges were called over to verify the score at targets where the archers disagreed on the value of an arrow. Matt grabbed his arrows and jetted back to the line. I hung back to wait for Davey Jones to carefully check each arrow.
She was cute, with bangs that flipped out on the sides like tiny wings. Her braces had colored elastic, yellow, like the center of the target. "They say that you work here?"
I nodded. "Yep, I'm the director of technology."
"What's that?"
"I take care of all the computer stuff." That seemed the easiest way to describe it.
She squealed and grabbed my arm. "No way, I love computers. Like websites and video games and stuff like that."
"That's great. It's a wonderful career."
As we walked back to the shooting line, she excitedly told me about the video games she played and how she used spreadsheets to track how most efficiently to gain experience to level up. I didn't know what games she meant, but it didn't seem to matter so long as I smiled and nodded.
***
By the fourth end, I was starting to settle in. Whatever was going to happen would happen. I sat with Liam when I could, and when we only had a few seconds, I'd sit with Davey and encourage her interest in computers. We shot second during the fourth end, and when it was our turn, we took the line.
Despite my best efforts to ignore Coach Ron, I couldn't block him out completely. Mary had encouraged me to think of it as an opportunity to increase my mental toughness. Mouse, who was two targets down, said she was going to punch him in the face if he didn't cool it soon. I was pulling myself together, and my end score was improving ever so slightly.
Davey finished shooting her arrows and stepped off the line. I finished my last shot and followed her. I stepped back to my bow stand, and Coach Ron had Davey by the arm.
"Do not step off the line when Becky's at full draw." He pointed at the redhead.
Davey's eyes were wide, and she stuttered. "I, I thought--"
"Don't touch her," I said. "She's not next to your student, she's next to me, and she can step off the line whenever she wants." All the frustration that had built up at his constant yapping came tumbling out.
He glared at me. "Don't interfere."
The whistle blew to collect the arrows, but no one in our area moved.
Mouse swooped in. "The rules state that once an archer's done shooting, they must step off the line. That's the rules and that's what she did. Speaking of rules. Judge! Judge!"
A judge stepped toward us. "Yes, Mouse?"
"The rules state that coaches can talk to their students on the line so long as they don't bother the other archers. He's bothering me."
I nodded along.
Coach Ron's face was a brilliant shade of red. "I'm allowed to coach my student."
Mouse leaned in, a finger pointed at him. "You don't have to scream when you do. You can use hand signals or whisper. You haven't shut up since the first end. They can hear you on the compound side."
The judge stepped in closer. "Easy, everyone. Archers, go pull. I'll take care of this."
Davey dabbed at her eyes and stared at the floor.
I put an arm around her. "Hey, you okay?"
She nodded her head, but a tear dripped off her nose. "It's my fault. I know that he doesn't like it when anyone does anything to distract his precious Becky."
"Do you work with him? Did I totally get you in trouble with your coach?" Had my huge mouth gotten her in trouble?
"He's not my coach any more. I used to attend his program, but we moved last June, and the commute was eventually too long." She continued to stare at the ground as we approached the target.
"Hey?" I stopped and waited for her to look up at me. "Your job isn't to make some coach happy. Your job here is to follow the rules and do your best."
Mouse slid up next to me and bumped me over in her enthusiasm. "You okay? Ignore stupid old Coach Jerkface. You did nothing wrong, and he was totally out of line to even say something to you, okay?"
Davey looked up at Mouse then me. She sniffled, and a tiny smile pulled up the corners of her lips.
Coach Ron was fighting with the judge at the shooting line, while Matt stared at us as he held the electronic scoring device and tapped his foot.
"We better go score before Matt has a fit."
Mouse patted her on the back. "You need any help, just call for me. My name's Mouse."
"I've been calling her Davey Jones," I said in a poor imitation of a pirate.
"Argh, I like it. You need me, Davey Jones, bellow and I'll swoop in with me cutlass." Mouse turned and jogged back to her target.
I had just started to pull things together, but once again the anxiety and adrenaline fought in my chest.
We finished scoring our arrows, and Davey was already looking perkier. She double-checked the scores. "Hey, Di, you and Matt have the exact same score."
Before I could reply, Matt shook his head. "My score's awful. Awful. I never, ever shoot this badly. I think something is broken on my bow or something. My score's terrible." He turned and left the target.
If I hadn't felt badly enough about my score before, that really rubbed the salt in my wounds. "Only sixteen more ends to go."
***
After we finished scoring, I stretched my arms overhead as we returned from the targets. The excitement of earlier had died down. Coach Ron had continued to fight with the judges about what was an appropriate level of communication. Even when he lowered his voice and spoke half as much, he was a distraction of epic proportions. During the one end he hadn't been present to constantly vomit words, I was so relieved that I could have cried from joy.
Davey, as sweet as she was, had filled every second of silence off the line as well. She clearly liked me, and I hated to do anything to dampen her youthful enthusiasm, and heaven knows that I'm not so popular that I'm able to turn down any form of friendship, but my ears were ringing from the constant chatter around me, and I ached to just sit in silence.
A judge was on the far side of the range with a magnifying glass to determine the value of an arrow, and I snuck back to sit by Liam. I collapsed into my seat and closed my eyes. "Where are Mary, Orion and Moo?"
"They went out for a walk."
Liam didn't say anything more, and I appreciated that more than anything else in the world. The five seconds of quiet were amazing until a shrill woman's voice cut through the noises around me.
"I'll kill you, Ron!"
&
nbsp; I stood up and scrubbed my face. "What's going wrong now?"
A woman had pushed past us to approach Ron. She had a reverse mullet, short in the back and long in the front. She was jabbing a finger into Ron's chest. "How dare you videotape my daughter! Take that video down before I break every finger you have, you pervert!"
Judges raced over, and the crowd surged up around them.
A gentleman next to me muttered, "Oh geez, I didn't expect that."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Coach Ron filmed my son and her daughter"--he pointed that the screaming lady--"and put it up on the Internet and was kinda mocking how her daughter was shooting. A friend happened to see it and knows that I'm really picky about keeping my son off social media. I showed it to her, and, well... you see what happened."
The shouting of Reverse Mullet Mom and Coach Ron was continuing.
"He's making fun of my daughter on the Internet. I'm filing a protest. I want him kicked out."
Coach Ron's face was tomato red again. He'd better have a strong heart. "No, I'm filing a protest. You can't call me a pervert and attack me." Then he turned, and his eyes landed on the dad standing next to me. "You! You and your son are out of the program. I don't want troublemakers around."
The dad's mouth dropped open in shock. "You're kicking us out because of your screw-up? You've got to be kidding me, you--" Brian, in his police uniform, came up and grabbed the dad's arm, whispering something in the man's ear. The man narrowed his eyes at Coach Ron and jerked his arm out of Brian's grasp. He nodded his head at Brian then stormed off to the far end of the compound side of the range.
The range vibrated with noise as everyone discussed what had just happened. I flopped back in my seat. "This is ridiculous."
Liam rubbed my back. "One end left, then you can take a short break between rounds and catch your breath."
"If I survive that long. Is this how all tournaments are now-adays? I might not be cut out for this." This day had been a roller coaster of emotions, and I wanted off. I had buried my face in my hands when Jess spoke up.
"No, this is not typical. You're doing a great job of holding yourself together."
Death Indoors: Target Practice Mysteries 4 Page 4
