by Score, Lucy
“Hey,” I said, wheezing a bit.
“You must be Marley,” she said, holding out a hand to me. “I’m Haruko Smith. French teacher.”
I shook and tried to catch my breath. “Nice to meet you.”
“And yes, it is ironic that I’m a Japanese-American teaching French.” She tucked her blunt bob behind both ears. “Now that that’s settled, how did it feel to discipline that Hostetter punk?”
I laughed.
“Does he really get a free ride?” I asked.
“He and his brother, Ascher.”
“Ascher?”
Haruko sighed. “Yep. Named after Amie Jo’s favorite diamond cut. You’re the unsung hero of the day. We’re all terrified of her, but you had the guts to tell that wannabe surfer moron where to stick it.”
“Technically I just made him run laps.” I didn’t need some overblown story of my Amie Jo defiance blowing up in my face.
“Still,” Haruko said. “It’s more than most. Rumor has it you put her in her place in high school, too.”
A blaring horn in the parking lot captured our attention and saved me from having to answer.
“Blaire Elizabeth! Get away from that Camaro!” a woman yelled out of her open minivan window.
A girl in denim shorts and a Katy Perry tour t-shirt stomped away from a much-older-looking boy leaning against a rusted-out Camaro, its body panels a variety of colors including primer, red, and orange.
“Moooom! You’re embarrassing me!”
“Embarrassment is better than teen pregnancy! Trust me!” There was something vaguely familiar about that voice. A Pennsylvania twang wrapped around expensive education.
I peered down the hill trying to see through the glare on the windshield.
The horn honked again as the girl climbed in through the sliding passenger door. “Marley Cicero? Is that you?” The driver was hanging out of her open window and waving at me.
“Holy shit, Vicky?”
I jogged down the hill. Vicky Kerblanski—now Rothermel—my best friend through all twelve years of Culpepper schooling, popped out of the van, arms open.
She was wearing pajama pants, a tank top, and a baseball cap over her fire engine red hair.
“I can’t freaking believe you’re here!” she said, yanking me into a violent hug. Vicky always had been largely unaware of her freakish upper body strength. “Mariah said she saw you at the ice shack, and now here you are. You look gorgeous by the way. You obviously haven’t ruined your body giving birth to three ungrateful kids.”
“Mom! Are we going?” the grumpy teenager demanded from the van.
“Shut up and eat your snack,” Vicky said cheerfully. “We need to catch up.”
“Yes. Please.” I was suddenly desperate for a friend. Hmm, a friend who had played soccer with me. “Hey, what are you doing in half an hour?”
“Yelling at these bozos probably,” she said, shooting her thumb at the van behind her. “Why?”
“I need an assistant coach—”
“Yes. Oh my fucking God, yes.” Vicky said, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me. “I got laid off from the hospital two months ago, and if I don’t get out of my house to do something besides sell bullshit wrinkle cream to ‘all my closest friends,’ I will die.”
“Are you serious? I could really use the help. Like desperate measures.”
“Let me get these ungrateful wombats back home, dump them on Rich, and I’ll meet you back here.”
One of the ungrateful wombats was a sticky-looking toddler waving a plastic dinosaur at me. I waved back, and he burped.
“Thank you, Vicky. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
Vicky rubbed her palms together. “This is going to be amazing,” she predicted. She grabbed me one more time, placed a smacking kiss on my cheek, and ran back to the van. “Peace out, Girl Scout!”
She revved the engine and took off, tires squealing.
I shook my head and started the climb back up the hill. Vicky had been the ridiculous sidekick to my boring self. She brought fun and adventure to everything we did. Even if it was just sitting in class together. I’d missed her and hadn’t even realized it. Judging from the van full of kids, she had an entire life I wasn’t even aware of.
“Did I miss anything?” I asked Haruko.
“Eh, just a knife fight and an FBI van rolling through. I see you, Mr. Aucker! There’s no need for you to take your shirt off just to drive home,” she yelled to a scrawny, trucker-hat-wearing boy. “They’re basically animals, you know? Without us, they’d be not showering and wandering around naked just licking things. We’re goddamn superheroes.”
The parking lot slowly emptied, and Haruko and I went our separate ways. She to her classroom to grab her cross-stitch and Kindle to head home, me to the locker room to change for practice.
School was out, but with fall sports, there were plenty of students loitering in and around the gym. I didn’t have the energy to yell at them to stay off the climbing ropes, so I ducked into the hallway.
And ran smack into a wall of male muscle.
“We meet again,” Jake said.
His hands were like warm, sexy vices on my biceps. What was it about this guy? I wanted to stare at him, follow him around, dissect his appeal. If I understood it, I could avoid it.
“At least I’m not vomiting this time,” I said.
His lips quirked, and his eyes crinkled. Hot damn. Crinkly eyes. Add that to the list of Things That Turn Me On.
“You seem to be holding up.”
“Made it through preseason, my first day of school, and I just hired as assistant coach. I might just survive this semester.”
“That’s the spirit.” His fingers squeezed my arms once before letting me go. My flesh sizzled from his fingerprints. “Hey, if you need any teaching or coaching tips, I’m your man.”
I’m pretty sure I wet my lips in that stupid “I’m fantasizing about licking every inch of your body” way because his eyes narrowed just a little bit, and he snagged his bottom lip with his teeth. Then he was winking and walking away.
My face was flaming when I walked into the chaos of the locker room. There were girls everywhere in various states of undress. I averted my eyes and ducked into my office. I needed to change, too. But I wasn’t going to do it in front of students. I’d already puked in front of them. They didn’t need to see my mismatched bra and underwear, too. I grabbed my gym bag and hustled back out of the locker room to the nearest restroom. I wrestled my way into my sports bra, knocking my elbow into the stall wall and seeing stars. Dressing quickly and clumsily, I hurried back out. I cut through the gym and headed straight to the practice field.
Our first game was coming up in two days, and we were not ready. I didn’t know how to make us ready. Hopefully Vicky would have a suggestion or ten to get us on track.
I took the concrete stairs to the practice field in hopes that they’d be less steep than the hill itself. No such luck. At the top, I found half of my team staring down what looked like the better part of the boys soccer team.
“This is our field time,” Angela announced.
A man wearing shorts that were entirely too short and a very shiny whistle leaned into her face. “Too bad, sweetheart. They’re reseeding our field, and we need to practice. So you can take your PMS and get off my field.”
Angela looked like she was one second away from kicking him in the balls.
“Excuse me,” I said, using my most authoritative voice.
“You’re excused,” he said dismissively. “We’re gonna start with a header drill, men.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, stopping in front of him.
“No you’re not,” one of the boys mimicked in a falsetto. It was that fucking Milton kid.
“You feel like running some more laps, Floppy?” I asked.
Ruby’s jaw dropped, and Sophie S. looked like she couldn’t decide if she was going to laugh or cry.
“You don’t have any a
uthority over my players,” Short Shorts announced, sticking his hairy-knuckled finger in my face.
“Oooh,” I winced. “Actually I do. I’m a teacher, and this is school property, soooo…” I wasn’t sure if my authority carried over to after-school hours. But this asshole was trying to steal my field.
“Bull. Shit.” He enunciated.
“Is that what I smelled?” I asked sweetly. “You’re not taking our field.”
“Why don’t we ask an administrator? Who do you think they’ll side with? A temporary, no-experience coach and her loser girls or last year’s district champs?”
Milton moved to stand beside his coach. “Why don’t you ladies go prance around with the cheer squad?” he suggested.
Sophie S. made a dive for his face, but Ruby caught her and pulled her back. Milton gave them both a little finger waggle.
“Take a hike, ladies,” Short Shorts snapped.
“There a problem here?” Vicky, in her athleisure glory, marched across the field.
“How about this? Coaches Challenge. Half-field sprint. Winner’s team gets the field,” Short Shorts said, snapping his fingers.
Vicky sidled up to me. “Listen, I hope you’re fast because the last time I ran, it was after an ice cream truck, and I peed myself a little.”
17
Marley
“I can’t believe you didn’t even try,” Morgan E. complained.
Our entire team was mid-walk of shame up the street to commandeer an elementary school field, having lost our field to the guys team.
“You’ve seen me run. I have that vomiting problem.”
“You should have at least tried,” Angela put in.
“Me losing to Short Shorts wouldn’t have done any of us any good,” I insisted. Thank God Lisabeth hadn’t shown up for practice today. I could only imagine the nastiness my giving up would have provoked.
“Come on, ladies,” Vicky barked, rounding up the stragglers like she’d been a coach all her life.
I looked over my shoulder to where Ruby and Sophie S. were walking in sullen silence next to each other. “Okay. I gotta ask. What did you two see in that floppy-haired idiot?”
They glanced at each other and away again quickly.
“Come on. I need to know.”
The girls’ cleats made a hollow clacking noise on the asphalt.
“He was cute,” Ruby said finally.
“He had a pool,” Sophie added.
“Don’t settle for cute boys with pools when they won’t treat you with respect,” I told them, pointing a knowledgeable index finger at them.
“Amen, sister,” Vicky piped up.
“You’re like fifty and single,” Angela the Jerk reminded me.
“I’m thirty-eight and not in a relationship with a disrespectful dummy,” I countered.
“You sound like a guidance counselor. ‘It’s better to be happy alone than miserable with someone,’” one of the girls mimicked.
“Do you think we’re bs-ing you?” I asked.
Her “duh” expression translated flawlessly.
“Ladies, we’re not trying to keep you from having fun,” Vicky insisted as we trooped onto the elementary school playground. “We’re trying to save you years of agony.”
“We’ve been in your shoes,” I added.
“Yeah, right,” one of the Morgans groused. “You’re just trying to keep us celibate.”
Okay, we were tiptoeing into dicey territory. I didn’t think the girls’ parents would appreciate me talking to their teenage daughters about sex.
“I’m not talking about sex,” I said evasively. “I’m talking bigger picture. Don’t waste your time in relationships that lack respect.”
“Is that why you’re single?” one of the JV players piped up.
My mind jumpstarted a black-and-white reel of relationship highlights culminating in Javier telling me that my lack of passion had dried up what little chemistry we had. And then me telling him that I didn’t find him interesting enough to be passionate about. After we’d finished sniping at each other and decided to amicably call it quits, I’d felt a swift rush of relief. Unfortunately, it had dried up twelve hours later when I’d lost my job at the start-up that had folded as quickly as it had launched. The start-up I’d sunk every dime of my savings into.
“I’m single because I haven’t met the right guy yet,” I said stiffly.
“Maybe you should practice with a few of the wrong ones,” Ruby suggested.
“We’re not talking about me here,” I argued.
“What about Mr. Weston? He totally carried you around, and he yelled at you,” Phoebe said. “My dad yells all the time. It’s how he shows he cares.”
“There is nothing happening between me and Mr. Weston,” I insisted, dumping the ball bag in the grass. Even if he was spectacularly good-looking and interesting and funny. I’d been there. Kissed that. Bought the t-shirt. “Let’s practice some controlled dribbling around these rocking circus animals.”
“Didn’t you kiss Jake senior year?” Vicky mused out loud.
I picked up a ball and threw it at her.
“What?” the girls shrieked together.
“You and Mr. Weston?”
“No way.”
“Were you prettier in high school?”
I hated teenagers.
“No way.”
“Two lines,” I shouted. “When you get to a circus animal, use a dodge. Let’s see some footwork.”
They lazily made their way into two sloppy lines, making kissy noises.
“Go!”
As my team juked and jogged their way around the playground equipment, I felt myself slip a little deeper into the misery I’d been holding at bay.
“Do I really look like my prime years are behind me?” I asked Vicky.
“Oh, sweetie.” She tucked a stray lock of limp hair behind my ear. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean they are.”
* * *
We adapted to our unfortunate circumstances and practiced corner kicks trying to arch the ball over the tube slide. For the header contest, we paired the girls off on either side of the monkey bars. “Head it over the bars, not under, Leslie! Stay on your toes. Don’t take balls to the forehead with your heels on the ground!”
I was starting to sound like my father.
“Ugh. This sucks,” Ruby said, snatching the ball out of the air and punting it in the direction of the kickball field.
“Look I appreciate your frustration. I’d like nothing more to go back over there and—”
“Throw up on Coach Vince’s shoes?”
“Har. Har. Hilarious.”
Vicky elbowed her way into the conversation. “You girls might not know this, but Coach Marley was quite the prankster in high school. She once convinced our entire trigonometry class to speak only in lines from The Princess Bride.”
My lips quirked. Yeah, that was a good time.
“Oh, and how about the time you snagged Coach Norman’s car keys out of his bag and hid his truck in the adult store parking lot?”
“Yeah, yeah. I was a real rebel. Let’s at least pretend we’re interested in soccer.”
“You stole a car, and you kissed Mr. Weston?” Angela demanded. She was wearing her dark hair in two buns on top of her head. They looked like horns.
“Badass,” Natalee said.
“If only there was something we could do to get back at Coach Vince and the boys team,” Vicky mused.
I eyed her suspiciously.
“Let’s prank them!” a sophomore with braces said, hopping up and down.
“Yeah!”
Vicky wiggled her eyebrows at me. “What do you say, Coach?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be an adult, a mother, a respected member of society?” I demanded.
“Come on, Coach. It’ll be like a team-building exercise,” sneaky Morgan W. begged.
“You guys, I could lose my job, and you could get suspended.”
“Not if we don’
t get caught,” Vicky announced.
“Are you kidding me right now, Vic?”
“Tell me you don’t have at least three ideas floating around in that devious brain of yours,” she insisted. I actually had four working concepts that I could build on. “They took our field. They humiliated us. They forced you to back down with shame!”
“You are taking this very seriously for only joining the team an hour ago.”
“We are on an elementary school playground because a bunch of zero body fat buffoons chased us off of our turf,” Vicky reminded me.
“Come on, Coach!”
“Yeah, please!”
“We need this.”
“They took our field.”
I groaned and scratched a finger over the bridge of my nose.
“I know that look,” Vicky sang.
“I refuse to dignify that with an answer.” I had a great idea, and I was pretty sure I was absolutely going to go through with it. But I didn’t need my team getting arrested with me or suspended after I got fired.
A collective groan of disappointment rose up.
“We are not retaliating. Now, don’t tempt me to make you run,” I warned them.
“Old single ladies are so mean,” one of the girls complained.
18
Marley
“What in the hell are you guys doing here dressed like freaking ninjas?” I was standing at center field in the high school’s soccer stadium at 9 p.m. facing almost the entire varsity team—Lisabeth Hooper was missing, thank God—and Vicky. All of whom were dressed in head-to-toe black.
It was dark except for the flashlight apps on our phones.
“When you and Coach Vicky whisper, you’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are,” Phoebe announced.
“Where do your parents think you all are?” I demanded.
“My parents think that I’m studying at the library with Morgan G., Morgan W., Sophie S., and Leslie,” Angela said.
“Mine think I’m at a stage crew meeting with Ruby,” Natalee said.
“My parents are getting a divorce. They don’t really care where I am as long as I don’t come home pregnant or with tattoos,” Chelsea chirped.
