Part 9 (1/2)

”Alright, I'll give you this. The team was mostly a bunch of snotty girls who couldn't make the cheer squad but were too athletic to do nothing.” She stood up, brus.h.i.+ng the gra.s.s off her b.u.t.t. ”You do what you need to do. But don't let a boy push you around.”

I stood to avoid that hovered-over feeling. ”Alright,” I answered back.

She started toward the school before she turned. ”Listen. I get it. Honest. But, if you need to talk, email me. Anytime. And, I'll need someone to pace me when I'm home for Thanksgiving if you're up for it.”

”Pace you? Didn't you hear? I'm the girl who beat the boys' soccer team.” I grinned at her, picturing my lips. .h.i.tching up on the right side in my best Parker impersonation.

It must have been pretty good, because she was still laughing and shaking her head as she climbed the hill to the parking lot.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed running with Jenn till I saw her again. I thought about being jealous of Rachel's time at camp-and my general lack of other friends due to the whole invisibility thing. But, my time with Jenn had always been easy. We ran. We talked. She saw me. I guess when I wasn't cloaking myself, I was better at this friends thing than I thought.

”Alright men, round up. First things first.” Coach slammed the clipboard against his other hand as the guys grouped around him, some faces hopeful but most looking worried. He waved a hand to motion me forward. ”Whalen, roll call.”

I handed him the three sheets with the initial list of boys. As he worked his way through the pages, I crossed out those who hadn't shown up on my copy and handed him the new count.

”We're already down fourteen.” Coach studied the group. ”I'm going to start us off with what you all want to know. No reason to keep you distracted all morning.”

Coach opened the box at his feet and pulled out two practice jerseys-one blue, one green-before continuing.

”I don't care if you like your captain or not. What I care about is that the captains treat the teams with respect and the teams follow their leaders. Bickering is for old women.”

He held the blue s.h.i.+rt in his left hand and the green jersey in his right. Raising his left hand he shouted, ”Blue captain is Adams.”

Coach named a junior. Most likely the guy they were looking at for JV captain.

The guys all shouted good-natured guy speak that must have been encouragement but sounded shockingly like common put-downs.

Raising his right hand, Coach shouted, ”Kent.”

Relief rushed through me like an adrenaline kick in the last quarter mile of an uphill 5k. Around him, Chris's guys slapped his back and shouted more badly worded praise. I waited for him to glance my way. Waiting for my chance to add my congratulations to theirs. Hoping it mattered even a little.

Without warning, his friends tackled him and he disappeared under a pile of sweats and cleats.

Coach gave them a few moments of chaos before calling both teams to order.

”I'm going to read off the practice teams. Fall in behind your captain. Blue team.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the back of his clipboard and read down a list, the team a commingling of veterans to newbie. Seniors down to the smallest freshman.

”Everyone else, fall in behind Kent. You're the green team.”

The guys rushed to stand behind their captain, s.n.a.t.c.hing practice jerseys as they went. Over the box's lid, I met Luke's eye. He pulled a green jersey from the box marked ”large” and ambled over to where his team collected behind Chris.

Was I the only one who thought that was going to be a horrible idea? I don't mean bad like a second piece of pie on Thanksgiving bad. I mean bad like holding an aluminum pipe over your head in a lightning storm bad.

The guys all whipped off their s.h.i.+rts and pulled on their new scrimmage team colors. The backs didn't even have numbers for me to use for statistics. With the way the budget was, they were lucky to have the plain Hanes.

Beside me, Coach kept an eye on the teams, noting who showed good spirits and where the mumbling came from. Tossing his clipboard on the table more negligently than normal, he motioned me over.

”Whalen, walk with me.” Before I could ask why, Coach started toward the bleachers running the length of the Home Team side. ”Do you see any problems arising from how I split the teams?”

Okay, so I wasn't the only one worried.

On the field Chris glared at Luke every so often from where he chatted with some other teammates. Luke, for his part, kept his back to his captain, but already had his own group around him.

”No, sir.”

Coach lifted a foot to the first bleacher and leaned on that leg, careless but focused.

”Whalen, if I was looking for some little snot that would kowtow and tell me I'd put together perfect teams, I would have kept that miniature cheerleader wannabe that asked for the job before Kent showed up with you.”

I glanced over again, only this time Chris had a smirk glued in place as he watched Coach try to pull information from me. I'd promised to be on his side. I'd sworn it. But wouldn't being honest with Coach be the best way to be on Chris's side?

”I don't know most of the guys yet, Coach.”

”But?”

I thought about my own team, the one that probably wouldn't notice I was missing until their points suffered. Taking a deep breath, I s.h.i.+fted to face the bleachers so only Coach could see me.

”Luke and Chris might be a problem. They're fighting for the same spot.”

”Is that the only thing they're fighting for, Whalen?”

”Sir?”

He looked down at me, his former athlete's stature making him insanely intimidating-even for Coach. I suddenly didn't wonder why the guys trembled when he scowled in their direction.

”Nothing, Whalen. As long as you can tell me that's the only thing those two are fighting over.”

For a flash, as he c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at me, I thought he might know what had happened this morning. Perhaps he'd seen something in the hall or overheard the argument I had with both or either of the guys. But, just like I'd told Luke, it wasn't what it appeared to be. I doubted Coach would believe me anymore than Luke did.

”I can't see them fighting over anything else.”

He shook his head, and I had a sudden fear I'd let him down.

”If you say so, Whalen.” He handed me a stopwatch and studied the guys milling about in their new colors. ”Don't forget, you're part of this team now, too.”

Tryouts dragged. Spurts of brilliant play interwoven with a lot of sub-par confusion. Chris and Luke kept their numbers close. Coach kept them off the field at the same time.

Throughout the morning, Coach would call me over to note a rating system in the binder only he seemed to understand. By the end of the session, the sun heated the field like an iron skillet over an open flame. The guys were looking like dish rags that had been used, wrung out, and then set on fire.

When Coach blew the final whistle, I guessed several of the guys had no plans on returning that evening. Most were willing to only try so hard or endure so much humiliation in pursuit of one of those coveted slots. They all knew that a varsity letter wasn't a sure thing and an evening at a friend's pool was probably starting to look pretty darn good.

”Men, I'll see you at seven. Good practice.” Coach made his way to the table, opening the binders and jotting notes for the first time. I hid my shock at his ability to use a pencil.

”Whalen, stick around a minute while the guys clean up.”

He ran through the stats from the last few days, while I held the day's numbers and made notes about each team member.

”Coach, you didn't rank Chris or Luke.”