“I don’t want to think of her like that.”
“Why did you accept the job if you were so unsure?”
“The agreement. You know that.”
“I don’t believe that for a second; and neither do you.”
“What was I supposed to do, Tyler?” I ask as we pull into the school car park. “What else could I do around here?”
“I don’t know. Would your dad not hire you?”
“If I wanted to work for my dad, don’t you think I’d have done it years ago?”
“Twenty years ago, you had a choice.”
“Does that mean I don’t have one now?”
“Everything’s way more complicated now. But I know that this,” he gestures towards the school in front of us, “is a great place to start.”
As soon as we step through the entrance to the gym, I immediately regret ever thinking that this was a good idea. There are roughly twenty kids sitting on the steps, all between thirteen and sixteen years old, girls and boys, all busy concentrating on anything but what they’ve come here to do: play as a team. And maybe, if we’re lucky, win the tournament, rebuild my reputation and – if we’re really pushing it – make the headmistress fall at my feet. Okay, so maybe that’s taking it a little too far. It’s definitely too much to expect from the first training session. I need to take it step-by-step, and try not to embarrass myself. The rest will hopefully come later.
Some of the kids notice me, but are unperturbed; the others continue to ignore me. I used to be popular: all I had to do was walk into a room to gain everyone’s attention and respect. I was envied, sought-after, looked up to. I wassomeone. Someone who doesn’t exist anymore.
“Go on,” Tyler says, patting me encouragingly on the back. “Assert yourself.”
I roll my eyes and sigh heavily, before taking a few paces into the gym and positioning myself in the centre of the basketball court.
“Er, hi, everyone.”
No one responds.
“I’m your new coach.”
Still no response.
“Maybe some of you already know me?”
Not a single shit given. I’m starting to think they’re doing it on purpose.
“So, I…”
A whistle from across the court makes me jump, and everyone falls suddenly silent. I turn slowly to see Ms Hill wearing a gym tracksuit, a ball tucked under her arm and the whistle still dangling from her lips.
In an instant, my biggest problem is no longer the kids ignoring me; it’s the pulsing bulge between my legs.
“The coach was talking to you,” she says coolly, one hand on her hip. There’s pride on her face: she knows how to put them in their place. “I expect your full attention, respect and effort. If I don’t see even one of those three things from you, you’re out. Do I make myself clear?”
Someone murmurs a lazyyes.
“I didn’t hear you!”
Her voice makes the walls of the gym shake. My legs aren’t so steady, either.
“Yes, Ms Hill!” they chime in unison.
She looks at me, satisfied, and nods at me to go on. I turn back towards the sea of faces, all aimed at me, and I speak: confidently and assuredly, with a newfound strength in my voice and adrenaline pumping through my body.
“I’m your coach, Coach Kerry. And now, I’m your fucking problem.”
