Sure, I’ll confide in our assistant coach, who also happens to be my ex, about my personal problems more often. Great idea.
Part of me still can’t believe I told Otto about Mom. It’s a level of trust I hadn’t realized we still shared. He might have broken my heart, but he was honest while he did it. I didn’t just tell him because he asked. I told him because I wanted to. And I certainly didn’t tell him because he was one of my coaches.
I lift my margarita, shoving thoughts of Otto far away. “To Boston Siege supremacy!”
“Hell yeah,” and “Let’s fucking go,” echo around as glasses clink.
I suck down a healthy sip of my cocktail, a delicious combination of sweet, sour, and smoky. I relax on my stool, taking occasional sips, as I listen to my teammates laugh and bicker. Warmed by the alcohol and the feeling of community.
Savannah is complaining about shin splints. Mallory is browsing for gifts for her sister’s upcoming birthday. Grace Masters is watching the Bruins’ playoff game on her phone.
Reyna leans closer to me and asks, “What were you and Coach Berger talking about?”
I cough on nothing. “What?”
“Before we boarded, you guys were talking. It looked intense.”
“Oh. That. We were…” It should have occurred to me that my teammates might be curious enough to ask. Anything Otto does seems to incite some level of interest. But it didn’t, and I’m unprepared to answer. “I barely remember. Today’s game mostly?”
“What are you guys whispering about?” Grace asks.
“Nothing,” I reply.
At the same time, Reyna says, “Coach Berger.”
And, of course, everyone’s attention is on us now.
“What about Coach Berger?” Savannah questions.
“I was curious what they were talking about earlier,” Reyna comments, taking a sip of her peach-colored drink.
“And?” Savannah prompts, her eyes on me.
I shrug a shoulder. “Small talk.” I sip some margarita, hoping it’ll improve my acting skills. “He mentioned going to a Sox game. Asked if I was ready for today’s match.”
“Do you think he and Coach Green went to the game together?” Grace wonders.
She’s not asking me, so I don’t reply, even though I know the answer. The sooner we move on to another topic, the better.
But everyone else seems happy to speculate.
“I don’t think they’ve gone out,” Mallory says. “Not getting that vibe when they’re together.”
“You’re not?” Savannah responds. “I think Coach Green is into him.”
Reyna chimes in with, “According to Daniela, she definitely is. Coach Green asks his opinion on everything concerning her and Kristin.”
I polish off the rest of my margarita. “We’re failing the Bechdel test.”
“The what?” Savannah asks.
“It’s when women only have conversations about men,” Reyna explains.
Savannah laughs. “We’re not talking about men, Caldy. We’re talking about our soccer-god assistant coach. You’re single. If Coach Berger made a move, you’d turn him down?”
Our waitress chooses this moment to return, asking if anyone needs a second round, earning my eternal gratitude.
Obviously, I would have answered yes. And everyone would have believed me because I’m a responsible rule follower. But yes would have been a lie.
