He did not touch me. Did not lean in. Did not give me anything he wouldn’t give another player.
That almost made it worse.
“What was your first mistake?” he asked.
I opened my mouth.
His gaze stayed level. “Answer that question. Not the next three.”
I closed it again.
My fingers flexed inside my gloves. My thoughts scattered, then rearranged around the instruction like metal filings around a magnet.
“Rotated high before possession was secured,” I said.
“Why?”
“Got ahead of the play.”
“That’s the result. Why?”
I swallowed. “I was watching too much.”
“What were you watching?”
You.
Absolutely not.
“Spacing,” I said.
His expression did not change. I hated that too.
“Your assignment on that read.”
“Low underneath. Make myself available. Don’t leave Lowell guessing.”
“Correct. Do that.”
“That’s it?”
His eyes held mine. “Do you need more?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know what I need, and that is starting to become a problem.
“No,” I said.
“Then go.”
I went.
My legs felt strange for the first three strides, too much energy and nowhere to put it. The next rep came clean. Then another. Then another. I stayed where I was supposed to stay until the play earned me. I did the thing he told me to do.
And under the satisfaction of getting it right, something else opened.
