COACH ME
Shanora Williams
Contents
Prologue
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
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Copyright © 2020 Shanora Williams
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Dedicated to my boys.
May they grow to shine in their beautiful brown skin, no matter what life throws at them.
Prologue
Falling in love is like being diagnosed with an incurable disease. It’s inevitable and unexpected.
The kind of love you find when you fall is raw and can feel so very real. It breathes, moves, and thrives inside every single nerve and organ in your body.
Some would say falling in love is an amazing feeling—one that you never want to let slip through your fingers. You feel as if you are with your soulmate and everything wrong in the world has just become right.
Well, I can say this story is about soulmates—two people who fall for each other, even whilst knowing that they won’t be able to hold on forever. They know the risks, enjoy the thrill of it, but refuse to let go because they feel like they can’t breathe without one another.
Soon, they’ll realize that they must part ways one day—that the world is unjust, and that sometimes, love comes knocking at the wrong damn time.
They’ll try to let go, and they’ll hurt, and soon they will discover that trying to fall out of love will be the hardest thing they’ve ever had to do in their fucking life…but they’ll try doing it anyway.
ONE
I remember having only two dreams when I was a little girl.
Become the fastest female track runner in my state
Marry “the fastest man alive” - Usain Bolt
I’m pretty sure number two is off the table for me now, since Usain now has a girlfriend and a child with her. Not only that, but he’s much older than me—not that age really matters to me all that much. I still would have been happy to be with the fastest man alive just for the sake of it.
I’m not the type to interrupt anyone’s happily-ever-after. Usain and his girlfriend seem very much in love, and have started a family, so I suppose that second dream was never meant to happen, and you know what? That’s totally fine. I came to terms with that weeks ago.
Though I still love Usain Bolt and would probably bawl my eyes out if I ever met him, probably even cling to one of his long brown legs like a baby monkey, I know that he is happy with his girlfriend, and everyone deserves happiness.
So, that only leaves me with one dream, and that’s to be the fastest female track runner in the state of North Carolina. Well, I’m proud to say that I have lived up to that dream. I have entered many competitions and I was even included in articles and local magazines. Yep. Treated like a local phenomenon.
Anyone I race, I beat.
I’m fast, really fast, and I don’t say that to brag. It’s the truth.
I started running track when I was five years old. My father was a track coach for a private league. I remember waking up with him at crazy early hours on Saturday mornings. He’d pack three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (one for me and two for him) and I’d ride with him to the track.
We’d be the first to get there, always an hour before the athletes and other coaches arrived for Saturday morning practices, and while we waited, he’d show me the fundamentals of running.
As I got the hang of it, he’d set me up at the starting line, pick up his stop watch, and shout, “Go!”
He never had a destination stop for me on the track when I was younger. I suppose he wanted to see how far I could go and how long I could run without getting tired.
By the time I was eight, my dad determined I would be a good fit for 100 to 200-meter sprints, though he’d always called me an all-purpose runner, meaning I could run in any kind of race and do well.
I won’t go into the deeper details of it, but a 200-meter race is that sweet spot between a longer sprint race and a shorter sprint. The 200-meter races are some of the best races to watch, especially in the Olympics…at least I think they are. They’re quick, intense, and thrilling. Maybe I’m biased.
This was what my dad put me in. He trained me, worked hard with me, and even though he wasn’t always patient at times, he was persistent. He never gave up on me.
And now…I know I can’t give up on him.
My dad died when I was thirteen years old. Big car accident. Too much rain. Slippery roads. He didn’t survive. That was six years ago, but it still feels like yesterday.
When he passed, I didn’t want to run anymore. Running always reminded me of him, and every time I tried to start, I found myself blinded with tears on the track.
Life wasn’t the same without him. Despite how annoyed I got with the process as I got older, I missed the early mornings when he’d wake me up, pack three sandwiches, and take me to the track. I missed the way he trained me, coached me, and even remained patient with me when my running times weren’t always consistent.
I missed being home with him on weekend nights and working on puzzles at the coffee table or watching him help Mama cook as I did homework at the dinner table.
I missed when he’d light up the grill on every holiday that required a barbeque, a cool beer in his hand, and a smile riding h
is lips as I splashed around in the blow up pool in the backyard with Mama.
But what I missed the most was sitting beside him on the bleachers after training, eating our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and talking about any little thing that came to mind. We called them “life talks” because all we did was talk about what was going on in our lives, his pasts, and our futures, but mostly my future.
He was my best friend, and then he was…gone. Just like that. All in the blink of an eye.
I remember waking up one morning and realizing something inside me had shifted after he’d passed. I was still thirteen, and it had been two months since I’d lost him, but one day I looked in the mirror and I asked myself, “Why should I allow my father’s death to be in vain?”
I needed to honor him and continue making him proud of me. I was going to carry on with all the hard work he’d instilled in me, and his other athletes. I wanted to carry on his legacy. He had prepared me for this and I knew I could do it.
So, that same morning, I woke up, packed a bag, went downstairs to make one peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, and then walked out of the house. I jogged to the park in my neighborhood and even though the track was smaller and not as flat and neat as the track Daddy used to take me to, it always did the trick.
I set my bag down by a bench, stretched, got on the track, and ran. I ran until my lungs burned, my legs ached, and my chest grew tight.
It felt good.
That’s when I promised myself I would never give up.
Truthfully, if it hadn’t been for my father, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Standing in front of Bennett University, one of the biggest Ivy League colleges in America.
Bennett University, aka BU, is located very close to where I live—literally an hour away from my home in Raleigh, North Carolina.
I had received scholarships from Harvard, Princeton, and Brown University as well, but ultimately, I went with Bennett. I’d visited the others and didn’t feel quite at home there with the head coaches, but Bennett was good because it was close to home and seemed pretty laid back, all things considered.
A car door slams and I look over the top of the car at Mama. She steps around the front bumper of the car, focused on a college pamphlet in her hand, a puzzled expression on her face.
She’d driven me to BU for a tour before, but my mom would forget her own head if it wasn’t attached to her body. No, seriously. My mom tends to be very forgetful. Unless I give her a day-of reminder, she doesn’t remember things like doctor appointments, track meet dates, or even my birthday sometimes, but she makes up for that by preparing three meals a day and working two jobs so she can get me whatever I need.
Mama refused to let me get a job when Daddy passed. She said it would distract me from school work and track and she would have rather worked twice as hard, than let me work and lose sight of my passion.
So yes, she can forget stuff because she’s in my corner. She’s my champion and if I didn’t have her, I wouldn’t have anyone else. She’s all I’ve got, which is another reason BU was a good choice for me. I’m close to her and can visit her whenever I want by catching a quick bus ride home if need be.
“Okay, baby…um, let me see,” Mama says, running the tip of her finger over a sentence in the pamphlet. “It says here that the women athlete’s apartments are across from the Triton Fountain.” Mama lowers the pamphlet and looks at the fountain that’s in the center of a round walkway. “I’m seeing a fountain, but no apartments straight across.”
I chuckle and point to the short brick building to our right. “It’s ‘cause we’ve parked on the opposite side.”
It isn’t a huge building, but I do remember it from orientation. Mama was with me when they showed us the athlete apartments. Like I said, she’s very forgetful.
“Oh! Yes, I remember now!” she chimes. She folds the pamphlet, tucks it into her back pocket, and then makes her way around the car to get to the trunk. She hands me my suitcase and I drop it down on its wheels while she takes out a pink container with some extra clothes of mine.
There is one more container in the trunk full of snacks, protein bars, and Gatorade, and I also have a new bed spread set. I grab the bed spread in my left hand.
“Well, come on,” Mama says, smiling over her shoulder as she walks by with the container.
I follow her, my heart suddenly beating faster with anticipation. As we approach the brick building, I can’t help feeling a nervous ball of energy hit me. I thought I’d be prepared for college. I’d packed up a week prior to move-in day and went shopping at Walmart with Mama the day after packing to get everything I needed on my list.
But walking to this building is daunting. I’ll be a freshman here, and I have yet to meet many of my track mates. I have met my roommate, Kendall, who also runs track so far, but that’s about it. Staying in the apartments comes with my full-ride scholarship and Mama is so thankful for that.
The doors of the building slide open and cool air wraps around me, some of it cooling the sweat at the nape of my neck. Mama keeps on walking as if she knows where she’s going. She places the container down and then taps the button on the elevator, huffing as she looks around the lobby.
“Isn’t there supposed to be someone here to greet us?” she asks.
“I don’t think it works that way with the apartments.” I shrug. “They emailed all the info and I have the key.”
“Huh.”
“Mama, you know you really should have told Uncle Jeremy to come. He could have carried everything in for us. You know he doesn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t want to hear him talking the whole way here, Amber.”
I laugh. “He’s your brother-in-law. He loves talking to you.”
“Yeah, and there’s only so much of his talking I can take. He had to work today anyway. Him and Janet need the money now more than ever with their baby on the way.”
That’s true.
The elevator doors shoot open and we stagger inside with my things. The elevator shoots up to the second floor and we make our way down the hallway, strolling past other apartments with doors ajar and parents with their daughters, laughing or hugging or chatting.
B2 appears. That’s my apartment. During the tour, I was shown this apartment and it was very accommodating. I was also given a key I had to sign for and Mama told me I better not lose it, or I was going to have to find a way to pay “fifty damn dollars” for it.
I stick my key in the lock and it opens right up. The apartment is already furnished, courtesy of BU. They truly treat the athletes like gods and goddesses here. There’s a love-seat in the middle of the living room and a recliner. Unfortunately, we’ll have to get our own TV, but that’s fine. I don’t watch much TV anyway.
Straight to my left is a G-shaped kitchen. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough with enough cabinetry for two people, and a stovetop which is great because I enjoy cooking my own meals when I can.
“I think it is incredible that they accommodate like this,” Mama says in awe. “All of this was included with your scholarship?”
“Yep. It sweetens the deal, right? BU was the best choice out of all of them, Mama.”
“It sure was. Hell, this apartment is as big as our damn house!”
I huff a laugh and make my way down the hallway. The door of the first room on the left is halfway open and I push on it with the tips of my fingers to get a better look inside. The bed was already a part of the apartment, but the room is fully decorated. A sky-blue bed spread is laid out on the bed with decorative matching pillows atop. A laptop in a case is on top of the desk, and there’s a portable speaker there too.
Kendall has already staked her claim. She moved in yesterday. We’d agreed via email that we’d do move-in on different days so that we wouldn’t clash into each other with our families. I wonder where she is now.
I keep moving, opening the second door at the end of the hallway. It’s the same size as Kendall’s, though hers is ri
ght across from the bathroom. She did tell me her bladder can be irritable at times.
The bed is sparse, the desk vacant. There is a window above the desk and I move forward to look out of it. It reveals the parking lot and some views of the campus.
I release my suitcase and place my bed set down in a corner. I want to make my room cozy like Kendall’s, give it a big Amber welcome.
“You like it?” Mama asks, as if she’s the one who staged the bedroom for me.
“I love it, Mama.”
And I do. I really do. We get started right away with settling in. After collecting everything from the car, we’re back in the apartment, taking the bed set out and placing it on the bed, but not without Mama spraying a whole damn bottle of Lysol and Febreze on the mattress first.
“You don’t know who was rubbing their dirty, sweaty ass on this mattress before you,” she said when I groaned. It’s true, I guess. This is an apartment for female athletes and college kids can be wild. I suppose I’m just eager to make this room all mine.
I place my laptop on the desk and take out my rose gold Beats headphones to give the room a little more spice. I don’t have a portable speaker like Kendall, but I’ve always liked listening to music privately. I open one of the folders and take out the photo of me, Mama, and Daddy at a park. I tuck it into the corner of the mirror hanging on the wall and smile.
Coach Me Page 1