Melanie giggles, but I’m sure nothing about his statement is meant to be humorous. “So, how was your summer?”
“Better when I didn’t have to talk about how it was.”
Another giggle.
The one Torres called Rose—the girl with the straight hair—fidgets on the bench. I glance at her and she’s rolling her eyes.
“Anyway, I’m starting with you, Howard,” Torres says, scribbling something on one of the papers on his clipboard. “You’re a senior this year. Gotta show your new teammate the ropes.” Torres cuts his eyes at me quickly before locking on Melanie again. “Picked up any new skills over the summer?”
“Well, I learned how to chug at Zach’s parties without spitting it all back up. Took the kegs down like a champ this summer!”
Torres gives her a dull look.
“Okay, Mr. Grouchy. Geez. Um…well, I think I catch more speed for 800-meter sprints now. I practiced with my brother. He clocked me. I beat myself by three seconds,” she gloats.
“We’ll see about that,” Torres mumbles. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s about it.” She beams again.
“And what do you think you can bring to the team?” he asks her.
“Well, as always, I have bright spirits and I can make anyone smile. People love me, so there’s no doubt in my mind that my teammates won’t come to me if they ever need a pep talk and a smile.”
“If you say so.” Torres writes something on his paper.
I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t get the chance because Torres brings his head up and swings his eyes over to me. His eyes are a very dark-brown, almost black. Long eyelashes surround them, and his eyebrows are thick and naturally arched.
“Lakes, is it?” he asks me, as if bored.
“Yes, sir.”
He looks at his paper again. “Says here you run the 100 to 200. Got impressive stats,” he notes, brows inclining as he’s reading them, as if he’s never read them before. He picks his gaze up, focusing on me again. “What would you say is your best skill?”
I shrug. “Just running, I guess. I’m fast—really fast.”
Melanie scoffs. “We’re all fast.”
I side-eye her before putting my focus on Torres again. I’m glad he ignores Melanie too. Not once does he take his eyes off me.
“What about your strength? Endurance?”
“I worked out every day over the summer. Lifted weights with an old teammate and also practiced sprints. I can run for miles and I’m willing to test that theory if you want.” I know I sound arrogant, but it’s the way my father raised me. He always told me to never let anyone doubt my skills and if they do, to put them to the test and prove the person wrong. It was never to be boastful or demeaning. My dad was just extremely competitive and I guess some of that competitiveness was instilled in me.
Be the best of the best.
Never settle for second place.
Train until you’re damn near perfect, and then train some more.
All of these are words from my father.
Torres gives me a once over, taking in my physique. It’s almost like he’s sizing me up, which would be weird, right? I’m an athlete. He’s a coach. There is no competition between us. Does he not believe in my skills? I’m sure he saw the tapes.
“What do you think you will bring to the team?” he asks, still studying me.
“I hope to bring some motivation,” I murmur, and I feel like it’s such a stupid answer, but I continue. “I know to have a winning team you have to support your teammates. I’m ready to motivate my team and support them at every practice and every race, even when it feels hard. Even if we’re all tired.”
Torres nods and writes, and I can’t tell if that’s a nod of approval or just a nod for me to know he’s heard me.
“Well, that’s boring,” Melanie snorts, leaning toward Rose.
Rose’s brows dip and she immediately backs away. “Please don’t come into my personal space. I have a thing about people being in my personal space.”
“Um…okay. My bad!” Melanie scoffs. “Jesus, when did freshman get so serious?”
“I’m not a freshman,” Rose states, narrowing her eyes at Melanie. “I’m a sophomore. I was on the team last year.”
“Holy shit, are you serious?” Melanie guffaws.
Rose glares at Melanie.
“Serious is what we should be,” Torres declares, getting all our attention again. “You play too damn much, Howard. That’s your problem, and that’s why you can’t even remember Rose is your own damn teammate.”
I stifle a laugh and Melanie whips her head to stare at me. “Sorry,” I say through a chuckle. But I’m really not. This whole conversation is hilarious.
Melanie scowls at me, then at Torres, and then at Rose who now has a smirk on her lips. “Am I done?” Melanie snaps.
“Go about your day, Howard,” Torres says, then he turns to Rose and says, “So, Janine Rose. Picked up any new skills over the summer other than some extra sass?”
When Torres is done getting Janine’s answers, I leave the bench. I could have walked off like Melanie did, but I decided to be a good egg. The last thing I want is to be on Torres’ bad side, then again it seems like everyone is on his bad side. He’s a moody guy, and I see why Kendall used the term broody. He is definitely that.
As I walk, Janine steps up to my side, walking back to the track with me. “Hey,” she says, offering a hand. “I’m Janine.”
I hesitate taking her hand at first, but I end up taking it anyway and giving it a shake. “Amber. I’m, uh, I’m surprised you want to shake my hand.”
“Oh, that shit I said to Howard was just to get under her skin,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t have a thing about personal space. I just have a thing about self-centered, ignorant bitches in my personal space.”
We both laugh at the same time, stopping on the track. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Janine.”
“Yeah. I saw you moving in yesterday. I was sitting in the student lobby, but you probably didn’t notice. I instantly recognized you, though.”
You did?” My brows draw together. “How?”
“Are you kidding?” she gasps. “Okay, long story short. I live in South Carolina and in my private league we often attended track meets in and around Raleigh. I remember people going on about the 200-meter sprints for one of the meets, and some were even betting on who would win, and everyone kept saying ‘Lakes! Lakes is gonna win!’ and I kept trying to figure out who Lakes was. Anyway, I finished up racing, went to watch the 200 and I figured out who you were. The girl with the wild, billowy hair, whose legs looked almost invisible as you ran. It was so insane. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast. You won the race, kicked the other runners’ asses.”
“Holy shit! Really? That is really cool!”
“Yes! All I kept thinking was ‘damn, I hope I don’t have to race her one day.’”
“You run the 200?” I ask.
“No—I’m more cross country. Much easier on the joints.”
“I hear that.”
A hand claps my shoulder and Kendall appears, grinning down at me. “Hamilton is cool as hell!” Kendall shouts.
“I wish we could say the same for Torres the Bitter.” Janine rolls her eyes.
“I swear it’s like you stole the words right out of my mouth,” I tell her.
“Yeah, what was with the attitude? Like, dude, no one forced you to be a coach, okay? Stop getting snippy with everyone and learn some morale.”
“That bad, huh?” Kendall winces. “Yeah, I was next to Foster’s group over there and she seems like a real cunt. Guess it was true.”
“Oh, she is,” Janine nods. “I always try to stay far away from her. It’s like she has a vendetta against younger girls. And Torres is just Torres. Class-A Asshole. I can tell he’s going to give us hell. On the one hand, that little attitude of his comes in handy for stuck-up chicks like Melanie. I always get a good
laugh out of his interactions with her. All the other coaches coddle her and he just gives it to her straight.”
We all turn to look at Melanie on the bleachers as soon as Janine says her name. Once again, Melanie is talking to a crowd of girls, all of them absorbing every single word she’s saying. She points in our direction and frowns, and the other girls look with her, give us a big once-over, and then face Melanie again to lean in and whisper.
“Oh, how the stuck-up white girls weep,” Kendall says in a sing-song voice. “Ignore them.” She extends her arm, offering a hand to Janine. “I’m Kendall.”
“Janine, a not-so-stuck-up white girl. Nice to meet you.”
Kendall breaks out in a laugh. “Yo, Amber. I like her. She’s got that dry-humor thing going on. We should all go grab something to eat. I’m starving and I saw some of the other girls leave already.”
“I could use a bite,” I say with a shrug.
“Same. I’m down for lunch with you guys. My roommate is one of the Triple Threat Girls and she’s always asking me to go with her for food so that she isn’t seen eating alone. I always tell her no.”
“Triple Threat Girls?” I ask, confused as we turn and walk to the exit.
Janine laughs and then says, “Oh, man. You two have so much to learn.”
FIVE
“So, listen,” Janine says, her mouth half-full of turkey panini. We end up grabbing lunch at Tropical Smoothie. “Melanie has two girls who she considers her very best friends, and that’s Katie and Christa. Katie is the one I room with.” She chews some more, then swallows. “She jokingly told me that some frat guys call them the Triple Threat Girls, as if it’s a good thing. I think it’s just code for being called a group of sluts.”
“Damn. Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Kendall garbles around a mouthful of her sandwich.
“She was definitely flirting with Torres today too.” Janine pops a baked potato chip into her mouth. “I mean he is hot and all, but I’m not about to throw myself at the man like she does. It’s embarrassing, and truthfully, that wasn’t her first time doing it.”
“It wasn’t?” I ask.
“No—and I don’t get why she bothers. It’s not like he can be with any of us. He’d be so fired!” says Janine. “I just don’t get why anyone wants to waste their time flirting with an asshole like him. He has such an…unpleasant personality.”
“You don’t think it’s just for show? Like maybe he’s actually nice but he pretends to be an asshole so the team knows their place?”
Janine scoffs. “No. He’s just a natural born dick.”
Kendall chokes on her drink and Janine pats her on the back with a laugh. “And to think we’re going to have to deal with him for the next four years,” Kendall muses, side-eyeing me after she’s finally cleared herself up.
I sip my drink. “I hope he’s not so bad when it comes to practicing and training.”
“Are you kidding?” Janine’s voice is incredulous. “Torres is vicious. He doesn’t care if you’re tired, if you’re sore, if you didn’t get enough sleep the night before, if you had an important paper to turn in before midnight, he will be on your ass the whole time. And if you fuck up, or your time comes up shorter than the last on his stop watch, he makes you do everything all over again—multiple times. It’s never happened to me, but I’ve been a witness to his harshness. One of the girls switched schools because she couldn’t handle it.”
I stop chewing when she states her last three sentences. That sounds way too familiar to me. I swallow.
“Well, he won’t have to worry about that with any of us.” Kendall picks up her Gatorade. “I looked you up, Rose. Read your stats. You’re great in cross country. And little Miss Lakes over here with the wild hair like Alicia Keys circa 2016 is a damn beast! He won’t have any issues with us.”
I nearly spit my water. “Alicia Keys circa 2016? Why have I never thought of that?”
“Only reason I said that is ‘cause I’m a big Alicia fan.” Kendall smiles proudly at me.
I start to say something about one of Alicia Keys’ songs, but the bell above the door rings and the person coming inside catches my tongue.
Kendall and Janine notice me staring and turn to look over their shoulders to see who the person is.
Speak of the devil…
It’s Torres.
He strolls through the restaurant and makes his way to the register, not even paying attention to us in our booth in the corner. After he’s ordered and paid, he plucks a red apple from the fruit basket and then turns, looking right at the three of us.
So, he did notice us. Apparently, he just didn’t care to acknowledge us right away.
“Bet you three don’t know the team is meeting up next week, do you?” he asks.
“Meeting up for what?” I inquire.
“Per Hamilton’s instructions, the team is supposed to meet at the track for a relay race.”
“A relay race?” I scoff. “Is this a joke? Not everyone on the team is meant to run in relays.”
“I assure you it’s not a joke. You’d know if you hadn’t run off so quickly from the meeting to stuff your faces with sandwiches and smoothies.”
“See?” Janine mutters under her breath. “Natural born dick.”
I frown. “A relay seems like a waste of time.”
“There’s a reason we asked about your skills today, as well as what you think you can bring to the team. You mentioned something along the lines of motivation, didn’t you, Lakes? Well, we’re going to see if you live up to those skills you told us all about, and how motivated you can be for your team…even for the people who, like you said, aren’t meant to run in relay races.”
“Torres?” One of the employees calls his name from behind the counter.
Torres turns to grab his food and smoothie, then he looks directly at me and says, “You talk a big game, Lakes. I’m looking forward to seeing what you’re about next week.”
And then he’s gone.
And for some reason, my heart is beating much faster than it was before he walked into the restaurant.
“What the fuck?” Kendall snaps. “Why would they do a relay?”
“It happens every year. It’s their way of stripping us bare. They’re recreating us to build a better team,” Janine mumbles. “Or something like that. Hamilton says it. But a relay is stupid. And I’m not a fast runner. There’s a reason I stick with cross country. I can run and stick it out, but I’m not super fast. I’m pretty good at long jumps too, but that’s not what my scholarship is for.”
“Man, he is a dick,” Kendall snaps. “And why’d he have to single you out like that, Amber?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, and I really don’t. Maybe he’s just being a jerk, or maybe he’s trying to get under my skin, the same way he does to Melanie.
Does he think I’m arrogant? That I’m full of myself? Because if so, I should tell him right now that I’m not. I know I’m not perfect and I know I’m not the best on my team, but I do want to become one of the best.
Am I a hard worker? Yes. Am I confident in my skills? Yes. But that doesn’t make me arrogant. No. If anything, he’s the arrogant one. He saw my stats and took it upon himself to make a challenge out of it.
That man—my new assistant coach? He’s going to try and make me beat my old times, and he’s not going to be nice about it. And the only reason I know this is because that look in his eyes—the one he gave me when he sized me up and placed me in my own category of a runner—is the same look my father used to have in his eyes when he used to say, “You won’t be the best until you shock me, Amby. Me, one of the hardest men to shock on any given track.”
That’s what is so familiar about Torres. That’s what’s drawing me to know more about him. He’s a trainer like my father. Strict. Demanding. Old school.
But you want to know what I did when my father said that to me? I shocked the hell out of him at the age of eleven by winning a 200-meter race against a group of fo
urteen-year olds. I shocked him so much that he let me take the next three days off from practicing and training to do whatever I wanted.
To this day, I will never forget that. So, if I could prove my father—a very strict, intense, bullheaded coach—wrong, then proving Coach Torres wrong will be a piece of cake.
SIX
There’s something to be said about having an athlete with stats like Amber Lakes’. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve trained someone with stats like hers.
Actually, you know what? I take that back. I do remember. It was with a high school kid and before I came to Bennett University.
His name was Thomas Vine. He was as quick as lightning, but an arrogant little son of a bitch. I suppose he had the right to be. He used his skills and took them right to the Olympics.
I watched several of the races Hamilton showed me of Amber and had even read about her upbringing and how her father coached her up until she was thirteen, which is when he passed. Her father was a coach for private leagues—leagues only meant for the best runners.
All of it was inspirational to say the least, and I told Hamilton she’d be a fool to not try and bring Amber Lakes to Bennett University when she showed me the clips of her races, but when I’d said that, to me, Lakes was just like the other track runner, Vine. She was good, but just like Thomas, she probably raced against people who weren’t exactly runners, so it meant her competition was weak.
Most students in high school track are running just to have something to do. The private leagues are a little more competitive, but even those can never be enough.
Thomas had no real competition in high school. It was when he went to college and then to the Olympics when shit got real for him. I know it because I followed him on Twitter. Kept up to date with him. He spoke about his struggles as well as his wins. Though he was a little shit, he was practically a track-running prodigy, and I was proud that I’d had the chance to coach him for two years.
When Amber comes here, talking about how fast she is and how much she works out, and how she’s bringing motivation to the team, all I see is that damn kid. Thomas Vine, all over again and I just…no. I can’t.
Coach Me Page 3