Coach Me

by Shanora Williams

  “Ah. That explains the jeans.”

  “Yeah. Fuck these jeans. What’s up with you though? How was the break?”

  My mind immediately goes to the hotel. The dark room. The king-sized bed. My fingers clutching the white sheets as Torres’ head was buried between my legs.

  “Oh, um, it was good,” I say, turning before she can catch the goofy look that takes over my face. “How was yours?” I pick up one of the containers from the corner with some of my clothes in it.

  “Mine was boring as hell,” she snorts. “I hung out with my sister at her tat shop but other than that, I was home. Hence the reason my mom is forcing me to get a job. She said I was being too lazy around the house, but I had school and track! I just wanted to relax, man.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Kendall walks around me to get it.

  “What’s up, bitches!” Janine bursts right in, giving us both wide smiles. I place my container down as she wraps her arms around both of us to hug us at the same time. “Can you believe I had to stay here for break?”

  “What?” I exclaim.

  “I was supposed to go home and my mom was on the way, but her car broke down. My brother was out of town with his girlfriend in Vegas, so yeah. I was stuck here. My mom’s car still isn’t fixed.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Janine. Why didn’t you tell us? I could have told my mom to let me use the car and let you come to my place if you wanted.”

  “Nah, it’s all good. It was actually pretty nice to have the whole apartment to myself without one of the Triple Threats around. It’s really quiet around here when everyone is gone though. Kinda spooked me out at night.” She visibly shudders. “But at least the season is about to start for you guys!”

  “Shit, that is right!” Kendall walks to the recliner. “Hamilton is going to work our asses off at practice tomorrow. First pre-season game is this Friday.”

  “Wow. That’s so soon,” I murmur. I can’t believe I forgot. I really need to stop thinking about my coach.

  “And not only that, but Christa came back an hour ago. I heard her talking on the phone to Melanie. Apparently, since Melanie has had such great behavior, she’ll be back at practice tomorrow. She sent some bullshit community service pictures to Hamilton and her parents spoke to Hamilton and she agreed to let Melanie come back before preseason.”

  “Seriously?” I fold my arms. “But the team has been so much better without her.”

  “It really has been, now that you say that. Not even Katie and Christa were that bitchy since she was gone.”

  “Well, we knew she’d come back sooner or later.” I sit on the container, folding my fingers together.

  “Just know if she tries to trip you again, I’m breaking her fucking ankle myself.” Kendall lifts her hands and pretends to break something imaginary in half.

  Janine and I break out in a laugh, and I love this feeling. Being surrounded by good people—people I can relate to—is the best.

  I’m glad to be back, and I didn’t think I’d ever say that. Melanie is coming back, and that does annoy me, but as long as she keeps her distance, it is what it is.

  Since we don’t have classes until next week, but have practice tonight, I have breakfast with Kendall and Janine at a local breakfast joint. I order something light, considering we have practice today, but of course Kendall orders a whole stack of pancakes and nearly drowns them in syrup.

  We’re practicing early, so around 2:15 pm we make our way to the track, dressed in new track clothes and running shoes we got for Christmas. Janine’s mom shipped her Christmas gifts to her.

  As soon as we’re on the track, we take notice of the group of girls by the bench we usually meet at. And even from a distance, I spot Melanie. She’s the center of attention, per the norm. She’s changed her hair to a more platinum blond.

  I avoid rolling my eyes as we walk by. I don’t even care to notice if she passes me a dirty look. At this point, I couldn’t give a shit less about her. We go to the locker room to put our bags in our lockers and after grabbing our water bottles, we go back out to meet the rest of the team.

  The coaches meet us on the track moments later, also dressed in new clothes. Even Veronika is with them. She’s gotten her hair cut to her shoulders.

  And of course, the one who catches my attention the most is Torres. His hair has been trimmed, but he still has that stubble along his jawline and on his chin.

  His brown eyes flint in the sunlight, and slowly slide over to me. I start to smile, but he immediately looks away, as if he doesn’t want to look at me for too long.

  My chest feels tighter as the coaches approach, and though I’m still staring at Torres, he is not even looking in my direction. Hamilton starts talking about how break is over and how it’s time to get serious for the season and I try and absorb as many of her words as I can, but my eyes helplessly wander to Torres as she speaks.

  I don’t expect him to hold my eyes or stare at me, but for him to avoid me all together? That’s a little harsh considering everything we did a few weeks ago.

  Hamilton tells us to get with our designated coaches, and I move slowly in the direction Torres goes as he walks on the track to get to the starting lines.

  I stop and end up next to Melanie. She looks over at me, rolls her eyes, and then moves away.

  “So, our first pre-season game is Friday against the Biltmore University Hawks!” Torres’ voice booms as he stands in front of us. “Like Hamilton said, you’ve all had your break, and I’m sure you’ve had your fun, but it’s game time. We’ve been practicing and building up to this moment, so no more fooling around. No more jokes or talking or being late to practice while this season is starting. From now on, if anyone is late, you’ll be running two miles after practice, no exceptions.”

  He lifts the clipboard in his hands. “Today, we’re doing some competing. You will all be performing races today for your meter sprints. 200’s are up first. If you’re a mix of 200 and 400, then I want you running for both. Same goes for the 400 and 800 runners.”

  Melanie raises her hand as Torres picks his head up.

  “Ah, Howard. Didn’t even see you there.” Torres’ remark is full of genuine sarcasm. “What do you need?”

  “Well, since I was out of practice for, like, two months, I think you’ll have to cut me some slack while we train,” she says, instantly cutting her eyes at me.

  Torres notices the way she cuts her eyes and narrows his. “Let me ask you something, Howard. Would Lebron James’ coach cut him some slack because he got kicked out of practice for a couple weeks for showing foul play to his own teammate?”

  Melanie’s face instantly runs red. All the girls giggle with big, surprised eyes and I have to contain myself because that is a serious burn.

  Torres blows his whistle and it makes my ears ring. “Two-hundreds! You’re up first!” he shouts. “Line it up!”

  I move with the other 200 sprinters and Torres says, “Lakes, I want you on 200 only today.”

  I put my focus on him when he speaks.

  “Biltmore has a mean 200 sprinter. I need to make sure your focus is on that for now,” he goes on.

  I nod and smile, unable to dismiss the butterflies fluttering in my belly. “You got it, Coach.”

  I make my way to the track, where two other girls are standing and ready to get in formation. Melanie is currently talking to one of the girls, most likely fussing about what Torres said. The girl’s name is Jessica, and it seems like she really doesn’t give a shit what Melanie is talking about but is pretending to because she wants to be “in” with Melanie.

  Torres stands in the middle of the track and damn me for not being able to keep my eyes off him. He looks good today. No, actually, he looks great. His dark hair is gelled like always, his red T-shirt hugs his chest, and he has a dark-gray pair of joggers on.

  He takes a stop watch out of his pocket and then looks at us as we line up for the 200 sprint, bringing the whistle to his lips. I get into p
osition like he taught us, my fingertips pressed to the rubber. I steady my hips, apply more power to my thighs, and as soon as he blows the whistle, I take off, running right past him, my arms pumping, the wind pushing past my ears. I pass the first line, then the second, and then slow my pace to a light trot.

  I turn back around with a smile. Damn, that felt good. Running always gets my adrenaline pumping.

  We head back to Torres who is shaking his head.

  Ugh. What now?

  “Look, when you guys take off, you can’t be weak about it,” he says, brows dipped. “Claire, Jessica, you need more power in your legs if you want a strong start, and when you run, you need to pump those arms. Don’t let your arms get lazy. Finish strong, always.”

  They nod, and then Torres turns to look at me. “Like I told you, Lakes. Biltmore has a runner who is just like you. I’ve seen her run. She’s quick and you will be the one up against her. This will be the first time you race her, but not the last. Your start was strong, but you got slack towards the end. The end is when you need to be the strongest.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.” He looks me over. “Now let’s run it again.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  I don’t know how it works to separate track and business from the personal shit with Amber, but it works with us. Almost a little too well, if I’m being honest.

  I was sure she’d make things weird once school started again. Try to be close to me, follow me around, but she’s kept her distance. She’s been focused on running all week and I admire that. She knows she has some serious competition tomorrow and she isn’t fucking around. She wants to beat that girl.

  When practice is over Thursday, I go to my office to get my running sheets in order for Hamilton. She needs the line-ups for each race. As I collect the papers, there’s a knock at my door.

  “Yeah?” I call without looking up.

  The person doesn’t respond, so I finally give whoever it is my attention, only to realize it’s Amber.

  “Is this a good time to talk?” she asks.

  I lower the stack of papers in my hand, turning to face her. “Talk about what?”

  “Well, I watched a tape that was on YouTube of the girl I’m competing against tomorrow. She’s good, Torres.”

  “Yeah, Lakes, she is.” I fold my arms. “But you’re better. You can beat her, so long as you keep your head in the game.”

  “Well, yeah, I’m trying to keep my head in it but every time I remember you’re around watching me I get…well, I get nervous as hell.”

  I drop my arms as she steps fully into my office. “What did I tell you before? You have to focus, Amber. You have to try and forget about it for now.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Forgetting about it?”

  My eyes shift to the wall next to her. I can’t answer that right now. Like hell I’m going to tell her before her first race of the season how I’d love to slam and lock the damn door and bend her over my desk right now. Especially since she’s wearing tight yoga pants today. Every time she bent over to prepare for her practice race, I had to look away.

  I move closer to her. “Make me a promise,” I say in a low voice.

  “What kind of promise?”

  “Promise me that tomorrow you will only focus on the race. We’re traveling, you’re going to ride for an hour to their track. Listen to some music to get you pumped. Focus on your energy. Your strength. Don’t worry about me or what we did, Lakes. I need you to put all the practicing we did to use tomorrow.”

  She looks into my eyes carefully and nods. “Okay. I can do that.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now get out of here. Go get some rest.” I step away to pick up the stack of papers.

  She walks to the door, peering over her shoulder, and smiles before walking out of sight. I draw in a deep breath, trying to ignore the whispers in the back of my mind. The whispers telling me to take more from her. Be with her. Show her what else I can do to that body of hers. Close the damn door and do something.

  Fortunately, I keep myself under control. This race is important to both of us. The games, flirting, and fooling around can wait for now, no matter how much it kills us.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The race is in thirty minutes and I’m having a hard time concentrating.

  For starters, I saw the girl I’m competing against up close and personal. Normally, competing doesn’t intimidate me, but she has great physique and she’s extremely confident. She walked right past me like I was a nobody, laughing and joking around with her friends, which made me wonder if her coaches even warned her about me.

  I studied her tapes all week, watching how she started and set herself, what she clocked during the 200-meter dashes, and even an interview she had for the Biltmore track team. She’s currently a junior and the best on her team.

  I’m confident in my skills too and I try to hone that in as I stretch and prepare for the sprint with the other girls…but then I see Torres on the track talking to some woman.

  She’s clearly a coach, but she’s not like any coach I’ve ever seen. Her skin is tan, her hair in rich brown curls. She has bright green eyes and sparkly white teeth. She touches his shoulder a lot as she talks, and he smiles at her a lot, which doesn’t sit well with me considering he doesn’t smile much with anyone.

  I ignore it as best as I can, increasing the volume of the music in my headphones and then reaching behind me to hold my foot and stretch my quads.

  When it’s time for us to start racing, Torres meets up to me. “Ready, Lakes?” he asks.

  I don’t even bother looking at him. “Sure,” I mumble as I walk past him to get to the track. As I walk, I take off my red BU track jacket and then the red track pants. We received our uniforms two days ago and I have to admit, they look good on us. It’s January and still cold as I stand in shorts and a jersey top, but I know this race will warm me up.

  “All right, remember what I told you.” Torres steps in front of me. “Head in the game. Eyes ahead. Finish strong. Don’t worry about the people next to you.”

  “Yep, got it.” I want him to go away right now. Why is it even bothering me so much that he was smiling with another coach? It’s good that he smiles…it’s just that it was with her.

  And speaking of, that coach is now talking to one of the sprinters, and of course she’s the coach of my biggest competitor. The coach is even prettier up close.

  I put my gaze ahead focusing on the official who is waiting for us to get ready.

  “This your girl?” A voice rises behind me and I look over my shoulder. It’s that coach. She’s looking at me and smiling.

  “Yep, that’s her. Amber Lakes,” Torres answers proudly.

  The coach offers me her hand. “Hi, Amber. I’m Coach Medina. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I take her hand and shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

  She pulls away and locks her eyes on Torres, giving him a smug smile. He returns the same smugness, and it’s like they’re having a secret conversation with each other and I don’t like it, so I look away.

  “You got this, Lakes,” Torres murmurs next to my ear, and then he turns away and walks to the middle of the field to meet with Medina.

  I shake off all the feelings I have about whatever it is they are sharing and walk up to the line on the track where the other racers are.

  I mean, is she an ex of his? How else would he know so much about Biltmore University? About their best runner? Has he slept with her before?

  I peer over my shoulder. Medina is standing close to him as she talks, while he stands with his arms folded, focused on one of the starting lines.

  I sigh.

  “Lakes, right?” I look to my right and it’s my competitor, Morgan Keely. She’s black, just like me, with dark brown eyes and cornrows.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I saw your tapes. You’re quick. It’s about time I
got some competition around here.” She cracks a genuine smile.

  I laugh at that. “I’ve been looking forward to this race all week.”

  “Same. As soon as I heard we were racing Bennett and Coach Medina told me about a new girl they’d recruited, I was pumped. I saw you pass by but didn’t have the courage to speak yet. Didn’t want to say anything silly.” She extends her arm, her fist stuck out with a smile. I stretch my arm to bump fists with her. “Don’t hold back on me, all right?”

  “Oh, I won’t,” I tell her, and I almost hate that I have to race her. She has respect, and I can respect that. There are two other girls. One from another college in a yellow jersey, and another girl in a black jersey.

  The official stands at the end of the mark and raises his arm in the air, holding up the starter gun. We get into formation at our lines and I’m ready to do this…that is until I hear someone howl with laughter.

  I look to my left, watching Torres walk past us on the sidelines with Medina at his side. Medina is cupping her mouth, clearly embarrassed by her laughing outburst and Torres is doing a casual half-smile, as if proud to have made her laugh so loudly.

  What the hell?

  “Set.” The official’s voice echoes through the microphone. I lift off my knees and lower my head, ready for take-off.

  The gun goes off and I know right away I don’t have a strong start.

  I run anyway, passing the sprinters in the black and yellow jersey’s, but Morgan is ahead. I push myself as fast as I can, pumping my arms and legs, but it’s no use. Before I know it, the race is over and I’m second place.

  Second fucking place.

  I can’t even remember the last time I was second place!

  I throw my hands on the top of my head when the race is over, and when I look to my left and see Morgan smiling and jumping, I feel disappointment course through me. Then I look past her at Torres, who has both brows strewn together and his lips pinched tight. Medina is no longer standing next to him; she’s proudly clapping Morgan on the back.