Coach Me

Before, there was no real competition for Thomas, same as there wasn’t for Amber. Then I took Thomas under my wing, signed him up for an elite track and field club I volunteered for outside of school (but not without his mother’s permission, of course), and he improved.

But right now, seeing as Amber is a part of the Bennett University women’s track and field team, she’s all for the betterment of the team, and she’s about to have a big wake up call.

I don’t even know why I’m letting her words get to me so much. Howard is more of a headache than any of the athletes, but there’s something about the way Amber is, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. But it’s something.

The way she holds her head up and keeps her back straight, like she’s been trained to never look down, no matter what. She’s all prim and proper, but her hair is curly and unruly and all over the place. It doesn’t match her personality…yet it does all the same. And her eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that. Big, bright, honey-colored eyes.

I think it’s because she’s not arrogant that she gets to me. She’s sure of herself and knows she deserves the place she’s in—being a part of an Ivy League track and field team. She’s so grateful and that bugs me, only because I know a school like this one can suck the joy right out of you and she is not the least bit prepared.

Someone, and I’m assuming it was her father, taught her to only strive for greatness. He taught her to never settle, and most likely told her that she is worthy of whatever comes her way, so long as she works hard for it.

She holds that close to her heart, I can tell…and that gets to me.

Runners like her, who are great and know they are, aren’t usually so well-mannered and polite and innocent. They always have an ugly, cocky side that rears its head at the wrong time.

But Amber is polite and innocent, and I can tell she’s fiercely devoted…and I’m drawn to that shit. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame. My only hope is that she holds onto that devotion for as long as she can.

“Head up your ass again, Torres?” Mills stops in front of my open office door.

I throw my middle finger up at him and he steps inside. This is not an invitation for him to talk to me. Most people take note of the middle finger and, oh, I don’t know, fuck off, maybe? But not Mills. Mills is too damn talkative for that.

“What do you think of the new recruits?” he asks, leaning against the frame of my door, and folding his arms.

His question makes me think of wild hair. Golden-brown skin. Bright, amber eyes. Is that why her name is Amber? Because of her eyes? How unoriginal. “Recruits seem good.”

“Yeah. We’ll get to see who we can work with after the relay. My money is on Ramirez and Lakes.”

“Ramirez? I scouted her, right?”

“Believe so. She was good. You said she had a good stride, hurdles like a champ.”

“Oh, yeah.” She was at the restaurant with Lakes. I look down at the balled-up sandwich wrapper on my desk and the smoothie in the plastic cup that I’m sure is watery slush at this point.

“I think we’ll do great this year. Got a lot of passionate ones. I read over some of their answers while I was in my office. A lot of them are focused on teamwork, which is good. Even Melanie is, though she worded it in a cocky-as-hell way.”

“That’s a fact.”

Mills pushes off the door and drops his arms, taking a hard sweep of my cluttered office before focusing on me again. “I’m going to my mom’s place for dinner. You want to join us?”

I shake my head. “No.” He always does this. Mills thinks I’m lonely because I don’t have many friends and because I don’t date as much as someone as good-looking as me should date. His words, not mine.

What he doesn’t realize is that I like being alone. And it’s not like I’ve always denied Mills when he offered dinner.

He invited me to his place for spaghetti made by his mom once. The tomato sauce was watered down, and the garlic bread was too burnt for my liking, but I still ate it, and she was pleased, so he should be grateful I paid that one visit.

“Okay, well, I’ll see ya next week then.” Mills looks over his shoulder at me, hesitating.

“I’m fine, Ben. Go enjoy your time alone with your mom.”

At that, he smiles. He loves his mom—a straight up Mama’s boy—and I’m glad the mere mention of her makes him forget about how lonely he thinks I am.