Coach Me

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 position 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.”