Dare You to Hate Me

My eyes go to the scoreboard. Being tied makes me uneasy with only fifteen minutes to go. We haven’t tied all season, which means anything can happen. Two of our guys are being targeted since they’re the strongest defense we have, and Wallace is still acting like his shit doesn’t stink out on the field. “Only if Wallace plays by the books. I was lucky to even catch that pass. He made it out of desperation which made it hard to figure out his move.”

Brady nudges me. “But you caught it out of necessity. Fuck Wallace, dude. I sure as hell won’t give him any thought after seeing that.”

It’s DJ who snickers at Justin’s biting remark. “That’s because you’re still bitter he took your spot, J-Dog.”

Brady ignores the remark and watches DJ run toward the nearest group fans, climbing the fencing to start smacking some of their hands. When it’s just the three of us again, our captain looks to Caleb with a hesitant expression before turning to me. “So, uh, I heard a couple of the guys talking about something that happened earlier.”

I set the water down on the bench and cross my arms. “What?”

Caleb gestures toward Coach. “Ivy got a visit from Pearce. We’re not sure everything that was said, but you know how Coach is with your career. He always tries protecting it.”

Justin nods. “Daria, Lamar’s girl, was at Bea’s and overheard him tell her to back off. I don’t think he threatened her. It was more of a warning.”

“And before you lose your shit,” Caleb intervenes when I make a move toward where Coach is talking to the assistant coach beside him. “Your girl dished it right back at him like we all know she can. She handled herself.”

“Daria and her friends said they’d never seen Coach look embarrassed, but nobody knows what Ivy told him,” our QB confirms.

My shoulders tense as I eye Coach, who’s oblivious to my pointed glare. “He shouldn’t have approached her at all. What the hell is he thinking?”

The guys both shrug, but Caleb says, “He probably thinks she’s no different than any other girl who wants one of us. You remember what supposedly happened to his son when he got drafted a few years ago? Got some chick pregnant and ended up getting bad press when she sued for child support when he wouldn’t marry her. He’s probably afraid to see you taken advantage of and he doesn’t know Ivy.”

“Exactly,” I growl.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Justin mumbles, sighing. “Whatever was said between them is done with. I figured you should know in case your girl is off tonight.”

Before any of us can say anything else, Coach calls us to huddle. When we circle up, he looks at all of us. “You done gossiping, Princesses? We’ve got a game to win.” We all clammer up and hear out the next play, nodding along to his direction even if my teeth are grinding the entire time he talks. When he’s finished, he eyes each one of us. “Don’t fuck up. I ain’t about to get my ass handed to me by goddamn Erikson or the missus tonight because you decided to let the last quarter get to you. I’m talking to you two, Wallace and Bridges.”

I notice DJ flinch at the mention of his name. He may hate Wallace, but his attitude isn’t that different from the newbie’s. I’ve told him before to tone it down, and usually he listens, but game days like this when we’re playing a good team it’s even more vital he remembers what to focus on. Everything else is white noise.

When we break on three and run back out to the field, I can feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins.

Don’t fuck up.

I drown out the crowd.

Shut off my brain.

And I give it my all.

We barely scrape by with a 27-24 win. A few of the opposing team members give us handshakes, others shoot off at the mouth, and Caleb has to hold back Wallace from going over and starting something that will get him kicked off the team. We may not like him, but we sure as hell need him if today is any indication.

Piled into the locker room and stripping out of our gear, Coach Pearce walks in and claps loudly to get everybody’s attention. “Listen up, ladies, and listen good. You may have won today, but we still got our asses kicked out there. It shouldn’t have been this close of a game when we had the upper hand in the first two quarters. Wallace,” he barks, eyeing the stand-in quarterback. “You let them get in your head. Let them fucking distract you with their petty words. Bakersfield, you were running like Forest Gump before his goddamn braces came off. I told you to go see the physical therapist and I know for damn sure you skipped out twice in the last week. Lot of good that did you today. When I tell you to do something, you do it, and that goes for all of you. You’re out next game, and I’m putting Rigger in your place.”

My teammate gapes at him. “Coach—”

Pearce doesn’t let him finish. “Does it look like I’m leaving it up for discussion, boy? You all got a second chance by coming to play for my team, which means I get to say who I let play or not. If I tell you to take an extra ten minutes soaking in an ice bath, you do it. If I tell you to see the physical therapist for a checkup to make sure your body is good, you do it. If I think you need tutoring because your grades are sucking more ass than the Bulldogs this season, then you better see a tutor. See a pattern here?

“I’m not here to hold your hands and tell you everything is okay. I’m here to whip you in shape and win. Some of you have the talent to go pro, and you’re wasting it by half-assing plays that should be easy to implement out there. You better believe the next practice we have we’re going ten times harder than normal until you know how serious I am. That includes conditioning.”

The room breaks out in groans and murmurs that Pearce chooses to ignore. “We got lucky and that’s the only reason I’m letting you off easy. Our next game is against Wilson Reed, and don’t think for one second I’m going to let you screw that up.”

Caleb elbows me knowing what playing them means for me. My nostrils twitch at the thought of seeing the assholes who all but booted me to save themselves. I nod at him in reassurance before

trailing my focus back to Coach while he looks around the room at his spent players.

He’s right. We screwed up more times than I can count tonight. Dropped passes. Cracked defenses. These guys were good, but the Wilson Reed Raiders are better. They’ve always been the team to beat.

“I’m over it,” Pearce concludes, waving his clipboard at the team. “Clean up and get out of my face tonight. Rest up, fuel up, and we’ll meet to watch tapes so I can rip into you about what the hell went wrong first thing Monday.”