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“Yes, Coach.”
“There’s no us and them. We’re all Wildcats. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Please don’t do something that makes me have to address this again.”
“Yes, Coach.”
The varsity players eye one another, so I’ll definitely have to have my ears open during practices.
“Let’s start with running. Get going, and we’ll tell you when to stop.” I blow my whistle.
There’re a lot of grunts, but they get in a line and start running around the field.
Coach Smith comes up to me. He’s my offensive line assistant, and, oddly, he coached me. “I’m impressed already.”
“Well, I always hated how junior varsity felt like they should kiss the asses of the varsity players. Sure, they deserve their respect, but they’ll get that if they actually mentor the JV players.”
“Speaking as the junior varsity coach, I love it.” Coach Reyes joins our group, setting up the ladder drill for the running backs.
“Let’s just hope it works.”
I watch the boys, more spaced out now as the faster, better conditioned players move to the front and the slower ones pull up the rear. I’ve never seen a lineman who can run as fast as the other players.
One kid I don’t know is at the very back. He’s overweight and struggling with the run. He’s a senior, if memory serves, from the roster that Coach Marks shared with me that included everyone’s pictures. This right here will show if my words from earlier made any impact. How well can these boys work together?
“I told Harris to condition after last season,” Coach Smith says, shaking his head.
“And look who’s leading the pack.” Coach Reyes nods. “My new wide receiver.”
I follow his line of vision to Clayton, who’s in the lead. He’s about to lap Harris.
“Are you sure he shouldn’t be a running back?” I ask.
“The kid’s got hands. Why do you think everyone in town thinks he’s your kid?”
I whip my head toward Coach Reyes, and Coach Smith makes a sound like he’s such an idiot.
“He’s good?” I ignore the part about Clayton being mine. It hurts enough that he isn’t. I wasn’t there for Gillian when she needed me most.
As far as I know, no one knows who Clayton’s father is. I’ve never wanted to ask, and from the rumors in town, it’s never been shared. Which means Gillian has kept it to herself all these years. I wonder if Clayton knows who his father is. Was his father ever around? So many questions I need to ask Gillian, but I’ve been trying to go at it slowly. I know it’s a touchy subject for her.
“He could probably be varsity, but we need him on JV,” Coach Reyes says.
It’s ultimately my decision, but even if Clayton has the hands, his thin frame will be a detriment to him on varsity.
“Give him time to come up. That’s the best decision. But make sure he’s hitting the weight room. The kid needs some muscle,” I say.
The players hit Harris on the ass as they pass, each one razzing him about being slow. That is not the mentality I want for this team. Clayton is about to pass Harris a second time, but he slows to a jog.
He doesn’t smack Harris’s ass or laugh at Harris. Clayton jogs alongside him, and I can tell from the change in expression on Harris’s face that whatever Clayton’s saying is encouraging. It reminds me of Gillian.
“What’s he like?” I ask the coaches. I catch them eyeing one another.
“From what I hear, he’s a good kid. Has a tight-knit group of friends. Respectful to his teachers,” Coach Smith says.
“Smart too. Honor roll type,” Coach Reyes adds.
