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“Fine. Give me the ball,” I say.
“Not so fast. I’m gonna help you out first.” He hands the ball over. “Do you remember the correct grip?”
“Yep.” I situate my fingers.
He nods. “Good. Keep your other hand on the underside of the ball until you’re ready to make the throw.” He draws an imaginary line from the ground in front of me to Cooper, who’s waiting about twenty feet from us. “At the same time you step forward with your left foot, aiming your toes toward your target, you’ll release your hand from the underside of the ball and draw your arm back.” He raises his chin to me. “Show me.” I demonstrate the three things he mentioned. He steps in front of me, bending my elbow more before he raises it higher. “You want the ball to be slightly behind your head.”
“I’ve got it,” I snap, eager to get him out of my personal space.
He grins, as if he knows exactly how much he affects me. “Show us what you got.”
Cooper claps his hands together twice. “Right here, baby.”
Stepping with my left foot, I do everything Rogan instructed, but this time it happens at a much faster pace. When the ball launches from my hand, it has more power than my first throw did. However, it still falls a couple of feet short of Cooper, but he leaps forward, making a perfect catch.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Rogan shouts.
Cooper does a quick victory dance and then jogs over to high five me. “Nicely done,” he says, smiling.
“Thanks. A quarterback I’ll never be, but that went better than I expected.”
“You just need more practice,” Rogan tells me.
“I think I’ll settle for today’s success and call it a victory. Thanks for the help, but I better let you two get back to work.”
“We’re all finished,” Cooper says.
“Just the same, I’ve got to get going.” I glance between the two players. “Keep up the good work.”
Rogan grins. “That’s the plan.”
“Hell yeah,” Cooper adds.
I walk to the sideline and make my way from the practice field to my car in the parking lot. Slipping behind the wheel, I turn the key in the ignition but my vehicle doesn’t start. “Come on.” I try again, but it makes an ungodly sound. Groaning, I drop my forehead to the steering wheel.
A knock on the window interrupts my pity party and I turn to find Rogan standing there. I pop the hood and open the door.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“No, my car won’t start.”
“Let me see if I can help,” he says, opening the hood. “Try starting it again.” I turn the key, and it makes the same horrible noise as before. “Hold up,” he calls out, shutting the hood. “It sounds like your starter is bad.”
“How can you tell?”
“That whirring sound it’s making.”
I sigh. “That’s just freaking perfect.”
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he says.
“But I can’t leave my car here.”
He pulls out his phone and dials a number. “Hey, Chip, it’s Rogan.” I hear a voice but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Yeah, I’ve got a car that needs some work. It’s in the lot at the practice field and needs to be towed. Sounds like the starter to me.” He listens some more. “Thanks, man. Call me when it’s ready.” He ends the call. “I have a buddy who’s a mechanic, and he’s gonna have your car towed to his garage.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
