Page 32

He straightened his shoulders and proceeded to tell me the difference between a punter and a kicker and how Jensen wasn’t a punter. How punting was more about power (which was apparently why a beefy guy named Greg did that) and kicking was more about accuracy. How the ball was normally held for a field goal, but we’d start by practicing with the plastic stand.

When he was done explaining, Theo picked up the ball and walked until he stood in front of me. “You ready?”

No. “I think.”

He squatted down and ran a hand down the back of my right calf until he held the heel of my shoe in his palm.

I barely contained the shiver that went through me. “What are you doing?”

He placed the football on my instep. “Don’t kick with this part of your foot. Wedge kicks aren’t as accurate. Your boyfriendloveswedge kicks.”

“He’s very muchnotmy boyfriend.”

“Right. Jensen does a wedge kick. It’s why he’s not as accurate as he could be. He has gotten better, though, so you’re not going to be able to walk into this position. Plus, he has experience.”

“And he’s a guy,” I said.

He didn’t try to pretend that wouldn’t make a difference. “And he’s a guy. But Coach is pretty cool. If you’re better, you’re better.”

“Then let’s make me better.”

He stared up at me from where he was still squatting down, still holding my foot. He seemed to be taking this job very seriously.

“No wedge kicks. Got it,” I said.

“Right. I want you to kick with this part of your foot.” He stuck the ball on the big bone toward the inside of my foot but close to the shoelaces.

I swallowed and took my foot from him. “Okay.”

He replaced the ball on the holder and then took about three steps back from it and two to the left. “Pretend there’s an invisible line going from the center of my body to the left of the ball. That’s the line I want you to drive along.” He turned and looked at me. “You’re a right-footed kicker, yes?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought. You’ll plant with your left foot to the left of the ball. Your right leg will swing through and strike just to the left of the seam there.” He mimicked the motion without actually kicking the ball.

“Are you going to kick it?” I asked.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Why?”

“This is your session,” he said.

“And that means you can’t kick it? I think it would be good for me to see how it’s supposed to look. Wait…can younotkick anymore?” I pointed to his scar. It ran along his left kneecap, which I was just now noticing was his planting leg. If it was weak, it would probably affect his kicking a lot.

“I’m working on it,” he said defensively. “It’s only been four months.”

“I’m not judging you. I just didn’t realize. Does it throw off your balance?”

“We’re not talking about me,” he said. “Kick the ball.”

“No need to overreact,” I said, quoting his earlier line.

“You asked me to teach you. You don’t think I can teach you because I can’t kick a ball right now?”

“Idefinitelydidn’t say that.”

“Then let me teach you.”