Page 18

Chapter 18

First Practice

Isaiah

“ R eady?” Bob asks as we leave our shared office inside the USA Valor training facility and take the field together.

“Ready,” I say confidently. Because I am. I’m secure in my coaching abilities because I've had great coaches I’ll be emulating.

But what gives me true security is knowing Robyn will be under my care. I’ll be able to keep a closer eye on her and hear more about her personal life through team chatter. I’ve been watching from afar for so long, hiding from her. Now that I’m here in the open around her, I need to be more careful. But it’s all worth it to be able to hear the way she talks with her teammates— it’s precious intel I never had exposure to before.

Yes, it fucking guts me not to be with her still, but it’ll all be worth it in the end. What I’m doing is building our foundation. Thoughts of her swim in my mind late at night, and I’ve always wanted to be closer, to know more about her daily life and her feelings.

Blowing my whistle, the players halt their warm-up and jog toward us. Taking a deep breath, I channel my former coaches and keep a stern demeanor.

“Afternoon, everyone. Hope you’re all warmed up and ready. My expectations are that you warm up before I step foot on the field. Conditioning is also your responsibility off the pitch when we’re not practicing. I’m here for skillset and strategy, and it’s your responsibility to be at your peak performance. Is that understood?”

Everyone nods in various degrees, but that’s not what I want.

“I said, is that understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” everyone says in some way or another. Robyn throws me a studious glance.

“Good. We’re going to start by splitting up. Coach Bob here will take the backs, and I’ll take the forwards. Scrummy,” I say to Khaos, our scrum half, whose position straddles the line between a back and a forward. “Start with the backs and join us in twenty minutes. Then we’re going to reconvene for some touch. Let’s go,” I nod and take off jogging to the try line.

I opted for wearing rugby shorts and a new Valor T-shirt along with my trusty boots and rugby socks. Some coaches prefer to stay in business casual for practices, but that didn’t feel right. I plan to lead by example as much as my healing body allows. I may also be showing off. I once heard Robyn say in a video how much she loved thick thighs, so I… may have thrown on my shortest ones.

“Today we’re working in pods. Robyn,” I nod. “As the hooker, I want you glued to your props the whole time. In a scrum, and in phases through every play.”

“Actually, Coach,” Cass says, stepping forward. “We’ve been working on a rotating system where—”

“That’s not what we’re working on today,” I cut in. “Cass, Turk, and Robyn, you're one pod. Khaos, Skirt, and Abs, you’re pod two. Toni, Mo, you’ll be filling in the weak side.” I address the B-side players and assign them pods as well.

All the forwards give Robyn a curious glance, but she just claps her hands and gestures forward. “You heard him. Let’s get into position.”

Robyn is team captain, so I understand everyone following her orders, but this is my team too. Establishing myself and gaining their trust is what I need to do. These side glances to Robyn shouldn’t be happening.

It takes longer than I thought it would for them to get the hang of this new pod system of play. It’s something my old coach from the Hornets taught us, and it worked beautifully. My team got the hang of it quickly, but the girls keep stopping to ask questions, and it’s slowing everything down.

“Cass!” I call. “Stay with your pod!”

She’s visibly frustrated as she gets up from a friendly tackle. “How am I supposed to be when I’m down and they’re halfway across the pitch?”

“That’s what you need to figure out with them. They are your pod!” I blow the whistle. “Again!”

By the second ruck in the next phase, the pods falter, followed by a knock-on.

That’s it. We need to reset.

I blow my whistle again. “Sprint to the try line and back.”

Like a bullet, everyone takes off for the other end of the field. When they get back to me, I notice a few of them still have disgruntled faces—they’re still holding onto their frustration from not understanding the new system. I blow my whistle again, and they sprint twice more until everyone is back on the fifty meter line with me and too tired to be upset.

“Let’s try this again.” This time, I join an opposing B-side pod, hoping to lead by example. Unfortunately, within one phase, there’s a gap so large I’m able to slip right through it and offload to a flanker to score.

The rest of my plans for practice are completely derailed because no one is catching on to this style of play, and if they do, they lose the rhythm shortly after. Am I not coaching professional athletes here? Robyn is clearly trying her hardest, and part of me feels awful for being so callous around her, but I can’t give her special treatment. As much as I want to, I cannot wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s going to be okay, that she’ll get it soon. I have to be strong and steadfast for her and everyone else.

Practice comes to an end, and Robyn leads them through their cool-down stretching while I talk to Bob.

“Is this normal for them? Learning something new like this?”

“Laura had a special way with them,” he explains, crossing his arms as we stand side by side, watching the players stretch out their hamstrings. “It’s like she spoke their language.”

“We all speak rugby,” I shrug. “If I was able to learn it in ten minutes, why can’t they?”

“Maybe it’s the new coach feeling. No one has settled in yet.” Bob pats me on the shoulder as the players finish stretching and dissolve back to the locker room. “We’ll try again Thursday.”

Rooted in place, I watch player after player shoot Robyn unenthused looks, each one exchanging some kind of silent language. She lingers behind with Serwaa, and I think she’s going to come over to talk to me. Instead she grabs a few balls from the ground and follows Serwaa to the twenty-two meter line, assisting her friend with kicking practice.

I want to stay and talk to her, but the way she glances over at me is something I’ve never seen from her. Like she doesn’t understand something. She doesn’t look at me for long before she catches Serwaa’s kick and sends it back to her. Over and over again, the pair of them repeat this until their disgruntled demeanors turn into laughter. And while I’m relieved to see her back to her most natural self, I’m equally as hurt with myself for causing her frustration.

How the fuck do I fix this? My hand itches to pull my phone out of my pocket and call Angie. No, she doesn’t have experience coaching any sport, but she always has a way of knowing just what I need.

“Hey,” my sister answers while I walk off the field and head toward my car.

“Hey. Um…” Suddenly I feel stupid for calling.

“How was your first practice?”

I want to lie and tell her it was great. But it’s her. “It could have been better.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“They just didn’t get what I was trying to teach them. I don’t really understand why.”

“Have you—wait, no,” she says, stopping herself. “Are you calling for a solution or just to talk?”

“Um, do you have a solution to make them get it?”

“You’re literally the expert. I’m here if you wanna talk about it, but,” she sighs. “Have you even cracked Mom’s baby journal for you?”

Her question throws me off guard. Why is she bringing up the journals our mom kept for each of us during her pregnancies? What does that have to do with what’s happening now?

“Not yet,” I mumble as guilt bites at me. “How does that have anything to do with rugby?”

“I don’t know. But I seem to find answers whenever I read it.”

“Yeah, but for like, mom stuff, right?”

“No, not just for mom stuff. For life stuff. Just page through it sometime. I think it’ll surprise you.”

Rolling my eyes, I open my car door and flop inside. “Yeah, okay,” I say noncommittally.

“You’ll find a solution for your team soon enough. Be kinder to yourself, okay? Oh shoot, I gotta go. Zo just grabbed Razzle’s tail and is trying to eat it. Bye!”

The call ends abruptly, and I chuckle at the image of my niece reaching for their elderly blind cat with her bizarrely strong baby grip .

From my car, I watch Robyn and Serwaa on the field still kicking away. Every time Serwaa makes a good kick, Robyn’s hyping her up and making loud whooping sounds I can hear all the way in the parking lot. She’s in her element here—helping her teammate after practice like this. She deserves the title of captain.

Now I have to figure out how to be deserving of the title Coach.