teammates. Sure, Coach conducted a daily overview of fundamental
skills, but her approach was exactly the same as if an algebra teacher
conducted a brief overview of advanced logarithms and expected her students to
ace the final exam, keeping a blind eye to their failing grades. The team
hopped from one drill to the next as if the fast forward button was jammed in
the on position. No progress, just gradual decline into the worst team
imaginable.
Emma
didn’t know anything about coaching, but she knew basketball. The best way to
master the sport was to start with the basics and build upward, taking as much
time as necessary to master each skill before proceeding, not crossing your
fingers and hoping everyone magically developed skills overnight. The more
mistakes her teammates made, the harder she played.
On
a standard play down the court, she snapped a pass to Madison on the left side.
Although Madison’s hands were ready for the pass, no defender in sight, the
ball sailed through them and smacked her in the face. She froze from the shock
of impact, and then whimpered a cry of pain. Were those real tears in her eyes?
Seriously? Sure, with the velocity the ball had traveled it probably stung a
little and half her face would be numb for a while, but come on. Getting
punched in the face with an elbow or a fist hurt way worse, and Emma had
endured it a half-dozen times without tears. Did girls really have such a low
tolerance for pain?
Coach
blew the whistle. The rest of the team huddled around Coach as she inspected
Madison’s face for any permanent damage.
Lauren
didn’t waste any time confronting Emma. “Good one, hotshot.”
“Get
out of my way,” Emma said through clenched teeth. Three confrontations in two
days. They would never survive the season as teammates.
“Or
what?” Lauren challenged her. “Are you going to smack me in the face with a
ball too?”
The
mere thought put a smile on Emma’s face. “I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to
it.”
Lauren’s
eyes narrowed as she took another step toward Emma, their faces inches apart.
“You’re a joke,” Lauren spit out. “No wonder your mom left you.”
The
smile fell off Emma’s face, and her hands slammed into Lauren’s chest. “Stay
away from me.”
Lauren
stumbled backward. When she saw the rest of the girls watching them, her face
scrunched up, preparing for tears. Tears she’d probably rehearsed hundreds of
times to gain the sympathy vote. Girls! Such the drama queens.
“Hey.”
Coach stepped between them, her arms spread wide to prevent a full-on attack.
“What’s going on here?”
“She
started it!” Lauren shrieked. “All I did was try and talk to her when she
freaked out and pushed me.”
Emma
rolled her eyes. Great, just what she needed, to be responsible for the imprint
of a basketball on the forehead of a girl who couldn’t catch a simple pass and
for starting a fight with the team bully. And people wondered why she hated
girls.
Not
a fan of conflict, Coach waved Lauren toward Madison and pulled Emma aside.
Here it comes, Emma thought.
“Emma,
you’re an amazing basketball player, and you’re looking great out there,” Coach
kept her voice down so others wouldn’t hear, “but I need you to tone it down a
few notches.”
Emma’s
eyes narrowed into slits. “What?” If she toned it down any more she’d be moving
in slow motion and lobbing passes to the moon.
“These
girls aren’t used to your,” Coach paused, searching for the right word, “well,
let’s say, your enthusiasm.”
“My
enthusiasm?” Emma spit out. Enthusiasm was a word to describe cheerleaders and
little kids on a soccer field. It was not a word to describe basketball talent
and an ability to pass the ball to a fellow teammate.
With
a slight flinch, Coach nodded.
Emma
had never heard of a coach asking a player to dumb down her skills for the
betterment of a team. Unbelievable!
“You’re
kidding me, right?” Emma caught sight of
skills, but her approach was exactly the same as if an algebra teacher
conducted a brief overview of advanced logarithms and expected her students to
ace the final exam, keeping a blind eye to their failing grades. The team
hopped from one drill to the next as if the fast forward button was jammed in
the on position. No progress, just gradual decline into the worst team
imaginable.
Emma
didn’t know anything about coaching, but she knew basketball. The best way to
master the sport was to start with the basics and build upward, taking as much
time as necessary to master each skill before proceeding, not crossing your
fingers and hoping everyone magically developed skills overnight. The more
mistakes her teammates made, the harder she played.
On
a standard play down the court, she snapped a pass to Madison on the left side.
Although Madison’s hands were ready for the pass, no defender in sight, the
ball sailed through them and smacked her in the face. She froze from the shock
of impact, and then whimpered a cry of pain. Were those real tears in her eyes?
Seriously? Sure, with the velocity the ball had traveled it probably stung a
little and half her face would be numb for a while, but come on. Getting
punched in the face with an elbow or a fist hurt way worse, and Emma had
endured it a half-dozen times without tears. Did girls really have such a low
tolerance for pain?
Coach
blew the whistle. The rest of the team huddled around Coach as she inspected
Madison’s face for any permanent damage.
Lauren
didn’t waste any time confronting Emma. “Good one, hotshot.”
“Get
out of my way,” Emma said through clenched teeth. Three confrontations in two
days. They would never survive the season as teammates.
“Or
what?” Lauren challenged her. “Are you going to smack me in the face with a
ball too?”
The
mere thought put a smile on Emma’s face. “I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to
it.”
Lauren’s
eyes narrowed as she took another step toward Emma, their faces inches apart.
“You’re a joke,” Lauren spit out. “No wonder your mom left you.”
The
smile fell off Emma’s face, and her hands slammed into Lauren’s chest. “Stay
away from me.”
Lauren
stumbled backward. When she saw the rest of the girls watching them, her face
scrunched up, preparing for tears. Tears she’d probably rehearsed hundreds of
times to gain the sympathy vote. Girls! Such the drama queens.
“Hey.”
Coach stepped between them, her arms spread wide to prevent a full-on attack.
“What’s going on here?”
“She
started it!” Lauren shrieked. “All I did was try and talk to her when she
freaked out and pushed me.”
Emma
rolled her eyes. Great, just what she needed, to be responsible for the imprint
of a basketball on the forehead of a girl who couldn’t catch a simple pass and
for starting a fight with the team bully. And people wondered why she hated
girls.
Not
a fan of conflict, Coach waved Lauren toward Madison and pulled Emma aside.
Here it comes, Emma thought.
“Emma,
you’re an amazing basketball player, and you’re looking great out there,” Coach
kept her voice down so others wouldn’t hear, “but I need you to tone it down a
few notches.”
Emma’s
eyes narrowed into slits. “What?” If she toned it down any more she’d be moving
in slow motion and lobbing passes to the moon.
“These
girls aren’t used to your,” Coach paused, searching for the right word, “well,
let’s say, your enthusiasm.”
“My
enthusiasm?” Emma spit out. Enthusiasm was a word to describe cheerleaders and
little kids on a soccer field. It was not a word to describe basketball talent
and an ability to pass the ball to a fellow teammate.
With
a slight flinch, Coach nodded.
Emma
had never heard of a coach asking a player to dumb down her skills for the
betterment of a team. Unbelievable!
“You’re
kidding me, right?” Emma caught sight of
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