locker shut.
I jumped when it closed and then turned to her.
The girl rolled her eyes like I was crazy.
She might be right.
* * *
“Okay, men—” Coach Lannon said but then stopped himself.
He turned sideways, his thick arms folded across his chest. He cast an
apologetic smile at me. “And lady,” he added, as if he was doing me the world’s
biggest favor.
I groaned inwardly.
It’d be more comfortable standing beneath a spotlight
surrounded by a marching band.
Leaning against my golf bag like it was a lifeboat, I stood
with my seven teammates on the largest of the four grassy fields that surrounded
Lone Butte High School. The open field was as large as a football field. My
teammates stood beside me but not too close, each straddling their own golf bags
that looked newer than mine by at least three decades. Coach Lannon stood across
from us in the middle of our half-moon lineup, eager to start barking out orders
by the way he kept fingering his whistle.
After spending several excruciatingly long seconds introducing
me to the team, he mercifully reverted into his coach persona, the one I’d
gotten to know at the country club, long enough for me to resume breathing
again. Small miracle: at least he introduced me as Fred Oday and not Fredricka.
That would have been beyond humiliating.
No one said hello, not that I expected or needed pleasantries.
I simply wanted to play golf and lots of it. I hadn’t joined the team to make
friends. And their sideways glances when they thought I wasn’t paying attention
suggested that building friendships wouldn’t be an option.
“We got a best-ball tournament with Hamilton High on Thursday,
so we got our work cut out for us this week. I hope you boys have been
practicing over the summer?” Coach Lannon’s eyes scanned the boys standing to my
right. A few fidgeted in place, especially the one with the brown curls named
Zack. He bounced around like he had an army of red ants crawling up his leg.
Coach Lannon didn’t bother staring me down. He knew exactly where I’d spent most
of the summer, and my eyes begged for his silence. Mentioning it would only
elevate my status to something below Teacher’s Pet.
“Bus will leave here at two o’clock,” he continued, tapping his
clipboard.
My chest caved forward, grateful. The coach must have sensed my
unease.
“You’re all excused from your last class,” he continued. “I’ve
already cleared it with your teachers. Bus will be back here by seven.”
A few happy gasps filled the air at the thought of missing a
couple hours of school.
“But be on the bus no later than two. Understood?” Coach
Lannon’s eyes widened, daring disobedience. “Any questions so far?” He said it
in a way that indicated he didn’t expect any. But someone got his brave on.
“What about Fred, Coach? Does she get to tee off from the
women’s tees at the tournament?”
A few of the guys snickered as the hairs prickled on the back
of my neck.
Women’s tees?
Carefully, I turned sideways till my eyes landed on Ryan
Berenger. His eyes shifted back to the coach when I glared at him.
“Well, Ryan,” Coach Lannon said, scratching the side of his
head, as if he hadn’t fully thought about it, and my jaw dropped. Certainly he’d
spent at least one minute of his time pondering this. There was only one
answer.
“No!” I blurted.
All seven of the boys, including Coach Lannon, turned to gape
at me. Clearly no one had ever answered for the coach before. “I won’t hit from
the women’s tees. I can hit from the men’s tees. I do it all the time.” My teeth
ground together as my hands shook.
One of Coach Lannon’s blond eyebrows rose with something
resembling admiration as he slowly scanned the boys’ faces, reading their
reactions. Collectively, their lips pressed together. A few fidgeted with their
bag tags, but no one uttered another word.
Then the coach smiled. “Well, I guess you heard her, men. And
don’t underestimate
I jumped when it closed and then turned to her.
The girl rolled her eyes like I was crazy.
She might be right.
* * *
“Okay, men—” Coach Lannon said but then stopped himself.
He turned sideways, his thick arms folded across his chest. He cast an
apologetic smile at me. “And lady,” he added, as if he was doing me the world’s
biggest favor.
I groaned inwardly.
It’d be more comfortable standing beneath a spotlight
surrounded by a marching band.
Leaning against my golf bag like it was a lifeboat, I stood
with my seven teammates on the largest of the four grassy fields that surrounded
Lone Butte High School. The open field was as large as a football field. My
teammates stood beside me but not too close, each straddling their own golf bags
that looked newer than mine by at least three decades. Coach Lannon stood across
from us in the middle of our half-moon lineup, eager to start barking out orders
by the way he kept fingering his whistle.
After spending several excruciatingly long seconds introducing
me to the team, he mercifully reverted into his coach persona, the one I’d
gotten to know at the country club, long enough for me to resume breathing
again. Small miracle: at least he introduced me as Fred Oday and not Fredricka.
That would have been beyond humiliating.
No one said hello, not that I expected or needed pleasantries.
I simply wanted to play golf and lots of it. I hadn’t joined the team to make
friends. And their sideways glances when they thought I wasn’t paying attention
suggested that building friendships wouldn’t be an option.
“We got a best-ball tournament with Hamilton High on Thursday,
so we got our work cut out for us this week. I hope you boys have been
practicing over the summer?” Coach Lannon’s eyes scanned the boys standing to my
right. A few fidgeted in place, especially the one with the brown curls named
Zack. He bounced around like he had an army of red ants crawling up his leg.
Coach Lannon didn’t bother staring me down. He knew exactly where I’d spent most
of the summer, and my eyes begged for his silence. Mentioning it would only
elevate my status to something below Teacher’s Pet.
“Bus will leave here at two o’clock,” he continued, tapping his
clipboard.
My chest caved forward, grateful. The coach must have sensed my
unease.
“You’re all excused from your last class,” he continued. “I’ve
already cleared it with your teachers. Bus will be back here by seven.”
A few happy gasps filled the air at the thought of missing a
couple hours of school.
“But be on the bus no later than two. Understood?” Coach
Lannon’s eyes widened, daring disobedience. “Any questions so far?” He said it
in a way that indicated he didn’t expect any. But someone got his brave on.
“What about Fred, Coach? Does she get to tee off from the
women’s tees at the tournament?”
A few of the guys snickered as the hairs prickled on the back
of my neck.
Women’s tees?
Carefully, I turned sideways till my eyes landed on Ryan
Berenger. His eyes shifted back to the coach when I glared at him.
“Well, Ryan,” Coach Lannon said, scratching the side of his
head, as if he hadn’t fully thought about it, and my jaw dropped. Certainly he’d
spent at least one minute of his time pondering this. There was only one
answer.
“No!” I blurted.
All seven of the boys, including Coach Lannon, turned to gape
at me. Clearly no one had ever answered for the coach before. “I won’t hit from
the women’s tees. I can hit from the men’s tees. I do it all the time.” My teeth
ground together as my hands shook.
One of Coach Lannon’s blond eyebrows rose with something
resembling admiration as he slowly scanned the boys’ faces, reading their
reactions. Collectively, their lips pressed together. A few fidgeted with their
bag tags, but no one uttered another word.
Then the coach smiled. “Well, I guess you heard her, men. And
don’t underestimate
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