The Year of April

Chapter 5

"Where the hell have you been?" Coach bellowed as I jogged over to join my teammates.

"I was-," I began, then bashfully lowered my head. "Detention."

"What did you say?" Coach asked quietly.

"Deten-" I started.

"Oh, I heard you!" Coach interjected, her voice growing louder as her rage gained momentum. "I just couldn't believe that one of my girls- my own damn captain, no less- would choose this week of all weeks to rebel against mommy! Not getting enough attention at home?"

"That's not what-" I started.

"Shut up Cole!" she screeched, warm spittle hitting my chin, and I finally grasped the gravity of the situation, then. "I don't care to hear some pathetic excuse. We had an hour left of practice when you came, but lucky for you, you've managed to waste four minutes of that."

She clapped her hands loudly, so that even the prudish girls pretending not to listen looked toward her. "Stop dribbling, Stacey! Your captain here has inspired me. Everybody line up at the goal line."

I trekked over to follow her instructions with the rest of the girls, doing my best to tune out the muffled insults directed toward me.

"Selfish bitch."

"Lazy skank."

"Fuck-up."

I blinked back the scalding tears that threatened to overflow for the second time in one hour, reminding myself that I deserved this. The names were juvenile, and nothing new, but they smarted because they signified my teammates' loss of respect that I had strived so diligently to gain.

Coach's shrill whistle interrupted my silent reverie. "Gassers! You know the drill, ladies; sprint to the opposite goal line and back, then repeat until you can't run anymore. Then repeat!"

A collective groan came up from the girls' varsity soccer team, but they knew better than to argue.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Coach addressed us as we sidled up next to each other in an orderly row. "We have April to thank for these! Go on girls, thank her."

"Thank you, April," my team chorused bitterly.

"And what do you say, April?" Coach asked, as a mother reminding a small child of her manners might.

"You're welcome ," I managed.

"What was that?" Coach said, almost spitefully.

"You're welcome!" I shouted hoarsely, blood rushing to color my humiliated cheeks scarlet.

"Let's get on with it then." Coach uttered, placing the whistle in her mouth.

I readied myself.

The whistle blew, and I took off, determined to keep pace with the other girls. The field was bone-dry, like everything else in this barren Arizonan wasteland, I noted as the sun-scorched earth refused to give traction to my moving feet.

There.

Back.

There and back and there and back.

I had only just began my third gasser, and I was already relying on my last reserves of energy. Not winded, exactly, just extraordinarily weak.

I forced myself to ignore my heaving chest that cried for oxygen and my pale limbs that demanded respite.

Coach. I loathed her right now, but some compassionate voice buried deep within me reminded me that she only ever had the team's best interests at heart. She'd made an example of me only to dissuade anybody else from skipping practice, particularly on the week of the match against our rivals.

I was beginning to shake; I had almost depleted my last energy reserves. I willed the strength into my extremities and pushed myself to run minutely faster.

"Three more gassers girls, then we'll call it quits!" Coach pronounced, cupping her sun-beaten hands.

How many had I done? I had lost count after eleven. Refusing my brain the privilege of listening to my body's complaints, I looked around mid-stride for anything to catch my attention instead of my agony. Focusing on the wind that caught under Bianca's jersey, bearing the number sixteen behind her, I suddenly realized that I was majorly lagging behind all of my teammates.

Coach noticed almost simultaneously. "Move your ass, Cole! We're doing this for you!"

I darted forward, faster than I knew I was capable of, to rejoin the rank of stragglers that had formed behind the lines of the hearty and well-conditioned.

The exertion caused blurry dark spots to dance before my eyes and my body suddenly felt disconnected from my brain. My arms pumped and legs strode of their own accord, when the ground tilted and my body rushed to meet the sod. But the darkness enveloped me before the grass could.