Bad Coach

As the rain pelted down, a sudden gust of wind hit the side of the bus, briefly causing it to vibrate. Kyra looked out at the pitch black outside the window, thinking to herself that it perfectly matched the way that she felt inside.

Everyone on the team knew that the game against St. Helena was going to be a tough one, but they had been up by two sets to one at the break. St. Helena had a freakishly tall outside hitter named Dayana who dominated the net, but somehow, Gabriela had managed to dig out the ball nearly every time.

Despite going into the lockers feeling exuberant with Coach giving them a rousing speech, the tempo switched direction at the end of the fourth set when St. Helena delivered three aces in a row, and then everything went downhill from there. St. Helena had won the match three sets to two, but what the scoreboard couldn’t show was that the last two sets had been a massacre.

Kyra felt a tear slide down her face as she stared out into the darkness, only occasionally illuminated by a flash of lightning.

How bad she and the other girls had wanted to win the game! Had they managed to top St. Helena, it would’ve been easily sailing to the regional playoffs. But now they would need a minor miracle in order to qualify, not just winning the rest of their games but with enough points to edge out Westwood.

Looking around the bus, Kyra saw that all of the other girls were sunk down in their own personal escape pods. Lexie had her eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping, although Kyra knew that she wasn’t as she always got an upset stomach during away games.

Shyanne had her headphones on and was staring at the back of the seat in front of her, and there was none of the usual banter and chatter from Victoria and the other girls at the front of the bus.

From her vantage point, the only person Kyra could see who was awake and alert was Diego, the driver. As usual, he was sipping coffee from his favorite mug, the one his grandson had made for him at camp, nodding along with the rhythm of the wheels as they sped down the highway.

If only Shyanne hadn’t muffed that perfect set-up. If only Caroline hadn’t lost her cool and yelled at the ref, getting her ejected from the match. If only Lexie had jumped a little higher to get that block at a key moment during the second set. If only... if only... that was the story of Kyra’s life.

If only her dad hadn’t walked out of their lives and left her ditzy but well-meaning mother to try and make ends meet.

If only the little white house they had lived in that was right next to the park hadn’t burned down on the Fourth of July when the Henderson boys lost control of their fireworks. If only her mom wasn’t always so tired and worn out from working double shifts at the diner. If only...

This was now Kyra’s senior year, so it meant that it was now or never. If the team could make the playoffs, then maybe Kyra could get scouted by a college pro, the kind that, in her dreams at least, would rush down to the court afterward with stars in his eyes, begging her to accept a full-ride scholarship. If only...

But for now, all there was was a long bus ride back to the Cherish All-Saints parking lot and then a miserable walk home in the rain.

And there was nothing Kyra could do or say about it because that was the cards that life had dealt her. So close, and yet always so far away. And there was no one to blame. All the girls had played their butts off.

As the bus rolled along, Kyra felt an overwhelming urge to scream, but she forced herself to contain her frustration. Instead, she got to her feet, deciding that an amble down the aisle might steady her nerves. As she slowly made her way to the back of the bus, the only person she noticed who was awake was Coach Johnson.

As she got closer, Kyra saw that he had a small flashlight clipped to the back of the seat in front of him and was using it to pore over some notes. Looking down, she saw circles and arrows and realized that he was going over his playbook.

“Oh hey, Kyra,” said Coach Johnson as she neared him. “Is everything okay?”

Something about the kindness in his eyes and the look of optimism on his face broke something inside of her, and Kyra found herself flinging her arms around him. Coach Johnson then slid over his papers to make room for her before wrapping his arms around her in return.

Despite her embarrassment, Kyra let herself go, sobbing out her frustrations into his broad chest. The weight of his arms around her was just so reassuring and soothing that she snuggled even closer to him, desperate for more of that comforting warmth.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she heard him whisper into her hair. “It was a tough game, but I’m proud of you girls.”

Between his words of praise and the embrace of his powerful arms, Kyra felt her sadness and grief begin to melt away, and a tiny ember of hope flicker inside her heart.

Craving even more, she found herself wedging her way over and then straddling his lap, burying herself in the comforting warmth of his chest.

For a long moment, the two of them sat there without saying a word. But as the bus continued to rumble its way down the storm-lashed highway, Kyra realized that Coach’s knee was now directly pressing up against her crotch, every jolt and vibration sending strange sensations shooting through her body.

Years later, after a lot of reflection and therapy, Kyra realized that this was the moment that everything changed for her and all the other girls on the team.