Bad Coach
Avery Sam
Bad Coach
by Avery Sam
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
The Storm
The Accident
The Rally
The Principal
The Career
The Bloomers
The Cafeteria
The Squeeze
The Talk
The Blowjob
The Refuge
The Agony
The Onslaught
The Cut
The Theory
The Gossip
The Cigarette
The Price
The Turnout
The Wish
The Restaurant
The Toast
The Chaperone
The Form
The Balance
The Deposit
The Feeling
The Arrival
The Call
The Slide
The Reveal
The Tossing
The Three
The Nibble
The Defeat
The Crash
The Fade
The Line
The Salute
The Dog
The Beckoning
The Model
The Jitters
The Talent
The Goodnight
The Link
The Daydream
The Angels
The Dip
The Teamwork
The Vision
The Guilt
The Stamina
The Appetites
The Gut
The Money
The Accusation
The Focus
The Hallucination
The Stink
The Semifinal
The Reunion
The Rest
The Massage
The Speech
The Secret
The Recipe
The Bicycle
The Exhaustion
The Championship
The Wipeout
The Awakening
The Trophy
The Goodbye
The Severance
The Pregnancy
The Descent
The Meeting
The Prayer
The Steps
The Offer
The League
The Finale
The Storm
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.
The Accident
Kyra had never intended for anything to happen the night that she went to the back of the bus. It was only the overwhelming feelings of sadness and disappointment at losing a key game that had caused her to burst into tears, and then Coach Johnson had given her a comforting hug.
Somehow, that hug ended up in snuggling her way into Coach Johnson’s embrace, and his knee somehow found its way to being wedged between her legs. As the bus rumbled down the highway, the vibrations sent up strange sparks of pleasure, and Kyra closed her eyes and let it begin to melt away her frustration.
Coach Johnson was a little surprised by Kyra coming to him on the ride home and bursting into tears, but he had been the coach for girls’ teams for many years, and he knew just how powerful emotions could be. When a team was winning, the girls were more enthused and amped up than any boys’ team, making a constant stream of taunting remarks and cutting insults about their opponents. But when the team was losing or suffered a setback, it wasn’t unusual to see a few tears in the locker room.
Coach had never been one of those touchy-feely types with hugs for his girls or lots of pats on the back for a job well done, but something just felt right to Kyra about losing herself in his embrace. For just a brief moment, all of the grief and frustration seemed to disappear, and the odd flashes of good feelings coming from between her legs added to the therapeutic value of being wrapped in his protective, strong arms.
To Kyra’s surprise, however, those flashes and sparks soon began to grow into something bigger. Still wearing her volleyball uniform of a loose T-shirt and tight shorts, the thin fabric over her crotch didn’t provide much of a barrier, and Coach’s knee between her legs was perfectly placed to grind against her button every time the bus went over a bump in the road.
Still half lost in her grief, it took quite a while before Kyra cottoned onto the fact that she had transitioned from crying her eyes out to getting turned on. And yet, in the darkness of the back of the bus, she did nothing at first, more curious about how it had happened than anything else.
Soon enough, though, it was impossible to deny that a perfect storm of the position of Coach’s knee between her legs, the slick artificial fabric of her uniform shorts, and the vibrations of the bus were lighting a fire deep inside of her, tiny embers soon bursting into a roaring flame.
Kyra knew at that point that she should get up, apologize for her outburst, and make her way back to her seat before it went any further, but something inside of her prevented her from doing that. Instead, she slightly shifted her hips until the sweet pressure increased, and she let the perfect storm build and build.
And then, it happened. With a shudder, she felt a wave of ecstasy rip through her, causing her muscles to rapidly clench and unclench. The orgasm was short in duration but extremely intense, and she briefly lost control of her rational mind as her hips bore down even harder on Coach’s knee to squeeze every last drop of pleasure from the contact.
Worried that she had soaked Coach’s pant legs through her shorts, Kyra then quickly unfolded herself from his lap and stood up, muttering an apology before stumbling her way forward down the aisle. Thankfully, Coach said nothing, and when she glanced back at him, he was once again seemingly lost in his playbook.
Kyra slunk back to her seat, her mind reeling at what had just happened. Had she really just used Coach’s knee as some kind of... mount for her to masturbate on? It seemed impossible to believe even though it had just happened. Anxious that Coach would come roaring up the aisle, demanding an apology, Kyra spent the next half hour cringing in her seat, but nothing ever happened.
Soon enough, the bus pulled into the rain-soaked parking lot of Cherish All-Saints, and the girls filed off one by one, many of Kyra’s teammates yawning and stretching their arms. Nervously keeping Coach in her peripheral view, she looked to see if he would give any indication that he knew something untoward had happened, but all he did was give a quick speech about how they’d regroup tomorrow and then win their next game.
With that, there was little for Kyra to do except make her way home. Thankfully, the rain had mostly subsided by that point. Letting herself in, all was completely quiet at home, and Kyra was changed and in bed within a few minutes. Confused and bewildered, she tossed and turned a bit, but the long day and physically demanding match had her asleep before long.
When Kyra woke the next morning, the sun was shining and the day was warm. After stretching her limbs, she realized that she felt incredibly well-rested, bursting with energy, and feeling like she could go out and run a marathon.
Normally, after a match, she felt a bit sore and tired, but that morning, she was whistling a tune and bopping around the kitchen. Her high spirits did not go unnoticed by her mother, who asked a few questions but was easily mollified by Kyra’s deflections as her mom’s brain only worked at half speed before she got a couple of cups of coffee inside of her.
On the walk to school, Kyra felt herself debating whether or not she had just imagined the incident on the bus with Coach. Part of her was sure it was just a dream she had had on the ride home, but the other part knew that she had crossed a pretty big red line.
In the end, she decided that yes, maybe it had happened, but if nobody noticed, then it wasn’t a big deal. In fact, it was just a silly little accident. And since nobody had gotten hurt, there was no reason to think about it any further.
Of course, all that went out the window when the team met up in the locker room for volleyball practice later that day.
The Rally
After Kyra confessed what had happened on the bus to Lexie, she felt a combination of both relief and anxiety. It was good to say the words aloud to prevent the incident from turning into some kind of bad dream, but every girl knows that secrets have a way of spreading quickly, especially if they are as juicy as hers.
“You know, this reminds me of Martha Robertson,” said Lexie.
“Who?” said Kyra.
“Hey, you guys talking about Martha?” said Shyanne, appearing out of nowhere with a towel wrapped around her torso and a second one enveloping her dripping hair.
“Come on, Kyra, you know Martha Robertson. Half the trophies out there in the case are from her,” said Lexie.
“Yeah, she was the greatest athlete this shitty little school’s ever had,” said Shyanne with a laugh. “Three-time all-state. Highest scorer in conference history.”
“Oh, right. That Martha Robertson,” said Kyra in a quiet voice.
“And Coach won’t ever let us forget about it,” said Lexie with a grin.
“So, why are you guys talking about Martha?” said Shyanne. “Wishing she’d play in our next game so we can crush those tools from Green Valley?”
“Nah,” said Lexie, tipping Kyra an all-too-obvious wink. “Just thinking about this one rumor that I heard about her.”
“What? That she took steroids? Or the one about her slipping a tranquilizer into the other team’s water bucket?” said Shyanne with a laugh as she unwrapped the towel and began using it to dry her hair.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about something else,” said Kyra.
“The rumor is that she was having an affair with Coach,” said Lexie, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
“That’s just a dumb rumor. They never proved that,” said Kyra.
“The way I heard it, she said his sperm gave her, like, hulk powers or something,” said Shyanne. “One drop of his mighty jizz gave her the power to serve a hundred aces.”
“Yeah, his mighty manhood caused her to never lose a game,” said Lexie, joining in with Shyanne for a raucous laugh.
“You guys, quit it. That isn’t funny and you know it,” said Kyra, folding her arms.
“You know, Coach told me today that he saw a little spark of Martha in you,” said Shyanne. “Said you got that same get-up-and-go spirit that she had.”
“Ha, ha, so funny,” said Kyra, crossly.
“Hmm, the plot thickens!” said Lexie with a grin.
“I’m serious,” said Shyanne as she set down her towel and opened her locker. “I was kind of bitching to him about how your gung-ho energy was making us look bad today, and he said, ‘Perhaps you could do with a little Martha spirit yourself, Shyanne,’”
“Well, I’m no Martha Robertson, that’s for sure,” said Kyra, rising to her feet.
“I don’t know,” said Lexie with an impish grin. “Maybe there is a connection there after all.”
“Nah,” said Shyanne, dropping her other towel and then pulling her clothes out of the locker. “Martha was seven feet tall and could bench press 300 pounds. Kyra over here is a little pixie.”
“That’s not quite the connection I was thinking about,” said Lexie with a saucy chuckle.
“Lexie, shut the fuck up!” hissed Kyra.
“What are you two chuckleheads on about?” said Shyanne, stepping into her underwear and then pulling up her jeans.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that maybe Coach is grooming Kyra to be the next Martha,” said Lexie.
“Shut the fuck up, Lexie! I mean it,” said Kyra.
“Wish he’d groom me a little,” said Shyanne with a laugh. “That man is seriously hot.”
“Well, he evidently prefers girls with a more... boyish figure,” said Lexie.
“Whatever!” said Kyra, her face turning a crimson pink.
“Woah, woah, are you being serious?” said Shyanne, slamming her locker door shut after giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror. “Did Coach make a move on you?”
“No, he definitely did not!” retorted Kyra.
“Other way around,” chuckled Lexie.
“Wait, what are you talking about?” said Shyanne.
“Shut the fuck up, Lexie! I’m serious,” said Kyra.
“Sorry, Shyanne, but Kyra swore me to secrecy. But let’s just say that something very interesting happened on the ride home last night,” chortled Lexie.
“I’m going to kill you!” hissed Kyra.
“Woah, did you seriously try to make a move on Coach Johnson?” said Shyanne with a low whistle. “Now you’re making me jealous.”
“I most certainly did not!” said Kyra. “All I did was go talk to him for a minute, and, um, I was feeling kinda down, so he gave me a hug.”
“I wish he’d give me a hug,” said Shyanne. “I could hug that man all night long if you know what I mean.”
“It wasn’t like that!” said Kyra.
“Well, how was it, then?” said Lexie, a sly look on her pretty face.
“Look, it’s nothing, okay? I swear to god,” said Kyra. “It’s just that, well, somehow Coach’s knee got between my legs, and um, the bus was jostling and, well, um, we hit a bump and I accidentally, um... you know.”
“Peed yourself?” said Shyanne, she and Lexie chortling with laughter a moment later.
“No!” retorted Kyra, her face now beet red.
“Coach’s magic knee sent her to the moon!” crowed Lexie. “Gave her a big O! Touchdown! Match, set, point!”
“Woah, holy shit,” said Shyanne. “Is that true?”
“It was just an accident!” said Kyra. “Nothing else. And you got to promise not to tell anyone else.”
“Fine, fine,” said Shyanne. “But that is one hell of a story, you rubbing yourself to victory on poor old Coach’s knee.”
“And then she comes in here the next day on fire, playing like we’re in the state championship game,” said Lexie, a sly look crossing her petite face.
“I swear to god, I will kill you both if you breathe a word of this to anyone,” said Kyra.
“Relax,” said Shyanne. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m just thinking now how I can get a chance to ride his magic pony during the next away game.”
“Shyanne, you perverted slut,” said Lexie with a laugh. “You’re gonna get the man fired.”
“Nah, I’ll be discreet,” said Shyanne, tipping the other girls a wink before turning and heading out of the locker room.
“Good job, Kyra,” said Lexie. “Now you’ve gone and put that idea in Shyanne’s head.”
“It was an accident!” cried Kyra, but it was to no avail as Lexie gave her a smirk before turning and leaving as well, leaving Kyra all alone with confusing thoughts and emotions swirling inside of her.
The Principal
Somewhere near the end of the first set, Coach Johnson looked around approvingly at the number of people who had turned out for the game against Green Valley.
Beyond the usual scattering of parents and relatives, Coach Johnson saw at least half a dozen faculty as well as a few students milling about in the upper rows of the bleachers.
Turning his attention back to the match, he grimaced as Victoria clearly floated the ball for the set-up, although thankfully, the ref hadn’t seemed to notice. A moment later, Caroline slammed it home for the point, and with that, the team was up one to zero.
“I say, I say, quite a performance,” said a voice behind him, and Coach Johnson turned to see that it was Principal Cluck, making a rare appearance at a girls’ volleyball game.
“Principal Cluck, haven’t seen you at a game in a while,” said Coach Johnson.
“Yes, well, I was going over some reports in my office, and then I heard the hubbub coming from the gym, so I thought I’d peek my head in and see what’s going on,” said Principal Cluck, a big grin on his vapid face.
“Well, good to see you,” said Coach Johnson. “Girls are playing well tonight. I think we’ve still got a chance to make the playoffs.”
“Excellent, excellent,” boomed Principal Cluck. “Still though, none of ’em are quite Martha Robertson material, eh? Gosh, those were the days. Certainly didn’t have to worry about budget cuts to the sports department back then!”
“I believe in my girls, sir,” said Coach Johnson through gritted teeth.
“Yes, yes,” said Principal Cluck, rubbing his hands together briskly. “We men got to stick together, eh? Not many of us left around here anymore. Anyway, I’ve got to be getting home, so I’ll let you get on with it. Linda is making pot roast tonight.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Coach Johnson. “And enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Chuckling to himself, Principal Cluck made his way toward the exit, giving Coach Johnson a chance to reorganize his thoughts and return his focus back to the matter at hand, which was ensuring a big win over Green Valley.
“Wow, old Chrome Dome decided to come watch us,” came a female voice, and Coach Johnson looked over to see that it was Shyanne talking.
“Shyanne, that’s enough of that,” barked Coach Johnson. “Listen, when the second set starts, I want you to sub in for Caroline.”
“Sure, sure,” said Shyanne with a chuckle. “Hey, did I hear him mention Martha Robertson?”
“Those were his happiest days, I think,” said Coach Johnson. “He practically took all the credit for us winning the state championship. But hey, what do I know? I’m just the coach.”
“Good one, Coach!” said Shyanne with a laugh before giving him an odd look that he couldn’t quite decipher.
Shaking his head, Coach Johnson lifted his whistle and blew it to assemble the girls in a huddle.
“All right, you’re doing great. Kyra, that was an amazing dig you did back there. And way to hustle for the ball, Lexie. I want to see you girls keep up that energy!” said Coach Johnson, earning himself a roar of approval from the team.
“Shyanne, I’ve heard enough of you running your mouth from the bench. I’m subbing you in for Caroline as middle blocker. And Victoria, I want you to really crank up those serves,” said Coach Johnson.
“Aww, Coach,” said Caroline.
“Save it for after the game, girls. Come on, you all know we really need this win. And yeah, Green Valley are a bunch of chumps. But we need to win this one and win it big. You can do it!” said Coach Johnson, blowing his whistle and clapping his hands to disperse the team.
The second set started out superbly, with Green Valley returning the first serve with a weak floater to the center of the net that Shyanne was easily able to spike for a point.
The next volley was a bit less impressive as Lexie bumped the ball a bit too high, giving Green Valley a chance to set their position, but somehow, the spike shot past their outside hitter and fell just within the lines for another point.
As the game continued, Coach Johnson couldn’t help but marvel that little Kyra had somehow become the team’s engine.
Even when she wasn’t making a play, she was always calling out directions and rushing to meet the ball almost before it was launched. Despite being one of the shortest girls on the team, Kyra was running circles around everyone else and showed no signs of slowing down as she dove after shot after shot, digging them out with expert precision.
The team cruised to an easy win in the second set, and Coach Johnson was shocked to see that only ten minutes had elapsed since it began. Blowing his whistle to assemble his team, he dropped to one knee.
“Okay girls, that was fantastic! All of you, excellent job! All we got to do now is keep them back on their heels, and the match is ours,” said Coach Johnson.
“These suckers don’t stand a chance!” cried Kyra, her eyes flashing with excitement.
“Lexie, great job, but you look a little winded. I’m subbing you out for Gabriela,” said Coach Johnson.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” said Lexie. “Why sub me out but keep Kyra? How come she gets to play three sets straight?”
“Because she’s got a fire under her ass that the rest of you could darn well do to emulate,” said Coach Johnson. “That’s the kind of hustle I need to see from each and every one of you.”
“Not quite sure it’s her ass that’s on fire,” quipped Shyanne, causing Lexie to snort with laughter.
“All right, girls, enough! Concentrate! Let’s blow them out of the water. Forget that we’re up two sets to none. Go in there and act like the championship is on the line because it is!” shouted Coach Johnson before blowing his whistle to disperse the team.
As the girls jogged back onto the court, something about the way that Lexie and Shyanne had looked at each other after that oddball remark from Shyanne niggled at his mind, but with a shake of his head, he set it aside and returned all of his focus to the matter at hand, which was winning the third set by a margin wide enough that it would pull Cherish All-Saints ahead of Westlake in the rankings.
The Career
After the convincing win over Green Valley, Coach Johnson decided to head to his office to finish up some paperwork and go over his playbook one more time.
With just two games to go in the season, Cherish All-Saints had their work cut out for them, and he was damned sure that he was going to give it his best effort.
In fact, as he sat there alone in his office, Coach Johnson wondered if maybe this was the year he would retire. If his girls could get to the playoffs and do well, then he could end his ten-year career on a high note.
After that, who knows? Maybe he could get a job at a coed school, or better yet a well-funded public school where there was a lot less pressure. Or maybe he’d find another career track.
But what would he do, if he wasn’t coaching? The last non-sports thing he’d enjoyed was playing the drums in a band during college, but even back then, he knew he didn’t have what it took to be a professional musician. As for sports, he was way too old to ever compete in anything himself, and thinking about being some kind of brand ambassador for a sporting equipment company made him gag.
All told, there wasn’t really much else for him to do, especially now that it looked like he would never find the right woman, “settle down,” and raise some kids. For too long, he had kidded himself, saying that he’d find the time to get out, mix and mingle with available singles, but it was always just easier to stay late in his office and draw up some new plays or review tape from the latest game.
And since his mother had passed away, it was just easier to go straight home after work, drink a beer, heat up a meal in the microwave, and watch television in peace.
At this point, he didn’t even have a pet. Maybe I should get a dog, he thought to himself. And for a brief moment, he entertained a complete fantasy of him learning the fine art of dog training, giving lessons, and eventually writing a book on how to turn your pet dog into a superhero companion.
But the fantasy bubble burst when he remembered how many long days and late nights he was away from home, and picturing his imaginary dog sad and alone for long stretches of time made his heart hurt.
No. For now, at least, he was going to stick to the coaching game. Besides, he was good at it.
A lot of people were under the mistaken impression that coaching was just about drawing up plays or teaching the fundamentals of the sports, but it was really more of a kind of group psychology position. You had to take each player’s weaknesses and strengths and find a way to make them mesh into a whole that was bigger than the sum of its components.
And that was where the thrill of it came from, not just chalking up wins but feeling the energy of the collective whole that you’d molded surge with excitement and happiness when they earned those wins. It was about giving discipline and structure to young girls in a world that increasingly lacked those things.
The rules of the game and the boundaries on the courts were just a physical manifestation of the need to master one’s own self, and being there to guide someone through it was both a magical and a profound honor.
That was it, really. Sports, at its purest, deepest level, was about honor. You honored the boundary lines on the court. You honored the physics of the ball and how it traveled through the air.
You honored the rulebook and the rulings of the referees. You honored the clock. And you honored yourself by restricting yourself by those rules and boundaries and clocks and then pushing yourself to excel in that artificially delimited space.
Still, though, Coach Johnson wondered whether things would be different with a boys team. He’d coached a few boys’ teams here and there during college, but back then, he’d just been the assistant, executing the grand design of someone else.
With girls, everything just felt so... extra. When they had a breakdown or personal problem, it was always overwhelming and at maximum intensity. But likewise, when they rose above and let that competitive spirit fire them up, they played harder and more passionately than any male athlete he’d ever witnessed.
Even at Cherish All-Saints, where the parents implicitly were in favor of young women excelling in life, including at sports, there was a tepid apathy from most of them when it came to athletics. People often assumed that, since professional women athletes couldn’t do the same power moves and high-flying physical stunts as male professional athletes, this meant that girls’ high school sports were also equally deficient.
But in his mind, Coach Johnson felt that the opposite was true. The high school boys’ games he’d watched mostly seemed to be a combination of a few superstars showboating while the rest of the team slugged it out only because they were egged on by their parents or society at large but not because they really wanted to be out there playing.
The showboats did it to get the girls, and eventually, the fame and the money, while the rest looked as though they’d be happier driving a plow on a farm somewhere.
High school girls’ teams, though, were something else. No matter the athletic skill, no matter the stakes, it always felt like the girls were one step away from reaching out and ripping out each other’s hair or clawing their throats open. The competitive spirit was always fierce, not just from the top stars but from every rookie playing their very first game.
Female high school athletes seemed to take every point, every match, every game deeply personal, and it was that drive to dominate their opponents that made every single game something amazing to watch.
With these thoughts and many others like it swirling in his mind, Coach Johnson barely noticed when Shyanne stepped into his office, a mischievous grin on her face.
The Bloomers
“Knock, knock,” said Shyanne as she stepped into Coach Johnson’s office, inexplicably still wearing her uniform.
Throughout the years, Coach Johnson had seen girls at every stage of their development. Some graduated while still looking like elementary school kids, while others walked on stage with the body of a full-grown adult.
Over the years, he had dealt with his fair share of the “bloomers” as he privately thought of them, but it was never easy. Girls like Shyanne, with their fully developed figures and big chests, would’ve been wives and mothers in another era, and it was only the social conventions of the modern age that insisted on referring to them as children.
Even worse, some of the “bloomers” knew full well that they had adult-shaped bodies. Everything from the way that they talked and flirted to the way that they dressed in revealing outfits was one big message to the world that they were ready and even eager to participate in adult activities.
Luckily, even most of the “bloomers” were rather naive and immature on an emotional level, so fending off their clumsy advances was usually pretty easy. As soon as a girl started giving him the googly eyes or laughing too much at his jokes, he’d turn ice cold. And if that didn’t work, he’d drop obvious hints that he was in a serious relationship and that he preferred older women, even when that wasn’t always necessarily true.
Sometimes, although he never once risked breathing a word of this to anyone, it was damned hard to look away. Sometimes, the temptation was just a little bit too strong.
It was fighting against the fundamental biology of being a man to pretend that a young, voluptuous, and flirty young woman was completely off-limits. On a few occasions, Coach Johnson had had to run out of the room just to stop himself from losing control.
Over the past year, Shyanne had certainly joined the ranks of the “bloomers,” her lanky frame filling out extremely nicely with curves in all the right places. Her light brown eyes could be bewitching when she wanted them to, and sometimes he knew for certain that she was spending a little bit too much time bending over to pick up a ball just so that she could give him a clear view of her shapely behind.
“Hey, Shyanne, come on in,” said Coach Johnson, instinctively craning his head to see if anyone else was in the vicinity.
“Heck of a game, eh, Coach?” said Shyanne, choosing to wander around his office instead of taking a seat across from his desk as his girls usually did when they visited him.
“Yes. Happy about the victory. Still got to wait an hour or so to see how Westwood did tonight against Acton, but I think there’s a good chance we’re gonna pull ahead of them in the rankings,” said Coach Johnson.
“That’s great. Just great,” said Shyanne, absentmindedly inspecting one of his diplomas on the wall.
“Something I can help you with?” said Coach Johnson, his gut sending up all kinds of warning flags.
“No, I’m all right,” said Shyanne, flashing him a big grin as she came over to his desk. But instead of sitting in the chair, she parked herself on the corner of his desk, giving him a clear view of her toned legs.
“Well, um, it’s kind of late. And I was just about to wrap up and head home,” said Coach Johnson, nervously clearing his throat.
“Actually, I did kind of want to talk to you about something,” said Shyanne, picking up and briefly examining a snow globe that he had been gifted by Principal Cluck’s youngest son years ago.
“And what’s that?” said Coach Johnson.
“It’s these shorts, you know?” said Shyanne, slipping one delicate finger inside her waistband and giving it a snap. “They’re kind of too tight, don’t you think?”
“Oh dear,” said Coach Johnson. “They already went over this at the beginning of the semester, and the school board voted to keep them unchanged. Nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“No, actually, I kind of like it,” said Shyanne, giving him another smile. “In fact, some of the girls and I have been talking. The uniform shorts are so tight that they... you know, rub a certain way.”
“I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to tell me,” said Coach Johnson, doing his best to keep a perfectly straight face.
“Well, between you and me,” said Shyanne, leaning in to give him a perfect view of her ample chest. “Half the girls on the team are getting, um... slippery with excitement because of these darn shorts.”
“If there’s a medical issue, then you know the drill, Shyanne. Go see the nurse,” said Coach Johnson, who found himself repeatedly trying to dislodge a frog in his throat.
“I just thought you should know that these uniform shorts are getting the girls loose and juicy if you know what I mean,” said Shyanne with a little giggle.
“Shyanne, I think this conversation is becoming somewhat inappropriate,” said Coach Johnson, discreetly dropping one of his hands onto his lap to shield his crotch from her view.
“I mean, did you notice how well Kyra was playing tonight? The girl was on fire. You said so yourself at practice yesterday,” said Shyanne.
“She showed some real hustle out there on the court,” conceded Coach Johnson, somewhat warily..
“Well, I just thought you should know that it’s all because of these gosh darn shorts,” said Shyanne with a throaty laugh. “In fact, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but she confessed to me that she came in them after our last match, and that’s why she’s so full of spunk and energy.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t be telling me this,” said Coach Johnson, urgently wishing he could stand up and dismiss her, but then she’d see his completely inappropriate reaction to their line of conversation.
“I’m just saying, maybe you should be on the lookout for wet crotches next practice,” said Shyanne with a giggle as she unfolded her long legs and stood up from his desk.
“Duly noted,” said Coach Johnson, feeling an intense heat creep up the back of his neck.
“Goodnight, Coach! Enjoy the rest of your evening,” called out Shyanne as she sashayed her way out of his office, and he knew darn well that she knew that his eyes would be glued to her backside.
“Goodnight,” he muttered, his voice weak and thready.
Once Shyanne was gone, it took a full ten minutes before his breathing returned to normal. This is really gonna be my last year here, I swear it, he vowed to himself. Because I’m getting way too old for this kind of stuff. And goddamnit, there’s a limit on just how much you can ask of a man.
The Cafeteria
“Shit, I don’t see how they get away with calling this meatloaf,” groused Gabriela as she picked at the food on her tray.
“Just eat it, will you?” said Victoria. “All you ever do is bitch and moan. Why not bring your own food if you hate the food here so much?”
“Just look at it, Victoria! It’s gray! Meat is not supposed to be gray,” said Gabriela.
“What’s up, sluts?” said Lexie, her eyes flashing with amusement as she plopped her tray down on the table.
“Wow, Lexie. Aren’t you afraid you’ll gain some weight?” snickered Gabriela as she jabbed a fork in the direction of Lexie’s tray, which held a single fruit cup.
“Hey guys,” said Kyra, slamming down her brown bag lunch on the table as she pulled up a seat at the table.
“I think you’re eating enough for the two of us,” retorted Lexie.
“So, you guys ready for St. Brigid? Because I saw some tape of their game against Mount of Olives, and they look pretty tough,” said Kyra, pulling out a thick ham and cheese sandwich from the bag.
“Forget about those scrawny lesbos. We’re gonna kick their ass!” announced Shyanne as she joined the group, a diet soda her only lunch, as usual.
“We better,” groused Gabriela. “Because Westlake is friggin on fire. I think we’re, like, half a point above them in the rankings.”
“Of course, we’re gonna win,” announced Lexie. “Besides, we’ve got our secret weapon right here, don’t we?”
“Huh?” said Kyra after getting nudged in the ribs by Lexie.
“Kyra here is our little pocket rocket, ain’t ya, Kyra?” said Lexie.
“I just wish we could qualify for the playoffs already. My dad has been riding my ass every night about it. Sometimes, I think he’s secretly betting his paycheck on our games,” said Gabriela.
“Speaking of riding asses,” chortled Lexie, earning herself a glare from Kyra.
“So, listen up, ladies,” said Shyanne. “I went and visited Coach in his office the other night after practice, and it looks like he’s drawing up some pretty cool new plays.”
“Ugh,” groaned Victoria. “Enough of the razzle-dazzle already. Besides, I’ve got my chem final to study for. My brain’s hurting enough as it is without having to learn some more fucking plays.”
“Do you want to win or not, Victoria? Because sometimes, it feels like you’d rather be riding around with Josh in his stupid sports car than get your head in the game,” said Caroline.
“Well, he is kinda cute,” said Gabriela, earning herself a few chuckles from the others sitting around the table.
“Josh is a boy. A girl like me needs a real man,” said Shyanne.
“Yeah, a man with a fat wallet,” said Lexie with a chuckle.
“No, I’m serious. Guys our age are chumps. They spend all their free time playing video games and playing pranks on each other. They’re like little wild monkeys,” said Shyanne.
“I’ll have you know, Josh is not a monkey,” said Victoria, causing most of the other girls to break into laughter.
“Look, Shyanne, not all of us are ten feet tall with tits to match,” said Gabriela. “As for me, I’d be happy to get a sweet guy like Joshy-poo.”
“Shut up,” said Victoria.
“No, for me, I need a guy like... well, like Coach Johnson,” said Shyanne.
“What? Girl, you’re tripping,” said Lexie with a laugh.
“Think about it, Lex. He’s tall. He’s muscular. He’s good-looking. You have to give me that,” said Shyanne.
“Yeah, and he’s, like, more than twice your age! And, duh, he’s also our coach,” said Lexie.
“I heard that he’s gay,” said Kyra before taking another bite of her sandwich.
“What? No way. I know gay guys, and Coach is not gay,” said Victoria.
“And how, exactly, do you know that?” said Gabriela.
“My cousin Rich is gay. He came out to the whole family last Thanksgiving,” said Victoria before primly taking another bite of her salad.
“Oh, Coach isn’t gay. that’s for sure,” chortled Lexie.
“Damn right. He was giving me the look the other night when I was in his office,” said Shyanne before casually tossing her empty soda can into a nearby garbage can.
“You’re losing your mind,” said Carolina. “Coach isn’t like that.”
“Oh, isn’t he?” said Lexie.
“No, I’m serious. I was sitting there on his desk, and he kept just, like, staring at my legs. Like he wanted to touch them. Believe me, I know when guys are giving me the look,” said Shyanne.
“He was probably staring at your giant mommy milkers,” said Gabriela. “Anyway, I heard he has a serious girlfriend.”
“Well, I’ve never seen her. Have any of you?” said Shyanne.
“I sure haven’t, come to think of it,” said Lexie. “And I don’t think he’s gay, either. It’s like he’s... what do you call it? Asexual?”
“Sexuality is an entire spectrum. It’s not nice to pigeonhole people,” said Caroline.
“No, no, no. He’s not asexual. No way, not with the look he was giving me,” said Shyanne. “He’s definitely got the fire. It’s just that he’s keeping it hidden.”
“Hidden or not, we really need to win that next game,” said Victoria. “And I don’t care who he needs to blow to make that happen.”
With that statement, the entire table burst into laughter.
“Victoria, you little strumpet! I love this new look on you, girl,” said Lexie.
“Actually, I think Victoria might be onto something here, guys,” said Shyanne. “Coach has been looking a little more stressed than usual, lately. Maybe his secret girlfriend just dumped him or something.”
“Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. Either way, I got to get to fifth period before Mrs. Henderson marks me tardy,” announced Victoria before rising to her feet and then picking up her tray.
“Yeah, I got to run as well,” said Caroline. “See you guys at practice.”
Within a few minutes, all the girls had left except for Shyanne and Lexie.
“Shyanne, I’ve seen that look on your face before. I hope you’re not thinking of doing something stupid,” said Lexie, although she was grinning as she spoke.
“Look, you’ve heard Coach tell us a million times. Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. And sometimes, you got to do what you got to do,” said Shyanne.
“Well, whatever it is. I hope it works. Because I’ll never hear the end of it from my parents if we don’t make the playoffs,” said Lexie.
And with that, the two girls got up from the table and went their separate ways.
The Squeeze
Coach Johnson could scarcely believe his eyes as he watched the team’s final practice before their game against Mount of Olives.
Everywhere he looked, he saw girls lollygagging, half-assing it, and generally acting apathetic. Where was their hustle? Where was the fire? Didn’t they know that they’d be out of the playoffs if they lost this next match? So why were they acting so dispirited and worn out instead of excited and eager?
Even Kyra, who had made such an incredible comeback following the heartbreaking loss to St. Helena to rally the team, was moving sluggishly on the court, missing easy set-ups, and failing to dive for balls. What had happened to that fire she had shown just a few days ago?
Angrily, he blew his whistle.
“Caroline! What the heck was that? You touched the net with your hand on that last hit!” shouted Coach Johnson.
“Sorry, Coach,” said Carolina, and that’s when Coach Johnson realized that she was barely sweating. Caroline was a heck of an athlete, but she was one of those poor girls who always sweats copiously despite her physical fitness.
“This is ridiculous!” shouted Coach Johnson. “All I see are a bunch of lazy clods, too interested in whining and moaning to go out there and win a game. If you want to skip the playoffs, just let me know right now, and we can all go home, ladies!”
“Sorry, Coach,” muttered several of the girls, but still only with muted enthusiasm instead of the usual pep that Coach Johnson had been fortunate to witness all year. A part of his brain seriously began to wonder whether someone had spiked the water jug because he just couldn’t explain their lackluster performance any other way.
“All right, let’s see if 20 laps around the gym will wake you ladies up! Go!” shouted Coach Johnson, blowing his whistle.
Obediently, the girls fell in line and began trudging around the perimeter of the gym, but they all had hangdog faces as though they were inmates at the county jail instead of star athletes eager to claim a spot in the playoffs.
“You, Kyra, let me talk to you for a second,” said Coach Johnson, pulling Kyra out of the formation even as he waved for the others to continue.
“What’s up, Coach?” said Kyra, bending at the waist and gasping to catch her breath.
“What the heck is going on with you girls, today? Did you all go out last night and dance until dawn or what? All of you are moving like you’re standing in quicksand! What gives?” said Coach Johnson.
“Dunno,” said Kyra, and he could see by her face that she was telling the truth. “Just feel wiped out for some reason. Can’t really explain it.”
“I would think that you, of all people, want this more than anybody. Come on, Kyra, what the heck? Where’s your fire, girl?” said Coach Johnson, genuinely worried.
“Just didn’t get a good night’s sleep, that’s all, I think,” said Kyra, and he could see the exhaustion written all over her face.
“Fine, fine. Okay ladies, listen up! Finish your 20 and then hit the showers. Time to put this monkey to bed,” said Coach Johnson.
A few minutes later, he watched as the girls limped their way out of the gym, and all he could do was shake his head in disbelief. Hoping that Kyra was right and that a good night’s rest was all that was needed, Coach Johnson decided to go to his office to get a few papers and make an early night of it by heading home himself.
Picking up his playbook as well as some travel forms for the upcoming away game against Mount of Olives, he shoved everything into his bag and then switched off the light. But to his surprise, when he got to the parking lot, Shyanne was standing there, leaning on his car, her hair still dripping wet.
“Oh, hey, Coach,” said Shyanne as he approached.
“Hello, Shyanne,” said Coach Johnson somewhat warily as he unlocked his car and then threw his bag into the backseat.
“Listen, um, Coach, do you think you could give me a lift home? My dad’s, uh, a little busy and called to say he can’t come get me,” said Shyanne.
“Fine, fine,” said Coach Johnson, getting into his car and then sliding over to unlock the passenger door. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to ferry one of his team members home when an errant parent failed to show up and do their job.
“Thanks,” said Shyanne as she entered his car and then put on her seatbelt. “Take a left onto Miller. I live over in Glendale Heights.”
“Right-o,” said Coach Johnson, throwing the car into drive.
For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, but then Shyanne spoke up.
“Sorry about practice, tonight, Coach,” said Shyanne. “Dunno what happened, but felt like I had lead weights in my legs or something. I’m sure we’ll be fine by game time.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” said Coach Johnson, reaching up to stroke his lip where his mustache had once been. “Because what I saw back there was pitiful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you girls have already made up your mind that we’re gonna lose to Mount of Olives.”
“What? Them puss... I mean, losers? No way,” said Shyanne with a chuckle. “Take a left on West Oak.”
“Good! Because we’ve all put in a lot of hard work this year. And I know you girls have what it takes to make it all the way to the championship,” said Coach Johnson.
“To tell you the truth, Coach, it’s just been a long week, you know? And I’m just wiped. I feel like I could sleep 14 hours straight,” said Shyanne. “Okay, now take a right on Maple.”
“Well, get your rest. Because Mount of Olives isn’t gonna be a pushover,” said Coach Johnson.
“Okay, that’s it there on the right. House with the two lights on either side of the porch,” said Shyanne, pointing at the modest aluminum-sided house where she lived, the porch lights illuminating a scrubby yard that was little more than dirt and some scraggly weeds.
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