“You know, Torres, you really shouldn’t be so mean to my friends,” Melanie says, and I frown. Is she really flirting with him right now?
“Wouldn’t have to be mean if your friends learned to shut up when necessary.”
Melanie giggles, but I’m sure nothing about his statement is meant to be humorous. “So, how was your summer?”
“Better when I didn’t have to talk about how it was.”
Another giggle.
The one Torres called Rose—the girl with the straight hair—fidgets on the bench. I glance at her and she’s rolling her eyes.
“Anyway, I’m starting with you, Howard,” Torres says, scribbling something on one of the papers on his clipboard. “You’re a senior this year. Gotta show your new teammate the ropes.” Torres cuts his eyes at me quickly before locking on Melanie again. “Picked up any new skills over the summer?”
“Well, I learned how to chug at Zach’s parties without spitting it all back up. Took the kegs down like a champ this summer!”
Torres gives her a dull look.
“Okay, Mr. Grouchy. Geez. Um…well, I think I catch more speed for 800-meter sprints now. I practiced with my brother. He clocked me. I beat myself by three seconds,” she gloats.
“We’ll see about that,” Torres mumbles. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s about it.” She beams again.
“And what do you think you can bring to the team?” he asks her.
“Well, as always, I have bright spirits and I can make anyone smile. People love me, so there’s no doubt in my mind that my teammates won’t come to me if they ever need a pep talk and a smile.”
“If you say so.” Torres writes something on his paper.
I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t get the chance because Torres brings his head up and swings his eyes over to me. His eyes are a very dark-brown, almost black. Long eyelashes surround them, and his eyebrows are thick and naturally arched.
“Lakes, is it?” he asks me, as if bored.
“Yes, sir.”
He looks at his paper again. “Says here you run the 100 to 200. Got impressive stats,” he notes, brows inclining as he’s reading them, as if he’s never read them before. He picks his gaze up, focusing on me again. “What would you say is your best skill?”
I shrug. “Just running, I guess. I’m fast—really fast.”
Melanie scoffs. “We’re all fast.”
I side-eye her before putting my focus on Torres again. I’m glad he ignores Melanie too. Not once does he take his eyes off me.
“What about your strength? Endurance?”
“I worked out every day over the summer. Lifted weights with an old teammate and also practiced sprints. I can run for miles and I’m willing to test that theory if you want.” I know I sound arrogant, but it’s the way my father raised me. He always told me to never let anyone doubt my skills and if they do, to put them to the test and prove the person wrong. It was never to be boastful or demeaning. My dad was just extremely competitive and I guess some of that competitiveness was instilled in me.
Be the best of the best.
Never settle for second place.
Train until you’re damn near perfect, and then train some more.
All of these are words from my father.
Torres gives me a once over, taking in my physique. It’s almost like he’s sizing me up, which would be weird, right? I’m an athlete. He’s a coach. There is no competition between us. Does he not believe in my skills? I’m sure he saw the tapes.
“What do you think you will bring to the team?” he asks, still studying me.
“I hope to bring some motivation,” I murmur, and I feel like it’s such a stupid answer, but I continue. “I know to have a winning team you have to support your teammates. I’m ready to motivate my team and support them at every practice and every race, even when it feels hard. Even if we’re all tired.”
Torres nods and writes, and I can’t tell if that’s a nod of approval or just a nod for me to know he’s heard me.
“Well, that’s boring,” Melanie snorts, leaning toward Rose.
Rose’s brows dip and she immediately backs away. “Please don’t come into my personal space. I have a thing about people being in my personal space.”
“Um…okay. My bad!” Melanie scoffs. “Jesus, when did freshman get so serious?”
“I’m not a freshman,” Rose states, narrowing her eyes at Melanie. “I’m a sophomore. I was on the team last year.”
“Holy shit, are you serious?” Melanie guffaws.
Rose glares at Melanie.
“Serious is what we should be,” Torres declares, getting all our attention again. “You play too damn much, Howard. That’s your problem, and that’s why you can’t even remember Rose is your own damn teammate.”
I stifle a laugh and Melanie whips her head to stare at me. “Sorry,” I say through a chuckle. But I’m really not. This whole conversation is hilarious.