𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡

|𝟼|

Leia Welsh

Am I nervous? Oh, you bet your bottom dollar I am.

My palms are sweaty, my heart is racing, and I can feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

I've never actually seen the principal in the flesh before, but let me tell you, the stories about him are enough to make anyone pee their pants. I've heard all kinds of crazy stuff about this guy. Like the time he supposedly expelled a kid for accidentally bumping into him in the hallway.

I warily stride in front of the principal's office, my knuckles rapping against the door in a steady beat. The muffled voice behind the door granting me entry prompts me to push the door open, and my eyes immediately zero in on the framed ice-skating posters of me adorning the walls.

My jaw drops in surprise.

"I didn't lie about being a fan," Principal Turner remarks with a clap, his tone light-hearted. I mean, it's not that creepy to see my hockey posters on his wall, but I guess it's not as awkward since he's gay. Who am I kidding? It's still creepy as hell.

As I take in the sight, I notice a bobblehead version of myself on his desk. I have to blink rapidly to make sure I'm not hallucinating. And then I see it – the mini puck with my face on it in the corner of his office. I can't help but shake my head in disbelief. Ari didn't even have all this stuff, and she was the one who claimed to be my biggest fan.

He taps his desk absentmindedly, staring at the poster. "Have you thought about my offer? You'll also earn credits if you say yes. They really need all the help they can get," he says, rubbing his beard as he gestures for me to take a seat across from him.

He's offered me a position as an assistant coach for the men's hockey team. He believes that because I went pro two years ago, I can help them out. I had to give up hockey after tearing my ACL in the final championship game, and it was broadcast nationwide.

Hockey was my passion, my everything. I loved it more than anything, and the thought of coaching a sport that I miss every single day is both enticing and terrifying.

Sure, I'll get college credits for it, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to dive back into the world of hockey just yet. And I'd be an assistant coach, I'm also not the easiest person to work with, I know I can be a bit much at times.

"What if me and Coach Johnson don't see eye to eye on things, what then?" I ask with a smirk, curiosity dancing in my eyes as I await his response. Just then, the door swings open and shuts in a flash, revealing a bald, slightly overweight man with bright sapphire eyes.

Coach Johnson I'm assuming stands before me, a whistle hanging around his neck and dressed in a blue and white WB shirt paired with cargo jeans. His soft smile is almost disarming.

"Then we talk about it and come to a solution together," Coach Johnson replies, taking a seat beside me.

As he extends his hand, I notice Principal Turner beaming with pride, as if the hockey team just won a championship. I can't help but stifle a laugh at the sight.

"I've seen your highlights, you were good – sorry, you are good – and we could really use your help," Coach Johnson says, his tone genuine.

He was right though, I was good.

"Leia Welsh," I introduced myself, shaking his hand. He seems taken aback for a moment, but quickly regains his composure and pulls his hand back.

"Coach Johnson," he responds with a warm smile, while Principal Turner nods like a kid.

I sneak a glance down at my left ankle, checking for any signs of weakness. It's a silly habit, but one that gives me a sense of reassurance. I breathe out a sigh of relief. So far, so good.