RETURN || SCOTT MCCALL [1]

6.11

"Tell me again why we have to do this?"

Scott turns slightly to to look at me over his shoulder from where he's practically running in front of me in his haste and excitement to get there. "Well, because I'm assistant coach."

I groan, slightly dragging my feet. "And that means you have to mow the grass, repaint the lines, supply the balls, turn on all of the lines, and basically do everything a manager and landscaper are supposed to?"

Scott furrows his eyebrows as he works to turn on the florescent lights. "Well, no." The lights are on in a flash, illuminating the long unruly grass of the field, and also temporarily blinding me.

I huff, moving to follow him as we skips of to mow the grass. With werewolf speed, the task in done before I had time to complain. "So why are you, then?"

Scott glances at me, deep brown eyes earnest and kind. "Because I want to."

Good ol' Scott McCall.

I heard that.

I snort, deciding to relax on the bench as he works. "You were supposed to."

Before I know it, the scene of Scott McCall sweating and working and putting his heart into the field is replaced by a whole team of boys sweating and working and putting their hearts into the field, and Scott is pacing the length of the sideline, shouting encouragements like a total coach.

"Hey! Nice work, Diaz!"

"Nolan, you stay in there, you can take him!"

The huge guy, Diaz, whips the ball into the net.

"Nice work! That's the best shot of pre-season!"

"Thanks, Coach!" Comes the reply, and I catch sight of the Coach himself.

"Assistant Coach!" Coach narrows his eyes at my mate, who simply stares back, almost amused. "What exactly are you doing?"

Scott blinks. "Drills."

"You're giving them hope!" Coach glances back and forth, face scrunched up in disgust as he leans closer to Scott. "When did I ever give you hope?"

Scott smiles, replying dreamily, "Never."

"Exactly! Nothing motivates more than withering criticism."

Well, nothing besides anything. I suppose if nothing was actually death itself, then nothing would be correct, or if nothing was-

Indi, not now.

What?

"Speaking of, um, losers, where's your, uh, where's your little protege?"

Scott and I share a panicked look, peering around the field.

Oh man.

"Um.." Scott stalls, and Coach's eyes bulge from his face.

"'Um'? Is 'Um' a location? Is 'Um' behind me?" Coach roars, and Scott holds out a placating hand, while I leap up to join them.

"He'll be here, okay?" I swear.

"He's the backbone of this team!" Scott continues. "He's stepped it up in every way possible. A born leader who can handle anything you throw at him."

Go find him please.

Already on it.

_____

"I can't handle this!"