Scored in Love (Wattys2015)

~2~ coach hottie

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Who is this vision I see before me? He’s a knockout. Mystery Coach is surrounded by a swarm of fawning girls. They’ve regressed into babies. Mystery Coach is indeed a “hottie” - Gina wasn’t wrong on that count. They’re all listening to him like Stepfords. Nodding along and flicking their hair. Come on, girls. We’re here to play football. Well, I am at least.

Maybe Coach Hottie will teach us new tactics and techniques. We were playing old football. And I mean old —1970s style. It was embarrassing. Other teams would laugh at us. Coach Bletchmann was so stubborn and set in his ways. It drove me crazy. I tried to reason with him, but he’d dismiss me with a patronising smile. He’d always say to me: “Amelie, you’re charming up until you open your mouth.” To this day, I still don’t know why he chose to be a football coach for a girls’ team. He had such a low opinion of women in general. I feel sorry for his wife. She’ll have to cope with his sh!t more often now that’s he’s miserably retired. Ha ha. Good riddance.

I size up Coach Hottie. He has the body of an Adonis. His hair is dark and close-cut. Deep soulful brown eyes. Tanned complexion. Clean-shaven. Chiselled jawline. Early twenties. I wouldn’t mind doing dirty things to him. Oh yes…

I snap out of my reverie.

Gina’s shaking me. “He has such a sexy name.”

“Really?”

“Did you completely zone out, Amelie?”

“Sorry.”

She gives me a look of mock disappointment.

“Armand Navarro. So sexy!” Gina almost swoons.

“Easy, Gina,” Marie uses her hand to fan her, “The poor guy’s just arrived — he doesn’t need another stalker…”

Even sensible Marie can’t help checking out the new coach. Seems like he’s going to be quite a hit…

Coach Navarro takes the roll call. He takes out a snazzy executive pen and ticks names off his clipboard, looking up and memorising names to faces. Some girls are silly enough to give him a coy wave to accompany their greetings. These are The Football Mean Girls. Yes, even in a girls’ football team, these types exist.

Lucille is Head Mean Girl. She treats everyone, except her posse, like sh!t. Granted, she’s cute, but evil personified. Girls beware… Lucille relishes your tears. Then there are her minions — Valerie, Monique, Constanze and Elena. They are indistinguishable. Attractive, but clearly lacking in the brains department.

I vaguely hear laughter in the background. The Football Mean Girls are laughing like hyenas. What’s the joke?

I realise that a smooth, deep voice is talking to me. His luscious lips are forming words. Coach Navarro’s eyes are on me. As well as everyone else’s.

“Back to front girl.”

“Yeah?” I’m puzzled. Why did he call me tha—not today! So embarrassing.

The laughter starts up again, but this time it has a vicious edge. The Football Mean Girls are jeering at me…

Oh sh!t. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to label The Football Mean Girls stupid. The joke’s on me. My shirt is on back to front. This is what happens when you’re late… You turn scatterbrained. I feel my cheeks redden. How attractive.

“Sorry, I’ll go back to the changing room and—” I gabble out.

The coach is impassive and unsympathetic. “If you leave, I’m not allowing you back on the pitch.”