Page 64 of Every Move You Make

She nods. “I consent.”

“Sweet,” Khaos drawls and types on her phone. “You’readded, rookie. Welcome to the rugby coven, Skirt.”

“Alright team,” I announce and head toward the door. “Let’s go!”

I lead everyone through a fifteen minute warm up before our coaches take the field. And there he is again, wearing black rugby shorts and a white and blue Valor T-shirt, looking like a snack with his meaty thighs out like that.

How dare he.

I expect Zay to ignore me or at the very least treat me indifferently, but when he gets closer, he gives me an unexpected and pointed smirk.

Oh shit. So we’re just telling everybody that you watched me get off, huh?

When he turns his focus to the rest of the team, I exhale and try to calm my nerves. I’m being dramatic.

“Backs with Coach Bob,” he calls. “Forwards and scrummy, you’re with me.”

Be his sunshine,I tell myself.You’re the good cop.

I have to repeat this mantra to myself several times through practice because Isaiah is back to his demanding ways, barking orders and growling at everyone’s mistakes. Mistakes that I find fair, considering he’s giving us new lineout drills we’ve never done before.

“C’mon, we got this, ladies,” I clap, trying to keep our energy high and positive. “We’re almost there. We’re so close, I know it.”

“Cass and Mo,” Zay bellows. “If I see you lift Toni too soon one more time, everyone on this team has suicides and burpees coming their way! Get it right.”

Both of their jaws tick before they let out a combined huff.

“It’s okay, guys,” I cheer. “We’re going to nail this one.”

Turk stands on the sideline, ball at the ready with Isaiah next to her. “Forty! Baja! Tango! Matchbox!” She calls out as Toni sprints from my side into Mo and Casshole’s frontpod and waits for Mo’s tap. She's lifted into the air from her knees right as Turk throws the ball down the imaginary tunnel and into Toni’s hands. Yes! In a flash, the ball is thrown to Khaos, and I follow her until we hear the whistle blown a second later.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” I whoop, skipping back to the group.

“Finally,” Isaiah sighs. “Let’s run it again.”

And again we run it. And again, he shows no emotion outside of his perpetual scowl. Who is this man? Where’s my friend Zay who used to cheer for me from the sidelines and recap the great plays with me? I’m ten times the player I was in college, and he was so supportive of me then. Where did that man go?

The weight of our upcoming home game this weekend looms over everyone and grows more ominous as practice goes on, especially with our coach barking at us. I’m trying my best to counteract his grumpiness, but I can sense pressure building in everyone.

The locker room is somber when we get back in and the coaches are gone. No more talk of the coven. No smiles. Just sweat and eerie silence.

Like a knife, Serwaa’s voice cuts through the quiet. “You need to talk to him, Birdie.”

“Yeah,” Casshole mutters.

I don’t have to ask what they mean because every face staring at me has the same serious expression. I know they’re not happy with him. They don’t know he’s capable of being kind and genuine like I do. He needs to step up, and I need to push him.

I don’t care that he watched Dell eat me out in front of him a few nights ago. If anything, it makes me more determined to speak my mind. If Dell can force him to face his fears head on, then I can muster the courage to tell Isaiah how the team perceives him.

I peel off my compression shorts and wrap a towel around my body and swallow. “I’ll take care of it.”

Fresh from the shower and dressed, I make my way to my car, ready to call Isaiah, when I see his SUV still here. Walking up to his window, I catch him scrolling Instagram.MyInstagram.

I tap on the window and he jumps out of his skin, turning off his phone. Bemused, I smile as he rolls down his window. “Hey,” he blushes.

“Hey,” I reply and point to his discarded phone in the passenger seat. “If you wanted beauty tips, you could have just asked me.”

He clears his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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