Page 2 of The Coach

“I sure do!”

“It’s literally the first time you’ve said it.”

“Okay, whatever. I’m just glad that everything turned out all right. That’s all.”

Despite his constant joking, I knew he meant it. As I said, he was a great guy. “Thanks.”

“Yo, it’s almost two,” Finn said, looking at his phone. “If you don’t have any more bombs to drop on me, we should get going. Don’t wanna be late to the practice today, what with the new coach and everything.”

“Right,” I said and slurped the rest of my coffee before standing up and stretching my legs. I almost forgot about the first practice with the new coach today. I justhoped he’d be as good as Coach Simmons—he was old, but he knew his stuff and everyone liked him. He and Assistant Coach Jenkins have been with us ever since I got into the Williams College wrestling team, until Jenkins got a better offer and moved out of state at the end of last semester. We knew we were getting a new assistant coach. But yesterday, at the very start of our junior year, Ms. Millson dropped some unexpected news. The Athletic Director told us that Coach Simmons had to take a semester off due to hip replacement surgery, and that we’ll have to go on with only one coach this season, this new guy they hired to replace Jenkins. Now we were about to meet him. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

As we hurried up Spring Street and back to the campus, Finn said, “Did you hear anything about this guy? Blane something?”

“I think it’s Blake. Blake Hudson.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Scott said something about him winning several national championships, and even being on the Olympic team at one point. I think he used to compete in the UFC’s Heavyweight division. Then, few years ago, he disappeared from the face of the Earth. And I heard that he’s still kind of young, like, mid-thirties.”

Finn’s brows furrowed as he strode beside me. “Huh. Guess he went into coaching.”

“Yeah.” Unlike other more popular sports, wrestling wasn’t exactly a lucrative long-term career, unless you go into WWE and get big. I didn’t have any illusions about that. My dad also used to wrestle all through high school and college, but gave it up after graduation to become an architect. And after I graduate, I’ll probably ditch wrestling too. Same as Finn. We were both majoring in Computer Science, our career path already determined, so we kept practicing and competing purely out of love for the sport. Speaking of which, I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time. “Shit, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!”

2. Blake

No matter how much time had passed, it still felt strange standing on the other side. It felt wrong, distorted, likedéjà vuplayed out in a funhouse mirror. I used to be one of these guys, rocking the spandex and rolling around on the mats all day, cocky and unshakeable. Even back then, I dreamed of turning pro—becoming an Olympic champion, or making a career in MMA. And I damn near had it all. I fought, I won, I made a name for myself.

But look at me now: a coach, not an athlete. I never thought I’d end up teaching a bunch of college kids hownotto become me. Then again, I never imagined my life would turn out the way it did.

“All right, ladies,” I said parading before them, my voice loud and clear in the gym’s cavernous space. “I’mCoach Hudson, and I’ll take over the lot of you for the next semester until Coach Simmons gets back from his sick leave.”

Eighteen boys in purple singlets clustered on the mats, their faces a mosaic of curiosity and skepticism. Everything around us was purple and gold, the colors of their school. The Williams Ephs. All eyes were trained on me. I was the unfamiliar presence, the outsider stepping into a realm laden with expectations and unspoken dreams. The boys kept up their guard, the tension evident in their body language. They were watching, waiting to see who I would be, what I would bring. I knew the feeling all too well.

“I don’t care what you’ve been taught,” I continued, hands on hips, asserting my authority. A man with my build quickly learned the effect his body had on others, and I used it now to my full advantage. Still, I didn’t want to come on too strong; I needed to earn their trust, not intimidate them. “I’m here to make you better. I’ll assume you know shit until you prove me wrong. My goal is to take you to the next level, not to be your cuddle buddy. All right?”

They murmured their assent, exchanging glances. There was a sense of wariness in the air, a guarded hope. They had heard all the speeches before, promises made and broken. They would not be swayed by words alone. But before I could go on, the gym doors swung open and two more boys rushed inside. One of them was stillputting on his shoes, while the other one straightened the straps of his singlet.

“Sorry, coach,” he said, joining the rest of the team on the mats. His short, dark-brown hair seemed a bit damp, his cheeks flushed, like he had been running.

“Yeah, sorry we’re late,” his friend added, sitting beside him and tying his shoes. He was a bit taller than the other boy, his hair a shade lighter and a whole lot messier.

I glanced at the clock on the gym wall. Two fifteen. “Names?” I said.

“Um, what?” the first boy asked, his voice a mixture of bravado and uncertainty.

“Your names?” I repeated louder and this time they got my meaning.

“Tyler Davidson,” the dark-haired one muttered, an even deeper flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Finn Collins,” the other boy mumbled, scratching his head.

I picked up the clipboard from the chair and looked over the team list, finding the two miscreants. When I looked at them again, they were throwing peeks at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. “Let me make myself clear,” I said. “The practice starts at two o’clock, sharp. Not two-oh-five. Not two ten. And certainly not two fifteen. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they both spoke in unison.

“If you’re late again, don’t even bother showing up. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” they said again.

---