Page 53 of Sweet Spot
“At least you’re in placing position. The top half of the leaderboard has to choke for me to come anywhere near the top three.”
After all the groups finished yesterday, I’d been bumped to ninth place. It isn’t great, but I’m still in it. Abby and Cassidy are in fifth and second respectively.
The team splits to warm up. Kim, Cassidy, and Abby start with chipping while Erica and I go to the putting area. Our easy conversation turns to silence as soon as our feet touch the green. Anxiety creeps up my body making my grip sweaty and my arms shaky.
A few minutes later, Coach walks over with Cassidy. The expression on his face and the way they both nod seriously tells me he’s giving her last-minute pointers. He’s putting all his efforts into her, which isn’t a bad bet. She’s really good and continually places top five. Still, I can’t help but feel annoyed that he’s never given me that type of coaching.
My high school coach used to say that when I stop yelling, that’s when I stop caring. Coach Potter stopped yelling the day I threw my club in the water hazard and blew the tournament. Actually, he started and stopped that day. I know he doesn’t believe in me, but in moments like this, a little boost of confidence, even from him, wouldn’t hurt.
“Erica,” Coach calls and waves her over. She glances at me, rolls her eyes so only I can see, and then heads over to them.
Closing my eyes for just a moment, I inhale and will my body to relax. All around me people are quietly talking and shuffling around, stretching, or pulling clubs from bags.
Players down the line swing and hit balls, thepingcoming every few seconds. It’s usually my favorite sound in the world, so I try to focus on it and ignore everything else. I search for that sound, among all hits, that perfect ping of the ball being hit on the sweet spot of the club.
A gruff voice, not much louder than a whisper, breaks my attention, and I turn to see Lincoln off to the side, away from the coaches and players.
Two bottom fingers wrapped around his coffee cup lift in a wave. The rhythm of my heart speeds up, but there’s something soothing about his presence too. He’s here for me. Just me.
I sneak a peek at Coach, who may as well not even know I exist, and walk toward Lincoln.
“Hey,” I say when I reach him.
The smell of soap and coffee hangs on him. A white Under Armour hat covers his dark hair, and his face is smooth, as if he shaved only minutes ago. He fits right in with gray slacks and a black polo, but there’s something about Lincoln that always stands out.
“Morning. How are you feeling?”
“Nervous.”
His smile lifts. “Relax, have fun, and don’t throw anything.”
An unexpected chuckle slips from my lips, garnering the attention of those around us, including Coach Potter. If looks could kill, then I’d be squished like a bug under my coach’s shoe.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Coach Potter waits until he’s close enough he doesn’t have to raise his voice before he speaks. “Keira, get back in line and pretend like you want to be here, for heaven’s sake.”
My jaw drops, and I scramble for words to spit at him, but Lincoln’s hazel eyes meet mine, and his head shakes ever so subtly from side to side.
I walk back and stand next to Abby.
“What was that?” she whispers.
“Coach being an ass like usual. God, I hate that man.”
Lincoln and Coach exchange words, neither looking happy. Eventually Lincoln nods, glances over to me, and gives me one last reassuring smile before he walks away.
Coach turns, doesn’t spare me so much as a cursory glance, and shakes his head in disgust.
* * *
I’m paired with Mia Arnold, a freshman standout, from New Mexico State. She struggled yesterday, but as she walks over to stand beside me to wait our turn, she looks confident and ready to go.
“Good luck today.” She pulls her driver. The smile on her face seems to sit there so securely.
“You too.” There is no smile on my face. I feel like I might throw up or pass out.
Hole one is a par five at five hundred and five yards. Yesterday, I parred it both rounds, but if I want a chance at placing, I need to do better.
