Page 19 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Mom drives to the soccer field first so I can stop complaining, and then she’ll drop Milo off at the north entrance. Ashworth Academy is a ritzy private school, colossal in size. How anyone who attends this school is unfit is beyond me. It’s a marathon getting from class to class, between different wings, and on different floors.
“You make sure Coach Lyle knows about your stitches!” Mom calls from the car. “I’m not taking you to get them fixed if any pull or tear.”
“Yes, Mom!” I call back. I don’t know why she says things like that when it’s not true. She’d definitely take me out of school to have my stitches redone.
Anyway, it’s moot. Soccer is known as football for a reason. I’m not throwing or catching a ball. Today’s practice is all about footwork.
“Morning, Nelson,” Coach Lyle says with a wave as he stands with Tyler. He then tilts his head at the parking lot. “West isn’t with you today?”
I drop my bags to the ground and pull off my hoodie. “No, she’s at her aunt’s cafe.”
Coach shrugs. “I just figured when you begged me for extra practice time, she’d be here too.”
“We get it, Coach,” Tyler cuts in. “It’s shocking Jamie isn’t here.”
I do love an excuse to train with James, but she doesn’t need this. She’s the best on the girls’ soccer team by a long shot. I’ve got some competition on my team, but no one I can’t smoke out.
“It’s cool,” I say. “I need to work on my technique, and if she were here, I’d blow it by competing with her.”
“Showing off, you mean,” Tyler snickers.
I smirk at him. “Shut it.”
“Both of you shut it,” Coach cuts in. “I thought we were here to train.”
“We are,” Tyler and I say at once.
“Then get out there and give me three laps of the field.”
“Yes, Coach,” we reply in unison again.
I change into my cleats, toss my hoodie into my bag, and set out on a jog with Tyler.
Before I get very far, Coach barks, “Nelson.”
I skid to a halt. “What?”
He waves a finger toward my arm, tilting his head. “What’s with the bandage?”
Instinctively, I lift my hand to cup the bandage. “It’s nothing.”
Coach huffs. “Out with it.”
I slouch with a sigh. “Got some stitches yesterday after school. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal, 'ay?” Coach says, scrutinizing the location of the bandage. “Do your parents know you’re training this morning?”
I nod. “Yeah, Mom drove me here.”
“For practice?” Coach presses.
“Yes, Coach,” I yelp in frustration. “Can I just run some drills?”
Coach waves me off. “You’re a pain in my rear, Nelson.”
I give him a salute as I run onto the field. “Thanks, Coach.”
After my three laps, Coach helps me with my footwork. Tyler and I are co-team captains, but part of me wants to kick the co and be fully in chargewhen it’s game day. Ty’s like a brother to me, but I hardly play equals with my twin. If soccer will be my career, every decision I make matters. What I eat, how I exercise, what time I go to bed, and when I wake up.
