Running The Miles

Chapter 4

        I was expecting everyone to stop looking at me. But that was the opposite of what I got. Several of the other sport's teams stared at me as I walked by, the 'popular' girls were always trying to seat me at their table, probably so my team mates would come to their table, which never happened, because I never sat over there. They seemed pissed. 

        It was starting to get annoying. So what, a girl playing football isn't new, there have been a bunch of teams that had them. Every practice, I was picked first. Every time I went to lunch, I was called over to the football table, which I didn't mind, since they were hilarious, and I didn't know anyone else. 

        A couple of weeks had to go by before everyone stopped staring, which was a relief. Today, classes went by like a breeze. I've aced all of my courses, all of my pre-tests, and all of my homework grades. I have perfect straight-A's. My Mom had said that I'd need to get excellent grades for me to be able to play on the team. "School comes first!" and after she'd scolded me, she'd congratulated me for making the team.

        I was heading to the football field, my practice uniform on, I was running a little late. Some girls were hogging the stalls, for freaking ten minutes! Who does that?

        I'm practically jogging when I head out of the gym doors to the outside field, where everyone is waiting. "Sorry, sorry. Some girls were hogging the bathroom," I say, my bag slung over my shoulder. 

        "Okay, but there are other bathrooms, you know," says the coach. Thats' what I like about him. He treats me like the rest. No special treatment. I throw a perfect throw, he simply nods, and moves on to the next person. I'm not singled out. My favorite coach so far.

        I notice that there are two guys on the tall bleachers to my right. We're in a stadium, so they look pretty small. I wait till water break to ask the coach, "Who are those guys?" I point towards them. Recognition spreads acros his face, but only for a brief second. 

        "Oh, they're just college students studying, I don't know why they can't just go to the library," Coach said. But I didn't believe him. He'd hesitated, as if looking for an answer. And he seemed awed when I'd mentioned their presence. 

        But I just continued to practice. I aced the kicks, perfected the catches, spiraled the throws, my best practice yet. When we were done for the day, the two men started to climb down the bleacher's stairs, clipboards and books in hand. 

        The Coach noticed, and just waited for them to come down. I went over to my bag and packed up. 

        "Hey Nicole, come over here for a second!" yells coach from the middle of the field. I leave my stuff and I jog to where they seemed to be having a discussion. Coach puts his arm around my shoulder. He uses his other hand, as if for them to repeat what they'd just said.

        "Hello, Nicole," the one to the right said. "We noticed that you have exceptional skills with football, and that you're the best on the team. But also, being a girl."

        "We were wondering, and you'd still play for your highschool team," said the one to the left. "If you'd like to try out for the college football team for the Seminoles of Florida State University."