Free Bad Girls Don't by Cathie Linz Page A

girl.” This was Coach Russ Spears’s warning to the members of his football team gathered in the Rock Creek High School gym.
    Even though it was still only August, and the new school year hadn’t officially begun yet, the gym’s walls were already covered with ENTERING TROJAN COUNTRY signs. Or maybe they’d been left up from last year. They did look a little the worse for wear. But then, so did much of Rock Creek, including the high school and the football team.
    Although Skye didn’t know a lot about sports, she’d been expecting teenage boys as big as buildings and strong enough to bulldoze them down if any structure got in their way.
    And, okay, yeah . . . there were a couple of those. And a few beanpoles. A lot of beanpoles.
    Coach Spears, by comparison, looked like a Buddha, with his protruding belly stretching his Trojans polo shirt to capacity. The coach was deceptive, though. He might be built like a fireplug, but he could move fast when he wanted or needed to. He also had the kind of voice that made others move fast when he ordered them to do so. “So you boys swallow your pride and get into the lettuce position. Pronto.”
    “Lotus,” Skye corrected him. “Not lettuce. Thanks, Coach. I’ve got it from here.”
    A kid with red hair, freckles, and wire-rim glasses tentatively raised his hand.
    Skye gave him an encouraging smile. “Yes?”
    “Coach told us that Adam Vinatieri, the kicker for the Patriots, does yoga.”
    “Hmmmm.” Skye wasn’t really into the details of football. She just knew this was a job she enjoyed—teaching yoga.
    “Do you think this yogi stuff will help my kicking game?”
    “A brain transplant would help your kicking game,” one of the hulks said.
    “It’s yoga, not yogi,” Skye said, “and, yes, I do think it will help your kicking game, if you let it. Do you all remember the moving into stillness I talked about last time?”
    “Stillness?” The coach frowned. “I want them to have more flexibility. To run faster. Tackle better.”
    “Right.” Whatever.
    The coach folded his arms across his barrel chest and fixed her with an intense stare, the look of a man who’d weathered years of dealing with teenagers and wasn’t about to put up with any crap. “You know some folks think this is too foo-foo. Then I read about the University of Memphis using yoga for their football team. They get into a meditative state that puts them beyond discomfort. That’s where I want these guys—beyond discomfort. Pronto.”
    “Yoga isn’t about pronto. It’s about concentration and meditation.”
    “And sacks,” the coach reminded her. “And winning.”
    “Yoga is process oriented, not goal oriented.” Skye paused to turn on the boom box. “It doesn’t matter how many times you perform a routine. The importance is that you are focused while performing it.”
    “How can they focus with that damn music blaring?” the coach complained.
    “It’s the Dave Matthews Band, and they like it.”
    The coach’s look told her that was the wrong answer.
    So she came up with another one. “I mean, it . . . uh . . . helps their concentration so they can win . . . uh . . . more sacks.”
    “You don’t win sacks. Never mind. Just get on with it.” He stalked off.
    Skye faced the team. This was only her second lesson, and there were still a few holdouts to the entire concept of their learning yoga. Rebels. Skye could relate. Being a rebel herself, she knew exactly which buttons to push to get them on the ohm track.
    “If any of you think yoga is for sissies, I’m about to prove you wrong. You’ll be doing a series of exercises designed to work the entire body, strengthening it, making it more flexible, and giving you more balance. So let’s get started.”
    Skye began with breathing exercises, worked into stretching exercises, and then led them in a series of poses that had all of them breaking a sweat by the end of the hourlong session.
    The redheaded kicker came to Skye’s