Free The Odd Ballerz by Ruthie Robinson

off the front of his t-shirt, so she had a clear view of his face… eyes, and yes, he seemed confused or puzzled. And then he was walking towards her.
    “What’s going on over here with you, Jones?” he asked after he’d reached her.
    “What do you mean? There’s nothing going on. I’m just practicing some deep meditation, helps me get into the zone,” she said.
    “The zone, huh,” he said, eyeing her with trepidation, his gaze matching the disbelief she thought she heard in his voice.
    “You were starting to sway there for a minute. So are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, meeting her gaze with his no-nonsense one.
    “Absolutely,” she said and smiled. “You just like coming over here to talk to me. Don’t you?” she said and winked. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”
    He remained quiet for two to three seconds more, staring at her like he’d didn’t believe her. “Okay then, let’s go,” he said, walking away.
    She shook out her arms and then her legs for the second time.
Easy does it, girl. You’ve got this under control. Take a deep breath, Jones. The track is our friend
.
You can do this. This is easy
, were her final thoughts as she raised her eyes to meet Coach Z’s—which were staring back at her—finding confidence in his gaze.
    A few moments later, she heard “Set, go,” and she did, tripping a little at the start, stumbling a bit after that, it was few seconds more before she was able to get her feet completely underneath her. But she did. Yes! at the small, yet huge feat, of not falling, she thought. She worked to increase her speed then, pumping her arms as she’d seen Alex do countless times, and then she was done, running past the Coaches, holding their stopwatches. “Good run Jones.” Coach Harris said to her at the end.
    “Thanks,” she said, smiling at him, so proud of herself.
    # # #
    Memphis stood in front of the tires, waiting her turn to start. Coach Z was near, of course, and watching her, and what she wouldn’t give to be able to read his thoughts, all of them; not just the quick ones in the short, unguarded moments immediately after she’d finished whatever drill. A mix of confounded, confused, and perplexed had been the expressions he’d let slip through during those moments. It had been both funny and painful to watch his hopes for her die as the camp progressed.
    Whatever. She just wished he’d stop with the watching her. It was getting old and annoying, when it wasn’t helpful. And yes, it was helpful, surprisingly so, this sticking close and watching her; it pushed all thoughts of anything but him off to the side in her brain, making her focus like nothing else. She’d kept her knees up throughout the ladders, ran more than walked her laps, did her calisthenics without too much of a hitch, all because he was near and watching. She wanted to impress him, she thought, the hunky new guy that she had no chance with. It was her, with her crushing, that silently fed this new desire to stand up straight, stick out her chest, and give this football thing her best effort.
    He was walking beside her now, and she was using plenty side-eye to keep track of him as she completed the drill—without falling, thank you very much. “You rock, Jones,” she said aloud.
    He smiled, as if he’d heard her. “Not bad, Jones,” he said when she reached the end of the tires.
    “Go away,” she said.
    He laughed, and there it was again, that beautiful smile of his, a punch to her gut, and a motivator like no other.
    “I will if you keep those knees up,” he said before moving on to the next camper.
    # # #
    Someone had blown the whistle and it was time to move onward to the next drill, which was her least favorite of them all: the cones. Unfortunately, Coach Harris, her favorite of the coaches so far, wasn’t anywhere near them, standing instead in the middle of the field, bent over and wrapping an ace bandage around his knee. She walked over to talk to him.
    “Hi,