Free The Odd Ballerz by Ruthie Robinson Page A

Coach,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him. “You hurt?”
    “My knee has been acting up lately. I thought I might take a minute and wrap it, to give it a little more support. Coach Z is going to fill in for me until I’m done here,” he said, and they both looked over in the direction of the cone drill and yes, there stood Coach Z, talking, probably explaining the drill again. She didn’t need to hear it again, she reasoned, her explanation for not going over and joining the group immediately.
    “You wouldn’t be looking to get out of your drills, now would you, young lady?” Coach Harris asked, his gaze filled with humor.
    “Who, me?” she said, smiling, not even going to pretend that it had not been a part of her calculations when she headed this way. “A little, although I did want to see about you, so it’s not all ulterior motives,” she said.
    “You don’t like camp?” he asked.
    “Camp doesn’t like me is more like it. Athletics aren’t really my thing. You’ve seen me,” she said, smiling. “I suck. You know that, right?”
    He laughed. “You can run fast.”
    “Jones,” she heard before she could respond. It was Coach Z, no surprise there, waving her over.
    “It appears your luck is at an end,” Coach Harris said.
    “Yes, it does. I hope your knee gets to feeling better,” she said before she made her way over to an irritated Z.
    “Jones,” he said when she reached him, staring at her, or those shades were. “This doesn’t have to be hard,” he said.
    “Speak for yourself,” she said.
    “It’s your turn.”
    “Right,” she said, walking over to the starting line
    “Set. Go,” he said, and she did. Not a full-out sprint, but as close to it as she could offer. Maybe she hadn’t had time to consider what this drill required of her was the explanation for how she was off to her best start yet. Or maybe it was that trying-to-impress-him thing again, but whatever, she was off to her best run. She ran past the first cone, speeding directly to the second one, where she touched it. She ran back to the first cone, flying past and around it smoothly, feeling confident enough to speed up a little bit more. She went back to the second cone, touched it this time, smiling inside, because she’d managed to stay on her feet. It was back over to the first cone one final time, where she touched it, before running as hard as she could back to the start. She stopped in front of Z and smiled, super proud of herself.
    “Out of order is how you ran that. You know that, right?” he said.
    “What? I did?” she asked, looking up at him from her current bent-over-trying-to-breathe position.
    “Yes, you did,” he said, and he felt a twinge of sympathy at the expression of genuine hurt that covered her face. “Hey, it’s no big deal,” he said, surprised that he felt the need to offer comfort. Hurt, huh, he thought of her expression. “Watch for a while, and maybe you’ll do better on your next try,” he said.
    She smiled, not very brightly and walked to the end of the line. Her second try was a little bit better, albeit slower. The third time was her best, except for that almost fall at the start, but she had gotten the order of operations correct that time.
    “Good job,” he said.
    “Yep,” she said, moving to the end of the line again, giving him her same lackluster smile from earlier. The whistle blew—someone other than him—and it was time to move on to the next drill.
    # # #
    As with Monday’s camp, throwing and catching the football capped the end of this camp’s session, and not a minute too soon as far as she was concerned.
    “Jones, you’re with me again today,” Coach Z said, intercepting her before she could find someone else to partner with. “Give me a few minutes to make sure the others are good?”
    “I thought you were the new Coach Harris, working the cone drill,” she said.
    “Nope,” he said, before moving away.
    She looked back over her