Free Offside by M. G. Higgins Page B

main building, then beyond the arts studio, the auto shop, and the gym, she came to the field complex.
    The field gate was never locked. Fraser High left it open as a community service or something. Next to the soccer fields was the football stadium and the track. Faith was at the field often enough that she recognized the two adults jogging around the track. While she would have liked the place all to herself, she knew they’d mind their own business.
    After setting her backpack and ball on the bleachers, she stretched her quads and started jogging. Her goal was to work off her anger at her mom but not get so sweaty that Andrew Rizzo would hold his nose and fake gag in chem lab.
    After four laps, she was pumping some good oxygen into her brain. She’d planned on stopping after a mile to practice dribbling. But it was a perfect morning for running—crisp and dry. She decided one more lap wouldn’t make her any smellier than she already was.
    Up ahead, at the end of the bleachers, a movement caught her eye. Coach Berg, who led her soccer team, was standing in front of the sports equipment shed.
    Faith stopped when she rounded the track close to the shed. In addition to coaching soccer, Berg taught her fifth-period health class. That was when she’d planned on telling him about missing the coming match. But he was gruff to begin with, and he became really grumpy when players missed games. She figured she might as well get her bad news over with now.
    â€œHi,” she said, slowing as she got close to him.
    He twisted around. His dark hair was cut short. He was about six feet tall, probably in his late thirties, and always looked fit. She’d heard someone say he had played on a minor league team for a while.
    â€œHey, Patel.” He inserted a key into a padlock and slid the lock off the clasp. “Good morning for a run.”
    Faith stepped out of the way as he swung the door open. Then she stood in the doorway as he strode inside. The wooden shed was about the size of Faith’s living room, maybe twelve square feet. One side was packed with track equipment and the other with soccer gear. Coach Berg held a clipboard and stared at the soccer side, his forehead wrinkled.
    â€œCoach?” Faith asked.
    He looked at her. “Inventory,” he said, as though she’d asked what he was doing. “I’ve been putting it off.” He turned back to the mountain of equipment and sighed, shoulders drooping. “I hate paperwork.”
    Faith had never seen her coach look so overwhelmed.
    â€œUm… do you need help?”
    â€œNah.” He stared at his clipboard. “Although it
would
be simpler with two people.” He glanced at Faith. “Would I be keeping you from anything?”
    She thought about her paper for his class. She wasn’t going to finish it in time, anyway. “No.”
    He handed her the clipboard. “Great. This shouldn’t take long. Just write down what I tell you.”
    She pulled out the pencil that was shoved under the clip.
    Faith stayed in the doorway as Coach rummaged through the bags of soccer balls. He mumbled, counting to himself. Then he said, “Okay. Good soccer balls, 38.” He pulled up another bag and counted. “Questionable, 4. Completely dead, 5.”
    The form only included one ball category: soccer balls. “Um, Coach?” Faith said softly. “I’m not sure where those go.”
    He strode over and lifted the clipboard closer to his nose. “Oh. If it’s not on the list, just write it in the margin. Okay?”
    She nodded, and he let the clipboard go before stepping in front of a box of field cones. “Orange disc cones, 60…”
    By the time Coach Berg said, “Okay, I think that’s it,” Faith knew the 8:15 bell would be ringing soon. He stepped next to her and took the clipboard. “Sorry that took so long.”
    â€œThat’s okay.” It really