Free Field of Schemes by Jennifer Coburn

and Kylie can do out on the field first. The timing needs to be right on these things.”
    I felt better about my own sanity.
    This guy was like a reality TV show without the commercial breaks. I knew that a man who characterized himself as an “agent” for eleven-year-old soccer players was an imbecile. I knew that his efforts to put together a package deal and leverage the players set the bar at a new high in parental stupidity. There was something sickly entertaining about it all. Stop it! This man is an undiagnosed nut job. He is not here for your entertainment. Be the good person you know you can be and walk away from this guy.
    “Your daughter and her friend Mariah must be excellent players,” I said.
    “They rock,” he said too loud. “I tell these other coaches their choice is to take the three girls or watch them kick your ass on the field this season. Y’ever hear the expression, ‘The fear of loss is greater than the desire for gain’?” I shook my head. “Means these guys want Kylie and Mariah, but more than they want ’em on their team, they don’t want to lose ’em to another club.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and said, “Yer kid’s lookin’ good. Can I give ya a tip?” Package her with Kelly Greer and leverage it? I am so already on it, my friend! “Bring her in a real jersey for callbacks. She’ll look better, she’ll feel better, they’ll think she is better if she’s not in that purple thing. It’s all mental.” It certainly is. That is as clear as day.
    “Dick, it was a pleasure meeting you,” I said in my I’ll be going now voice. I went between deriding this man and taking him seriously, neither of which was a good choice. “I’m going to check on—”
    “Claire!” I heard a familiar male voice booming. It was Loud Bobby swaggering onto the field as Cayenne ran to join the girls. “I see you met the guru of all things soccer.” He gestured to Dick, who punctuated his introduction with a belch. Yeah, uh, guru isn’t the first word that came to mind. “Truck broke again,” he told us both. “How fucked am I?” Quite, but it really has little to do with your truck. Bobby reached into Dick’s cooler as if he knew it would be stocked with alcohol.
    “Slip this on,” Dick said, handing Bobby a foam cover that concealed the Bud logo. Now it could pass as a Diet Coke, though neither of these tanks would ever be mistaken for weight watchers. Bobby wore a cap that read “Muskrat Love” and showed two rodents embracing as a heart floated between their heads. His hands were leathery and smelled like beef jerky, which was a disturbing thing to notice from such a distance. Dick patted his friend on the back and assured him he’d take care of it, gesturing to the Palmolive ladies. “You lemme take care of that. Make sure y’get her here on time Friday, ’kay? Only so much I can do.”
    The sky grew dark and the field would have been black if not for the temporary stadium lights that were rolled onto the field. It looked as if we were on a movie set.
    It seemed odd that instead of simply starting the tryouts a half-hour earlier and finishing at dusk, Kix would go through the trouble of lugging huge lights for the last half-hour. I decided not to suggest this to Preston, though. I’m sure that Kix was a well-managed club that had already considered these organizational issues.
    Dick continued. “So I see yer finally takin’ the kid pro.”
    Bobby laughed. “Her mom kept puttin’ me off about it, but I told her this is Cayenne’s last chance to make the switch.”
    “Um, excuse me,” I broke in. “Why is it her last chance?”
    “Too old,” they said in unison.
    “What?! She’s eleven.”
    “Yeah,” said Dick. “After this she’s too old to make the switch.”
    “She is? It’s now or never?”
    “Pretty much,” Bobby said. “Don’t sweat it, Claire. She was recruited. By Preston. She’ll make it.”
    She will?
    “Not