The Odd Ballerz Read Online Free

and the word “twenty,” passed through her lips.
    “So here is the deal, Jones, for you to take or leave. If you don’t want to become my demonstration dummy—the person I call on to illustrate what ever drill I need illustrating—I suggest you do what we ask and stop dragging your feet.”
    “I wasn’t… intentionally dragging… my feet… or any… other part… of my… body,” she said, sarcastic in tone when she could get a word in between breaths of air and trying to stand on legs reduced to jelly. “I’m… just… not… into sports,” she said.
    “Yeah, well, that’s too bad. Your sister asked me to help you and I intend to. She thinks there is some talent somewhere within you,” he said, his hand pointing to her. “Now, I don’t have time to babysit you. So I’ll need you to try. Give me your word that you’ll try your best each and every time you step out on my field.”
    “Just your field?” Memphis asked, pulling forth her most formidable snarky smile to go along with her question. She couldn’t resist it, watching as he smiled in response, if you could call it that. Only one side of his mouth had moved out of its straight line, so maybe it wasn’t a complete smile. “No one should be this serious about sports,” she added.
    “Well, I am this serious about sports. So what are
you
going to do, Jones?”
    “I give you my word.”
    “And what words would those be?”
    “I’ll try,” she said, rolling her eyes.
    “Good. We are running forties next,” he said, pointing toward the end zone again, where the boys were lined up in three rows. The three coaches were standing near the forty-yard line, with what must be stopwatches in their hand, waiting for them. Z waited until her eyes met his again.
    She twisted her lips. Bit the bottom one, to hold in the smart remarks she wanted to make. He was not going to get the best of her.
    “Cool,” she said and smiled, feeling anything but.
    “Yep,” he said before he walked away and over to the front of the line, while she made her way to the end of one.

TWO
    M emphis watched the goings on from the last place in line number three, as Coach Z, the ready-set-go guy, blew his whistle and the first boys from each of the three lines took off, running as fast as they could toward the coaches at the finish line, who stood ready to mark their times.
    “Hi, I’m Gabriel, but you can call me Gabe. All my friends do,” the kid beside her said, the last of his line to go, interrupting Memphis’s study of Coach Z. Gabe stood to her right, in line number two. He was a tall kid, one of the tallest ones out here, matching up to her five-ten height. The boys’ heights were all over the place but most of them came to about her chest, hadn’t gone through puberty yet. Sandy would have been a better name for Gabe, with his short blond buzzcut and his sun-touched skin.
    “Memphis,” she said.
    “Is this your first time playing football?”
    “Yes. You?”
    “Yep, I play baseball mostly. My dad thinks it’s good idea to cross-train.”
    “Right,” Memphis said. Whatever that meant. She smiled. “Well, nice to meet you, Gabe.”
    “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Memphis,” Gabe said, extending his fist out to her.
    “It’s just Memphis,” she said, touching her fist to his.
    Ten minutes later she’d moved up to the front of her line, with Gabe standing to her right in line two and a shorter African American kid to Gabe’s right, the last of line number one. They were not in competition with each other, only with themselves and the clock, as she’d learned from Coach Z and his instructions before this running deal started.
    She took a deep breath, to calm herself, and looked up to find his gaze turned in her direction.
    “Relax and run as fast as you can,” Coach Z said.
    No pressure there, Memphis thought, staring back at him.
    “Yes, sir,” Gabe said.
    “Yes, sir,” the African-American kid in line one said.
    “Yes, sir,” she said.