The Odd Ballerz Read Online Free Page B

camp administrator, which is how she explained his presence near her, watching her at what felt like, every turn.
    She decided ignoring him was her best option, although she wasn’t really successful at pulling that off. She felt an internal pull with this one, unexplainable, and a new experience for her. She turned her attention to the next drill, which consisted of running through what looked like a portable ladder, the kind you can throw out the window in case of a fire and you needed an escape, except for practice today, it lay neatly on the ground. It was made from plastic in the cheery colors of red and yellow. She was to run through the slats without looking at her feet, knees up, moving as fast as they could, which wouldn’t be fast for her.
    “Legs up, Jones,” Coach Z said, walking alongside her as she started into the drill.
    “They are up,” she said, trying to talk and breathe. She was doing well too, almost done, when her left foot caught the last rung of the ladder and once again, the ground rose up to meet her. Crap, she thought, her arms breaking her fall this time at least, not like earlier when she squarely planted her face into the track.
    She waited for laughter. There was none, nothing beyond the grunts and moans, the normal bodily exertions the boys made, performing the same drills as she. She looked over and yes, he was staring at her. His face was inscrutable, nothing new there. He rotated through a total of three expressions as far as she could see. There was the full-out smile, the-I-don’t-play, I-mean-business expression, and his nothing-to-see-here, blank one.
    “Legs up, Jones,” he said after she’d picked herself up from the ground.
    “They were up.”
    “Apparently not up enough,” he said before he walked away. She rolled her eyes and headed to the next device of athletic torture: running through tires, which was another type of agility. She learned that fun fact from Coach Damian, or Coach D for short, which was what he’d said to call him. He had been assigned the tire and ladder stations. Coach D, cute, she thought, the only one that appeared to be the same age as Z. Coach Beryl was the chunky and middle-aged one, and Coach Harris and Coach Wylie were the old men. She managed to stay on her feet and complete the tire drill.
    # # #
    Next up was station three, the cone drill, and it fell under the purview of Coach Harris. Memphis stood in front alongside Gabe and the other boys, listening as he explained what was required of them.
    “This is one of the drills athletes are required to perform at the combine. The forty-yard dash was the first one. What do you think they measure?” Coach Harris asked.
    Gabe raised his hand and Coach Harris pointed to him for the answer.
    “Speed and quickness,” Gabe said.
    “That’s correct. Most of what you will do in football requires running short distances, especially for the linemen and defenders. Most players aren’t expected to run the length of the field. So that means we need to see how well you move in short distances, in ten yards or so.
    “The three cone drill measures your ability to run, to stop, and to turn on a dime. For those of you new to the game, that means fast. So to complete this drill, you’ll need to run as fast as you can to the first cone, touch it, and then run back to the start. It’s back to the first cone, but this time you don’t touch it, you run past it to the second cone, don’t touch that one either, run around it instead, and then head back to the first cone, running past it again, for a full-out sprint back to the start. Got it?” he asked.
    Ah… not really, Memphis thought. “What’s a combine?” she asked.
    “It’s not important, Jones. Do you understand the drill?”
    “I think so,” she said.
    “Get to the back of the line. You can watch the others go first,” he said, his words softened by the wink he gave her.
    To the back of the line she went, watching, and what she wouldn’t