“Shuttle suicides for three hours, Coach,” Austin mumbled. He had to wear contacts for soccer, which he hated. Even if he’d been wearing glasses, however, he wouldn’t have been able to meet my eyes.

While he was coaching, my dad was Thanos-level no-nonsense. Even with the glaring knee brace over his track pants.

“Didn’t catch that,” Coach Dad shouted.

“Shuttles, Coach!” Austin shouted. “For three hours!”

Shuttles were an exercise that should really be called “run like you stole something and don’t throw up.” Three hours of it was really three hours of nonstop sprinting. It was the kind of drill that separates the men from the boys. Ten years ago, one of my dad’s players had rolled his ankle during the shuttles. My dad made him finish the practice, and he made him do jumping jacks after every set to strengthen his bones.

“Where were you, Maguire?” Coach Dad continued to publicly stone me in front of team, as he would’ve for any of us. “While the rest of these ladies were finishing their first week of grueling hell? What were you doing?”

“Detention.” At that point in time, I didn’t really care that the man could have legitimately eaten me for breakfast and washed me down with a swig of unicorn blood. Sometimes he went too far to seem like a tough guy.

“And is that going to happen again?”

“Are you going to call us girls again?”

I was met with silent stillness. My teammates studied the soccer balls at their feet, while buses blew by, taking the more fortunate students home.

Not yet used to our Shakespearean soccer saga, the varsity freshmen huddled closer to Carter, who dug his cleats into the grass, soaking in the sun and waiting for the storm to pass.

One . . . two . . . I counted in my head the time it would take for my dad to answer.

“Gentlemen.” He patted his clipboard. “Good news. Practice today is optional, apart from Maguire, who is going to do his punishment sprints right now.”

Was he kidding? I hadn’t even given him that much backtalk.

“Anyone else is welcome to join him, though I wouldn’t recommend it. Tomorrow we’re scrimmaging the girls’ team, and it would be a shame to lose as badly as we did last year.” At that, he turned on his heel like a middle school drama queen and headed to open the locker rooms.

So, not kidding.

Thanks a whole dang lot, Dad.

Determined to complete the workout, I jogged to the other side of the field. The soccer field was next to the baseball field that was next to the high school, and it comprised part of the intercourse’s facilities. The football team practiced a few fields away, as did the girls’ team and the field hockey team. Lots of witnesses if I were to fall over, puke, and die.

“Yo.” Austin hustled to catch up. I’d made it to the midfield line. “Thought you could use some company.” He kicked the side of my cleat. “I dunno why you don’t quit and stick it to him.”