so I’ll return the favor. Although he’s only thirty-four, Patrick’s from the old school. He’s not really a chauvinist—after all, he works for a woman and he’s always shown me a great deal of respect. Also, his mother manages two jobs and he adores her. Maybe he’s in the habit of protecting women because he has three younger sisters. At any rate, Patrick doesn’t feel women belong in football.”
That sounded pretty chauvinistic despite Miss Mackie’s explanation, Pam thought. “Is he going to be interfering with my coaching?” she asked quietly. Better to find out now than later.
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you giving me carte blanche, the authority to coach this team my way then?”
The wording was a little strong for her liking, but the principal had to let Pam know she was behind her. “Yes, I am. For one trial season.”
“I understand.”
Miss Mackie’s fingers drummed on the desk top. “Patrick has been told to give you every assistance. He may try to push his ideas on you, as he’s quite opinionated when it comes to sports. And he used to assist Coach McCormick. But you needn’t listen to him. The methods Dale and Patrick used obviously haven’t worked in recent years. I’m anxious to see what you can do. Patrick will back off, you’ll see.”
Pam seriously doubted that. In her mind’s eye, she pictured those intense blue eyes, the solid bulk of his shoulders, the confident stance. Back off? Not Patrick Kelsey. But despite his formidable good looks and his past football glory, he would soon learn that Pam Casals was no pushover.
“I’m sure we’ll manage to keep from coming to blows.” With a smile, she stood. “Thank you, Miss Mackie, for your time. And your confidence.”
“You’re very welcome. I look forward to seeing more of you.”
Leaving the principal’s office, Pam walked down the main-floor corridor, glancing into open classrooms. Curiosity leading the way, she made her way around back to the gymnasium and paused to look it over. Then she moved toward the locker rooms and sports office.
The locker rooms, one for boys and the other smaller one for girls, looked the same as they did in most schools, as did the connecting showers. From there, she walked up a ramp to the football field. It was well maintained, with lights for night games and a fairly new digital scoreboard. The extensive wooden bleachers on both sides were freshly painted, and there was an enclosed announcer’s box. Impressive, Pam thought, remembering she’d been told the Tyler Booster Club actively sponsored improvements.
Retracing her steps, she again passed the gymnasium with its polished floor and headed down a hallway. At the first door, she looked up and read the nameplate. Coach Kelsey. Above it was an empty slot where Coach McCormick’s name had evidently been and where her nameplate would likely go. So she was to share an office with Patrick. Interesting.
She tried the knob but found it locked. Not unusual, since there were probably files inside and possibly equipment. She could go back to Miss Mackie and ask for a key, but she decided to wait.
Staring at the door, she wondered if Coach Kelsey would allow her nameplate to be put into the top slot. With a smile she turned. She would bet her silver medal he wouldn’t.
* * *
PAM STOOD at the far end of the bleachers, watching the football players arrive for the first day of practice. She wore running shoes and gray sweats, and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. Holding her clipboard, she studied the boys, trying to match them to the players in the game videos she’d been scrutinizing for days now. These were the young men who’d successfully tried out in the spring. Most of them had learned the ropes on the junior varsity team.
She’d gotten a key to the office from Miss Mackie and pored over their scholastic records as well. Some were impressive; others were not. She’d found the films neatly boxed and carefully labeled and taken them home to view, leaving Patrick Kelsey a note explaining their absence. She had yet to run into the man himself again.
It was a lovely day, a sunshiny August afternoon, and she was anxious to get started. Around her neck, she wore a yellow whistle dangling from a chain. Putting it to her lips, she gave three long blasts and motioned the boys over.
“Take a seat on the bleachers, fellas,” she invited as they straggled over. Most wore wary expressions and she couldn’t blame them. The unknown always made a person hesitant.
The Wednesday edition of the Tyler Citizen had featured a story about her as the newest addition to the high school staff. They’d run her picture, played up her Olympic achievements and done a commendable job in extolling her coaching experience. The boys and their parents had likely read the article. By the looks on their faces, none of it had removed their skepticism as to her ability to coach them.
Uphill all the way, Pam thought with a familiar tug. When had anything ever come easily to her? Dad had always told her that victories hard won were the sweetest. She believed her father.
Moving to stand in front of the seated group, she looked up at them and smiled. “I’m Pam Casals, your new football coach. I...”
Whistles, nervous giggles and veiled comments followed the announcement as the boys elbowed one another, laughed and stared. Pam patiently waited for them to resettle.
In the back, a heavyset boy wearing a shirt with Italian Stallion emblazoned across the chest stood to be heard. “Hey, you’re a girl!” More guffaws and laughter.
Shifting her feet, Pam smiled indulgently. “Thank you for noticing. Now, I’d like you to forget that I am.”
That announcement was greeted with whoops and hollers and more rib-tickling laughter. Pam banked her annoyance, trying to remember that these were young boys ranging from fifteen to nearly eighteen, feeling the need to assert their masculinity. And feeling safe within their familiar group. But enough was enough.
“Let me ask you a question. Are you proud of the Titans’ record last year, winding up sixth in an eight-team league?” She saw a few faces lose their grins, others look a bit chagrined. “Would you like to play on a winning team, to walk proud, to be the best there is? Would you like to be Class A champions?”
There was a hushed silence for a moment, then a couple of them shouted out.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“You bet.”
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Because I want to work with champions.” More cheers and punches of agreement. “I’ve spent a lot of hours lately studying your game films from last year. And I want to tell you all something.” She paused, waiting until she was certain she had their complete attention. “I think you guys have the potential to beat any team in the league.”
The grins were wide now, the affirmative nods and comments that followed rousing. They were beginning to picture themselves as champions, Pam noted with satisfaction. The first step.
When they quieted, she continued. “We’re going to learn three things before our first game. One is conditioning. You have to get in shape and stay in shape. Two, we’re going to learn to play football.”
A blond boy shouted out, “We already know how to play football.”
“Perhaps
