Bad Fauxmance

Chapter 1

Iris

The roar of the crowd is nerve-wracking, I’ll give the girls that.

So far the game has gone in our favor. We are up by three points, and it doesn’t seem like the boys will give up any ground. Not if they can help it, anyway.

They’re all huddled together. It’s almost time for their routine.

“Alright, ladies,” I say, lifting my voice just enough to get over the chatter surrounding us. They stop and look over. “It’s time to go out on that field and show them how much fun you’re having. Show them all the hard work and dedication that you’ve all put into this routine.”

I am answered with a bunch of nervous laughter. A couple of the girls run their hands through their hair or fiddle with the hems of their skirts. Not exactly the reaction that I was looking for.

“I mean it. You are all just as important as the boys playing. The audience came to see you, too.”

That gets another round of laughs, a little less nervous. One of the girls is still looking anywhere but at me. She is the newest member of the squad, always standing on the fringe.

“Especially you, Penny. You’re going to rock tonight.”

“What makes you so sure, Coach?” Penny asks. Everything about her is skeptical.

“Because the first dance is always the worst. We’ve all been there.” I tell her. I smile and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “But you just need to go out there and dance. I know you love it. I’ve seen your passion in practice. Just go out there and dance like your lives depend on it.”

That seems to have put the wind back in their sails. The girls start to cheer each other up. Hopefully it doesn’t take too much longer. It is almost time for their set. I know how hard they worked on it, and all I want is for them to succeed.

I am so proud of these girls. All of them. Even the ones that aren’t paying attention to anything except for the boys on the other side of the field. I understand that feeling, too.

Teenagers these days tend to forget that the adults in their lives used to be their age. I used to stand exactly where they are, with those first performance jitters. The anxious energy of messing up in front of everyone in town. The fear of screwing up that chance at a scholarship.

I understand that they want to look good in front of their crushes. To be able to walk across the field at the end and flirt shamelessly with the boys. Delivering a stellar performance will certainly give them an extra boost of confidence.

I know because I was no different at their age. I danced my way from high school all the way to Penn State. I would have climbed the human pyramid all the way to the NFL, if a bad backflip hadn’t landed me in the hospital. Three rounds of reconstructive surgery later, now my knee only hurts when it rains.

I flirted with all the guys, too. It just came with the territory.

“Alright, ladies. Eyes forward,” I call out to them, trying to get their attention.

Though they are not the only ones with wandering eyes.

I catch sight of him across the field, clipboard in his hands as he looks over his notes. I wrinkle my nose. Some might say that it’s fate. I think it is the exact opposite. James Finch, the current coach of the football team.

A lot of people found it funny that the two of us ended up teaching and coaching at our old high school. He was a linebacker when we were in school. He still fills his uniform out just as well as he did back then, too. Though we never got along, despite what everyone else thought.

I couldn’t stand him. He was always too cocky and sure of himself. He thought that his skill was going to take him places. Maybe it had, or maybe he peaked in high school. We were never friends. James Finch was a constant thorn in my side.

But damn. Those shorts are tight. They do wonders for his ass and those legs. He clearly has not lost any of his form. I wonder what his routine is to keep in shape. I bet he runs in the mornings. He would be the type to get up early and go for a run.

“Coach? Coach?” one of the girls calls out.

I blink and look over to see sixteen pairs of eyes staring intently at me.

“Yes?” I ask. I just have to act like nothing happened. I did not get caught by my girls staring at the football coach. Though the various degrees of disbelief on their faces makes it hard to convince any of us.

“We were calling you for like two minutes,” Penny says. I am sure that is not the case.

“Just making sure your head was in the game,” one teases.

“Yeah, you were starting to drool,” another says, creating a round of giggles from the rest of the girls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell them. Of course, they all share a knowing smile. I just want to pretend that it never happened. I do not need them gossiping about me staring at James from across the field. I especially do not need that gossip getting back to him.

My face is heating up. I can not tell if it is more from embarrassment or irritation at this point. It might just be a healthy mix of both.

“Alright, that’s enough.” I snap. “We’re going to run through the routine once more.”

There is a round of complaints from the girls. I put my hands on my hips and stare them down.

“Do it!”

Slowly, with deep sighs, they gather their poms and get into formation. I know that they can do it flawlessly, probably even in their sleep by now. They need the distraction from their nerves. To see that they can do this with people watching.

I need the distraction from the way James looks in those shorts. That should be illegal.