Mrs. Wilson rose to her feet, screaming with excitement as her daughter Bella dribbled the ball through the defense. It was her final year of high school, her final soccer game, on her 18th birthday no less, with less than a minute to go, and the team was tied.
She faked to the left and played the ball to the right, tripping up the final defender. Just her and the keeper. Bella went for a shot, pulled back at the last second, the keeper dove onto the ground, the goal was empty, defenseless.
With a confidence and precision that Mrs. Wilson never thought her capable of, Bella hit the ball into the back of the net. The crowd erupted. Mrs. Wilson’s chest burned with pride for her little girl. Quickly her gaze went to the coach, celebrating with the team on the sideline as the final whistle blew.
Coach D was a godsend. It was his first year as head coach, but you wouldn’t know it to watch him. Not only was he confident and commanding with the team, he was effective. All of the girls loved him (as did all of the team moms), and Bella, who had been resigned to being a benchwarmer every other season, blossomed under his guidance. She didn’t even seem like the same girl anymore. The awkward shy little girl had become a confident, athletic young woman.