Page 213 of Bad Prince
She leans forward now, elbows on the desk. “Burning yourself into the floor right before playoffs is not my idea of leadership, and it sure as hell isn’t my idea of smart.”
My jaw tightens. “So what, I’m getting benched for working too hard?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic.”
“You’re being exactly dramatic enough to annoy me.”
I cross my arms.
She points at me. “That. Right there. That stubborn little death stare? That’s how I know I’m right.”
I exhale through my nose and look away, to the whiteboard, to the scouting reports, to literally anything that isn’t her seeing through me with horrifying accuracy.
Then she says, quieter, “Take three days off.”
I snap my head back. “What?”
“You heard that part, too.”
“No cardio,” she says, ticking it off on her fingers. “No weights. No practice. Eat. Sleep. Go to goat yoga for all I care. I don’t want to see you around here until the sparkle is back in your eye and there’s no adhesive stuck to your skin from all the athletic tape you keep wrapping around various body parts.”
For a second I just stare at her.
Because surely she’s kidding.
Three days?
Three whole days doing nothing?
That sounds fake. Like a punishment disguised as self-care.
“That’s insane,” I say.
“What’s insane is watching you drag yourself around like a haunted Victorian child and calling it discipline.”
Despite myself, I huff out a laugh.
Coach points at me again. “See? There she is. That’s the face I’m talking about. Lately you’ve looked like somebody stole your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Not the point.”
I shake my head. “Coach, I can’t just do nothing for three days.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“You really can, because I’m telling you to.”
I open my mouth.
She raises one eyebrow.
I close it.
