Coach Z

By Q. Kelly

Melissa MacKenzie, a basketball star in high school, never wanted to play college ball. The daughter of a legendary women’s coach, she has played since she was in diapers. Basketball was always a chore for Melissa, and she never developed the passion and skills necessary to garner much Division I attention. She hoped that by attending college across the country, she could get a break from basketball and carve out her own place in the world.

Parental interference conspired, and Melissa ended up playing for the Richmond College Ravens, riding the bench for four years.

As Melissa’s last NCAA tournament approaches, she wonders if she wasted the past few years by not giving her all. However, a series of unfortunate events means that Melissa has no more time to dwell on these woes—because she’s being pressed into service. Now she’s a starter, and all eyes are on her and the Ravens’ head coach, Andi Zappa.

Andi is fighting her own demons, and Richmond College is letting her go after the season ends. The two women work together to ensure that the Ravens don’t embarrass themselves too much on the national stage, and they find themselves playing with matters of the heart as well as matters of basketball as the national championship looms.

Will these human frailties doom them or make them stronger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Q. Kelly
• Release date: Aug 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463532331

Q. Kelly

I live in Washington state, where I am a writer and an editor. I also have a master's degree in deaf education. In my free time, I hike and savor frappuccinos.Fact One: I like corny jokes. If you have any good ones, send them my way!Fact Two: My favorite color is purple, but my writing is gray. Life is not black and white. I often write about issues and characters where there is no "right" answer.Fact Three: I'm weird. I like being weird.Email me at [e-mail]. I'd love to hear from you.Check out my blogs at qkelly.wordpress.com and qkelly.blogspot.com.

Book preview

COACH Z

Q. Kelly

© 2018 Smashwords Edition

Ride the Rainbow Books

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author.

Richmond College is fictional.

Coach Z by Q. Kelly © 2018

Email Q. Kelly

[e-mail]

Table of Contents

Blurb for Coach Z

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Other Works by Q. Kelly

Chapter One of Reality Lesbian

Coach Z

Melissa MacKenzie, a basketball star in high school, never wanted to play college ball. The daughter of a legendary women’s coach, she has played since she was in diapers. Basketball was always a chore for Melissa, and she never developed the passion and skills necessary to garner much Division I attention. She hoped that by attending college across the country, she could get a break from basketball and carve out her own place in the world.

Parental interference conspired, and Melissa ended up playing for the Richmond College Ravens, riding the bench for four years.

As Melissa’s last NCAA tournament approaches, she wonders if she wasted the past few years by not giving her all. However, a series of unfortunate events means that Melissa has no more time to dwell on these woes—because she’s being pressed into service. Now she’s a starter, and all eyes are on her and the Ravens’ head coach, Andi Zappa.

Andi is fighting her own demons, and Richmond College is letting her go after the season ends. The two women work together to ensure that the Ravens don’t embarrass themselves too much on the national stage, and they find themselves playing with matters of the heart as well as matters of basketball as the national championship looms.

Will these human frailties doom them or make them stronger?

Chapter One

Melissa MacKenzie paused outside Coach Z’s open office door and peeked inside. Practice had ended forty-five minutes ago, but the scent of sweaty female bodies lingered in the locker room area.

Coach Z, intent as always, typed on her laptop. Melissa studied her profile, the shoulder-length curly dark hair, the strong jaw, her olive-colored skin, the hands typing determinedly. Whip whap whip whap went resolute fingers.

Coach Z glanced up, caught Melissa staring and frowned. Yeah? The question came out like the annoyed kick a man gives a small dog.

Sorry, Melissa stammered. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

No problem, Coach Z said. What is it?

Can I come in?

Sure. Coach Z closed the laptop. Sit.

Melissa sat. Big weekend coming up, she tried.

Noncommittal gray eyes looked back at her. Coach Z was a well-compensated coach, a woman whose job was to lead and to encourage. Melissa was her player, a college student to mold and mentor, but one who usually did the minimum that the team required to get by. Certainly she had never stopped by Coach Z’s office to talk strategy or to discuss how she could improve herself.

What is it, Melissa? Coach Z asked gently but with the undertone of impatience. Monique was the one who got the grins and the excited exclamations of approval. Why wouldn’t she, at 20.4 points per game? Second in the league.

Melissa endeavored a smile. I wanted to say… She swallowed. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done. And also if you wanted to play me more, I could, uh, I could…

Mild curiosity along with some irritation touched Coach Z’s expression. She said nothing.

Melissa willed her heart to steady. May I…can I…just one second, please. She dug through her backpack and found the DVD she’d spent hours putting together the night before.

Here, she said, sliding the DVD to Coach Z. Since I don’t play enough for meaningful stats, I compiled a DVD. These are clips from practices and games this year. Mostly practices, and there’s some other stuff too.

I don’t understand.

Melissa swallowed. I’m better than you think, she whispered. "This year, I’ve worked hard to get into great shape, and I finally feel capable. I feel like I belong. I do belong, and I want to be here."

Oh, Coach Z said with an expression impossible to decipher. Okay.

Melissa’s heart sank. Coach Z neither liked nor disliked her. She just didn’t care. Now Melissa’s time had run out. Only the NCAA tournament remained, and she would ride the bench, graduate and never earn Coach Z’s respect. Respect she never realized she wanted until this season.

I know we leave tomorrow for the NCAAs, Melissa said to fill the silence. I don’t expect you to change anything, but I did need to give you the DVD.

Melissa had gone to assistant coach Diana Minshall a couple of months ago. Going directly to Coach Z was too intimidating unless absolutely necessary. I’ve gotten myself together, Melissa said. I’m doing great. I’m better than I ever was. Maybe I could play more.

Coach Minshall winced. Well…Coach Z’s focus isn’t on you.

I know. I just meant that I’m passionate about our team now. This year, I’m the first player to arrive and the last to leave. I score more than Halley does in practice, and I’m up against the starters.

This is not a productive line of discussion, Coach Minshall said. We appreciate your hard work, but our team is where it needs to be.

Now, Coach Z leaned forward and offered a tight-lipped smile. Thank you for coming in. Have a good day.

Thanks. You too, Melissa muttered. She rose from the chair, and all five feet eleven inches of her wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

Coach Z sighed. Wait.

Melissa’s stomach fluttered. Yes?

See you tomorrow, Melissa. Rest up.

**

Melissa felt like puking before every game. It started in high school when she was a star. It continued through college even though there was little chance she would see playing time. After all, she never knew when injuries or foul trouble would press her into service. Luckily for Melissa, they never did.

The nausea grew worse come NCAA tourney time, which explained why she hovered over a toilet in the Ravens’ Greensboro Coliseum locker room. The fact that this could be her last college game hit Melissa hard. In five minutes, she would warm up for possibly the final time.

But she didn’t throw up. She rarely did.

**

Pregame pep talk. Ladies, intoned the gravelly voice of assistant coach Kevin Key, I don’t have to tell you what happened just now out there on the court. If not for a miracle three-pointer, Western Kentucky would’ve beaten Texas. Don’t take Wichita State lightly. Play one hundred percent. Our opponent today is not Connecticut. Who are we playing?

Wichita State!

Coach Key nodded, and Melissa glanced at the faces around her. Anything to help tune out the coach’s words—he was terrible for her stomach. He loved gloom and doom, although he looked anything but morose.

Thirty-five years old and movie-star handsome, he had replaced the lumpy and bumpy Coach Patelli two years ago, probably as a recruiting tool rather than a true coaching asset. What heterosexual young woman wouldn’t like to look at that face every day? For example, take the rapt, intense expressions of Carrie, Neisha and Juana.

Melissa found Halley Rigbald, the junior who started in her position, and let her gaze linger. In some ways, Halley resembled an actual raven in that she had dark hair, piercing dark eyes, a beaky nose and, often, an inscrutable expression.

Coach Key quoted a few lines from Edgar Allan Poe:

The bells! — ah, the bells!

The little silver bells!

How fairy-like a melody there floats

From their throats. —

That’s basketball, Coach Key said knowingly. It’s inside each of you, burning inside each of your throats. It’s life. Play hard tonight, ladies. Keep your focus.

Halley frowned as she did with nearly all of Coach Key’s illogical Poe leaps. She tightened her ponytail, and Melissa moved on before Halley caught her watching.

Monique’s indifferent face. The shooting guard and team captain was gay like Melissa but had many more sexual conquests due to the perfect combination of confidence, muscle and swagger. Now, she straightened. Her lips curved into a smile, meaning Coach Z was getting ready to speak. It wasn’t that Monique had a crush on Coach Z, although she might. Coach Z simply didn’t say much before games. She was quick to let her team loose so the players could work out the kinks in their bodies and minds, which restless Monique needed.

Ladies, Coach Z said, and Melissa returned her gaze to the center of the locker room. We’re here. We’re in the big ring. Coach Z grinned. So let’s give our fans a show! Get out there!

Yeah! Monique cried. Go, Ravens!

**

The starting lineups. Only on Senior Day had Melissa been in one—a pity start. Now she stood with the other backups, all outfitted in their black and blue warmups.

For the number-four seed Richmond College Ravens, at guard from Staunton, Virginia, number 11, Halley Rigbald! the announcer boomed.

Halley jumped up to receive her high fives.

For the number-twelve seed Wichita State Shockers, at guard from Derby, Kansas, number 21, Phoebe Carter!

Phoebe and Halley shook hands at midcourt, and Melissa had to endure Monique at shooting guard, senior Carrie Phillips at small forward, sophomore Robyn Jefferson at power forward and freshman Neisha Nicole at center.

Then there was the announcement of the coaches. Coach Z, blind to the changes Melissa had made. Blind to Melissa’s worth.

She felt like Jell-O. She had been so stupid these past four years.

**

Richmond scored first and never looked back. The Ravens led 27-19 at halftime, and the game served as an exhibition for why Monique would do well in the WNBA. She sliced through the air for layup after layup, no one except Superwoman her equal.

Halley, playing Melissa’s position, was fine. Adequate. There wasn’t much difference between her and sophomore Ashley Yu, the main backup for the starting guards. After Ashley was freshman guard Kristy Elliott, and then there was Melissa.

Right after the start of the fourth quarter, Halley hit a basket, her third of the night, to extend Richmond’s lead to twenty points.

If the score kept up like this, Melissa might go in at the end. Probably not but maybe. It would be clean-up duty, but she would try her best.

Her Senior Day start had ended nearly before it began. Richmond went up against North Carolina, then ranked number three in the country. Coach Z wouldn’t want to leave Melissa on the court any longer than she had to, and she didn’t. Four minutes and thirteen seconds—that’s how long Melissa lasted. Still, she scored one beautiful, brilliant three-pointer.

**

Melissa was bunking with fellow backup guards Ashley and Kristy in Room 205 of the Players Inn near the coliseum.

I call shotgun! Kristy said back in Richmond when the room assignments were announced. In her parlance, it meant having a bed to herself.

The game versus Wichita State hadn’t started until six-twenty, and with showers, physical therapy, a dinner-ish snack and other odds and ends, the team returned to the hotel past eleven o’clock.

Remember, lights out by midnight, assistant coach Diana Minshall warned when she stopped by.

After Diana left, Kristy smacked Ashley on the back. Hey, you played awesome.

Ashley poked her nose out of the book she read and beamed. Thanks. So did you.

With ten seconds to go in the game, Kristy executed a layup—nothing but net—and made the follow-up free throw. The Richmond backups, Melissa not included, scored twelve points in that last minute against the Shockers starters.

Coach Z looked hot today, Kristy enthused. Oh my God, so totally hot! I want to kiss the feet of whomever chooses her outfits.

Ashley raised an eyebrow.

Kristy shivered. Which players do you think she’s done it with?

You mean Coach Z? Ashley asked.

Who else?

You could have meant the person who chooses her outfits. Your pronoun—

Kristy groaned. Come on.

Ashley chuckled. Okay, okay. I doubt Coach Z would sleep with a player.

Whatevs, Kristy countered. She’s a drunk.

No, Ashley said. She—

In practice last week, Kristy interrupted, she came up to me to explain something about Play Three, and her breath could’ve killed a zombie. Whew!

Yeah, Melissa had to admit that Coach Z had drinking issues, and it was happening more and more. Slurring. Swaying. Little things here and there turning into slightly bigger things.

Ashley shrugged. Who cares if she takes a swig of vodka once in a while before practice? Her results speak for themselves.

I’m just saying! Kristy whined. She drinks like that, so what makes you think she’s managed to be head coach for ten years without nailing one of us gorgeous young ladies? Kristy thrust her chest forward and grabbed her breasts. How do you say no to tits like these?

Ah, the joys of rooming with a freshman.

Oh! Kristy said. I read online that she and Dakota Morris shagged all four years. Dakota Morris, probably Richmond’s most famous player and one of the most recognizable WBNA stars, had graduated a year before Melissa arrived.

Stop, Ashley said irritably. She stuck her nose back in her book, and Melissa headed to the bathroom to change into pajamas.

**

Melissa was used to sleeping with someone on road trips, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. Ashley took up lots of space and defined bed hog.

She wasn’t Melissa’s main problem at the moment, though. An overwhelming sense of fear that Melissa had wasted four years of her life assailed her.

She never meant to play for the Richmond Ravens. Basketball had been part of her life since she could remember, and she looked forward to a break at Richmond College. She hadn’t even wanted to play in high school, but her mother gave her that look and said, Nonsense, Melissa Dawn MacKenzie. You’re playing.

Melissa suspected that her father had been relieved when she decided to go to Richmond

Reviews for Coach Z

[Nathalie Echevers · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I’m not a sports fan but I kind of enjoyed reading this book, I’m so looking forward for book 2