Bright Hopes. Pat Warren

the retired coach’s, but she could see by his stormy expression that he got the message.

      Becoming aware that the boys, waiting for the next call, were moving closer and enjoying their heated exchange, Pam turned to them. “Take a water break, guys,” she yelled out.

      As the players strolled off the field, Patrick got hold of his temper. “Listen, there’s no guarantee your new ways will work when these guys face other, more experienced teams, so don’t be so damn cocky. And don’t you be undermining my methods to them. I coach quite a few of the boys in basketball, and I don’t want you messing up their thinking.”

      “I haven’t said one word against you to those boys. Which is more than I can say about you and the way you’ve just happened to run into several of them and pump them for information.”

      Patrick felt his face flush and could have cheerfully popped the kid who’d blabbed to her. “I’ve never talked detrimentally about you.”

      Pam picked up her clipboard. “Maybe not, but you haven’t exactly spoken up on my behalf, either. Listen, we’re supposed to be on the same side, working for the same school. You could have encouraged them to give me a chance, to try things my way. But you chose not to. All right. I’ll win them over without you. It’s just a damn shame your ego’s so monumentally big you can’t accept that there are several ways to build a winning team and that yours might not be the only way.”

      Turning on her heel, she started across the field.

      “Wait a minute,” Patrick called after her. “I want to talk to you.”

      “Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” Pam shouted over her shoulder as she walked toward the drinking fountain. What she really would have liked was to pour a pitcher of cold water over the arrogant Patrick Kelsey’s head.