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    Ripe and Other Stories
    Ripe and Other Stories
    Ripe and Other Stories
    Ebook110 pages1 hour

    Ripe and Other Stories

    By Shelly Lynn Stone

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    About this ebook

    "Ripe" is a collection of character-driven stories featuring women in different stages of life, dealing with issues ranging from death to sex, babies to bonding. Simply written with relatable characters, this collection includes feminist themes and ordinary moments in the lives of women. Some of the women in the stories include a female football coach, teenaged-girls exploring sexual pleasure, a community-theater thespian into BDSM, a guilt-ridden step-mother, a lesbian dating her first wheelchair-user, a woman dealing with miscarriage, and roommates with starkly different political beliefs.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherShelly Lynn Stone
    Release dateMar 17, 2019
    ISBN9781386673521
    Ripe and Other Stories

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      Book preview

      Ripe and Other Stories - Shelly Lynn Stone

      4th and Goal

      Chrissy Pollock stood on the bench by the first row of lockers and looked out at the mass of young men in sweaty gear, helmets in their hands. They were pumped from practice: talking, laughing, damn-near celebrating. There was a buzz in the room that everybody felt. They were ready.

      Her staff’s hard work developing an aggressive offense had paid off. Colby’s arm was strong, the line was impenetrable, and their play execution was perfect. Even Jamal was consistently making field goals from 47-yards out. If today’s practice was a sign of things to come, they were going to have a kick-ass season.

      In five days she would walk on the field as head coach of Senaca State. No, it wasn’t the SEC or even Division II, but the game would be televised. The cameras would be there, for her. She was proud of herself and trying to stay humble. The hardest part was not saying fuck you to all her critics. She hoped they would all be watching: the men that had passed on hiring her, the players that had quit over the years, the father that had sat beside her in the bleachers at Montana’s first game and said, Shut up little lady and let the coach do his job. (Maybe she shouldn’t have been so vocal, but she still thought they should’ve gone for it on fourth.) She had gone home that day and during halftime of the Alabama game turned to her husband on the couch and announced, I’m going to coach Pop Warner next year.

      Eddie would have been proud.

      She raised her arm and the team quieted. Respect.

      This week isn’t going to be easy. Yes, practice was good, and we’ve improved tremendously. But don’t get too excited yet. I’m going to re-emphasize no taking to the media. No distractions. We’re going to get press we wouldn’t have if you had a different coach. They might be watching because of me, but what they will see is because of the work you put in. And you’ve worked your asses off to get here. I’m impressed, and I know we’re going to have a winning season. But we’re not there yet. Go home and get some sleep, study the plays. Then get ready for another hard practice tomorrow.

      She deepened her voice and shouted, Gladiators!

      Her team responded with a unison roar, Go Fight!

      She’d never had a losing season. Ever. It was one of the ways she’d sold them on hiring her. It’d been eight years since Senaca State had a winning season.

      Stepping down from the bench she moved into the crowd of players, high-fiving as they scattered. Big Bobby, the team’s center, squeezed his meaty arms around her, supportive as always. Years ago she had coached him in Pop Warner, and again during her last season at Brighton High. He’d even been one of the players that waited outside the principal’s office the day she asked if she could do football instead of field hockey. Mr. Gagliotti had joked, You want to do the football team? What, to relive your cheerleading days? and laughed from his diaphragm. Eventually, he had conceded when no other qualified applicants showed up, though still not granting her the raise she asked for.

      She won four championships for Brighton but the highlight was when Tilton State hired her as the assistant coach and she gave Gags her notice.

      She made her way through the players to her Offensive Coordinator. Johnny Leatherman Leslie had been with Senaca for ages. He was old as dirt, but she trusted him, and so did the team. He opened the door for her, an archaic gesture she preferred to think he did out of respect for her as head coach.

      Nice job, Johnny said.

      Thanks, she said. Any word on Marty?

      He shook his head. Nope.

      Stop by my office in an hour so we can go over plans for the week. D-boy needs to step it up.

      Got it, coach.

      Turning to head for her office, she nearly ran into Adam, the school’s Athletic Director. She’d seen him on the sidelines earlier, watching practice. An ex-basketball player, he was hard to miss. Standing beside him made her irrationally jealous; his height gave him some sort of innate power and authority. Still, despite towering over her, he wasn’t intimidating. Everything about him was soft: his flabby muscles, his voice, his attitude. After her third interview, when she was tired as heck of answering the same questions and grumpy with frustration, he’d smiled and said, We’ll let you know, and given her his signature thumb’s up. It’d been of no comfort. Soft, smiling people were hard to read.

      She liked to think her multiple calls after the interviews had an impact, but it wasn’t her persistence that wore him down. He couldn’t argue with her record. And he assured her that if she provided results, he was on board.

      He had to have been pleased with what he’d just seen at practice. Yet, he stood in front of her with his arms folded.

      We need to talk, he said. The scowl on his face worried her.

      TWO YEARS OF INTERVIEWS, 17 Athletic Director’s offices and she still had to check herself sitting in the chair. Don’t be nervous, she thought, you have the job.

      When he told her they’d received a complaint, her first thought was ESPN. Yes, she could handle the pressure of the cameras, but she didn’t want to take the focus away from the game. She HAD to win. She’d told them she’d be happy to do a brief interview afterward but would prefer to wait until the end of the season when she had a track record. And wouldn’t that make a better story?

      But it wasn’t ESPN. And it wasn’t an alumnus, which was her second thought. Hate mail came daily, but the school had never confronted her about it, probably because for all the hate mail that came in, she had received twice as much fan mail. Women were buying tickets in droves to support her, so much so that the first game was standing room only. Division III - sold out! She wasn’t going to complain about being an icon of progress, though she would’ve preferred the stands be packed with people who knew the game.

      Adam opened the file. It’s from Marty. He paused. He filed a sexual harassment complaint against you.

      Are you joking? She laughed, because, well, it was ridiculous. But she knew he wasn't joking. Adam smiled, but he didn’t joke.

      Marty, who by the way had not shown up for practice and had left her defensive backs hanging, accused her? Who the fuck files sexual harassment against a woman?

      So in addition to disrupting the flow of her practice, Marty had complained to HR that she’d walked in on him one night in the locker room and watched him get dressed. Marty, who she’d only hired on Adam’s recommendation as a way to suck up. Mid-40s, great physique, a full head of hair, she may have given him a second look or two, but harassment?

      And now Adam was spouting something about meeting with HR and a decision.

      She leaned forward on the desk. You’re fucking kidding, Adam. I stuck my head in the locker room to say I was locking up like I’ve done many times. Saw him, apologized, and left. Can’t you make this go away?

      Adam threw his hands up. It’s not up to me. We can talk about it formally on Wednesday. Take some personal time and stay off campus until we figure this out.

      Off? This is crunch-time!

      Adam nodded. But there was no way he understood. No fucking way.

      Johnny can run practice, he said.

      She forced herself to the door, legs shaking. Johnny was good, but he wasn’t her. There was a reason he’d never been more than an assistant coach.

      Don’t worry, Adam said. Nobody knows.

      Shit, she thought. My team.

      HER CONDO WAS AN END-unit, she had insisted on that to the realtor, but she almost turned around at the end of the road because she didn’t recognize Montana’s car in the driveway. He was there for the game, to support her. Despite not having seen him in months, she wasn’t excited. She couldn’t stop thinking about

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