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Can it get any hotter? Yet another bead of sweat dropped from my forehead as I leaned over, adjusting the cone’s position a bit to the left. I looked over the practice field, the cones neatly arranged in six rows, the portable goals facing just right. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I’d managed to make it presentable for the time being. Three sides of the park’s field were lined with large trees, mostly pin oaks with the occasional walnut tree mixed in, a hold over from the days the land was used as a farm. The fourth side bordered the parking lot, well more of a graveled area than a real lot. The trees were healthy and green, full of life in the first few days of summer.

The heatwave started on the 25th of June, just in time for the first round of practices in the local soccer camp. I volunteered as a coach, mainly due to a knee injury that kept me from playing. I had a decent run through both high school and college, but a co-worker being careless around a ladder I was on at the time ended any possibilities of a career or even much field time as a player. The doctors had managed to patch things up enough for me to move around fine, but anything with too much of an impact on my knees would leave me sore for hours afterwards. No jogging, no running, but I could still be active in in the game I loved as a coach, given a moderate dose of ibuprofen afterwards.

There wasn’t much in Edison County, the closest city of any size was about an hour’s drive north, but we had our farms and a tight knit community that supported each other. As a result, I already knew most of the kids and parents that would be coming for the first day. Right on schedule, I saw a familiar faded blue minivan pull up. Mrs Harrison still insisted on driving herself and her kids, she was somewhat behind the times in adopting the newer self-driving cars but her older Chrysler Pacifica was still sound. Besides, as she had told me more than once, there aren’t that many models with the kind of cargo space she needed, and those that were sold were well beyond her family’s price range. My own pickup was a rather aged specimen in its own right.

Four kids burst from the vehicle, a tide of unrestrained energy and raw excitement. Her oldest son had played though the entire age range, and the four younger siblings wanted nothing more than to outdo what their older brother had accomplished. At eight to twelve, the kids were old enough that teaching them the fundamentals wasn’t wasted, and it was still before the terrible teens set in. At twenty eight, I was about the same age as some of the younger parents and old enough most of the kids called me Mr Kerrington upon first meeting me, but I quickly became Coach if they enjoyed themselves and stayed with the program.

The second year after my injury, I returned back to Edison. I applied for a job with the school system working IT needs, but the truth was that I fixed pretty much anything I was capable of. Between what the company paid me to not sue them (I hadn’t planned on doing so anyway) and my small salary with the schools, I had plenty enough to live on. Many of the programs for youth were run as an extension of the schools, and that’s how I was drafted on as a coach for the soccer camp.

There were a few names on my list I hadn’t seen before, but I did recognize most of the family names. The Halls owned a large dairy farm about twenty minutes out of town, Josh was the name of their son that was finally old enough to play. The Harrisons had told me he’d be arriving, and like many of the kids, he needed to burn off energy now that the confines of school were done for the summer.

There were twelve kids in total this year, two less than last year, but seeing as we just lost four players due to moving up an age bracket, I wasn’t too upset. By the time practice was about to start, my neat rows of cones had been knocked around by random soccer balls and hastily placed back in position with all the care a kid only weeks out of school could muster. I could readjust them later. I looked back at my list, eleven of the twelve kids had shown up. The missing child was one Jenna McAllister, and since I didn’t know the name, I assumed she’d be a new arrival in town.

Several families had moved in recently, the result of a factory getting a second lease on life. A company had bought out the old BCM site with promises of retooling it and making air conditioners again. It had been closed long enough that the small town’s population had declined significantly. Apart from farming, there wasn’t much in the way of employment opportunities and that forced many of the younger people to move. Even with the eventual reopening, there was stiff competition for any jobs there. The workforce needed to run the place when it came online would be reduced from what BCM employed during its heyday, mostly due to a more automated assembly line. Right now, it was all temporary workers doing the renovations and maybe a few full time staff working with the systems.

“Kate, do me a favor and round up the younger kids.” A quick nod and off she went. I depended on the older children for shepherding duties, my knee wouldn’t let me keep up with the kids, even if I had their level of energy. Kate Harrison was a bright kid at eleven years of age, focused and helpful. “Everyone who can hear me, both hands up.” It was a bit of a game to keep things organized, the kids that heard would put their hands up. It was a fairly effective visual cue to let anyone who wasn’t paying attention see that they should be. “Alright, I see a few who don’t know this game. When I’m talking, hands up until I put mine down, OK?”

A chorus of “Yes, Mr Kerrington” was what I got in return, along with several new hands raised up and some giggles from the older children.

I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation. “First rule is always play the hand game. Second rule is while we’re here I’m Coach, alright? Save the ‘Mr Kerrington’ for when school’s in.”

Several more giggles happened with a nearly unanimous “Yes Coach” and hands still raised. The lone hold out was Jason Cole, a second year player who tried to sneak in as many Kerringtons as he could during the season. It was playful, if just a tad annoying, but this was for fun and basics, and I’d let it slide the same as I’d done last year.

“Good enough.” I looked at my clipboard, there was always a rough outline of what I wanted to do, what we should work on, but this was fluid based on the skills our players had. “First we’ll stretch and get loosened up.” We ran through a few rounds of various toe touches and back stretches followed by jumping jacks and ending in waybacks. It was a simple routine, but it helped get the blood flowing and the kids ready. “Now go get your balls, then carry them back here.”

All the kids ran over to the sidelines, each taking a ball with them before running back as fast as their legs could possibly move.

“Two lines,” I pointed to one cone and tapped the first kid’s head “A”. The next kid was “B”, and was directed to another cone. Once we had everyone split between the lines I got started by demonstrating a basic dribble. “We’re going to weave between the cones. Yes Perry, like last year.” Some of the kids had their own little things they did. Perry liked to announce when we were going over stuff we went through in previous camps. “The thing here is to get a feel for the ball. Easy, soft feet and control is what you want.” I looked up to see most of the kids were still focused. “Down to the last cone, around it, and back. Then the next one in line goes. Ready?” I blew the standard orange plastic coach whistle. What I wouldn’t give for one of the older metal ones, but those weren’t made much anymore. If I ever found a supplier, I’d stock up on the things.

The older kids tended to follow the instructions well enough. The younger children were trying, well maybe trying to send the ball into orbit, but each one was concentrating on kicking their ball. I looked up briefly at the sound of car doors being shut.

I tried not to stare, honestly I did, but I caught myself somewhat slack jawed and managed to convert the look into a welcoming smile with only a moment’s hesitation.

It was fifteen years ago that the feds announced they had found, and were taking in as immigrants, demi-humans. Demis for short. It was one of those moments you never forget. Each generation has one, and ours was when the president revealed a genetics company, along with a rogue state and copious funding, had manufactured human / animal hybrids. Several thousand of them were made, and on top of that, they were viable as a species. Such things were banned by international law with good reason. While the company did eventually succeed, there were many lives lost along the way, and for most it wasn’t a pleasant end. To some degree, my own curiosity got the better of me and I looked through the court records after the international case had come to a close. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, even I could only make it about a quarter of the way in before finding myself disgusted with humanity and what we did in the name of scientific progress.

In that same vein, there were people, humanists were what they labeled themselves in spite of that already meaning something completely different, that worked to block giving the demis any sorts of rights. Some said they were abominations, decrying them as works of the devil himself. Some said they were nothing besides property, barely above the animals they were based on. On the other (and in my opinion sane) side, were people armed with the simple truth that at their core, demis are still human (the courts established this based on the genetics company’s records). Even if they weren’t, they were still thinking, rational, living beings. There were all sorts of legal gymnastics going on by both sides, but thankfully enough decent people turned out at rallies and got active in politics to force things to move forward. There were still fights to be won and minds to be changed, but that’s how these things work.

I’d never seen a demi in person before, and I surely didn’t expect to run into one in Edison, let alone two of them. They stood by the sedan, a white sub-compact of foreign make. The mother and daughter pair looked rather apprehensively at the semi-controlled chaos that was the start of soccer camp. It was a scene played out with all parents when they’re first exposed to youth sports, the only difference about this pair was the spotted white fur, rounded triangular ears, and tails. The mother, Kisa going by the name on my roster sheet, had moved to behind her child, resting her hands on both shoulders in a protective manner with a small sports bag held on the arm opposite her purse.

As I made my way forward, I hoped the clipboard, ball cap, and whistle gave off enough of a small town coach vibe so that the introductions would be smooth enough. “Hi there, you must be Jenna McAllister, right?” I knelt down with my hand extended and broadened my smile, “I’m Coach Kerrington, but out here, just call me Coach.”

The girl’s ears went back and her eyes widened at my approach, perhaps she was shy? Her mother hadn’t taken her eyes off me, but gave her daughter’s shoulders a gentle squeeze, “It’s fine, honey, say hello like we practiced, OK?”

At her mother’s prompt, the girl blinked and held her hand out to meet mine, “Hi, Mr Coach, I’m Jenna.” She had righted her ears and a friendly smile found its way across her feline muzzle. Her tiny whiskers went back with the gesture, but her tail seemed to have gotten a mind of its own. She was nervous, just like any other child would be when faced with a group of new people, but she wasn’t going to show it and had responded with a confident voice, even if it was forced just a little.

I had a good group of kids, and thankfully Jenna had all the right gear on. Shorts and a soccer jersey, it was the home version of what the Atlanta club wore, shin guards, good thick socks and cleats. Being able to jump in would help get her used to the other kids and vice versa. “Glad to meet you, Jenna,” I pointed back to where Kate was corralling a few of the stray balls, “See the tall girl, bright green shirt?” I waited until Jenna nodded, “That’s Kate. She’ll get you started. We’re just doing a few warm ups. Got your ball today?”

Jenna nodded again, this time looking back at her mom. After a moment of digging through the sports bag, the soccer ball was retrieved and dropped into Jenna’s waiting hands. In a flash she was off, her spotted tail streaming behind, the black tip waving like a flag. I waited a moment, watching to make sure she got Kate’s attention.

I stood back up, “Hi, Mrs McAllister, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Edison.” I held my hand out to the smartly dressed demi, trying to project warmth into my smile. She was wearing a light blue blouse with short sleeves and a long flowing dark blue skirt. The outfit was a perfect compliment to her crystal blue eyes. A friendly face could do wonders when you’ve just moved to a new place and I hoped that I managed to give them a nice welcome.

She flashed a brief smile of her own, exposing the longer pearl white canines just below her whiskers for only a moment. “Thank you, but first,” she took my hand in both of hers, not returning the shake but rather turning my palm upward. “It’s for your safety.” She removed both hands, then placed her right one back on top of mine. “This is how you greet someone like me, felines especially.” She must have picked up on my quizzical look, “Claws, Mr Kerrington, they can come out when our hands are squeezed.” With that she took her hand off mine and flexed it enough for her claws to slide out. She had them painted blue, the same color as her blouse and eyes, and each was exceptionally sharp going by looks alone. Her hands were very close to a cat’s paw, but the digits were elongated comparatively speaking, giving them human like functionality for grasping.

“Oh, sorry about that,” I replied with just a bit of embarrassment at catching myself staring at her hand.

She grinned at my apology, “It’s nothing to be sorry about, most people haven’t ever met one of us before, so it’s something we deal with all the time given handshakes.” She paused for a moment, “And if you’re worried about staring, don’t be. If I minded, I wouldn’t have held them out for you to see in the first place.” She flexed each digit individually as if to emphasize the point before lowering her hand.

And now I was embarrassed for being embarrassed in the first place. I gave a half chuckle at my handling of the situation and merely shrugged before looking back at the field. The kids had gone through the drill and had abandoned their lines to greet the newcomer. I could only catch bits of the conversation, but Kate was handling the group introductions and making sure questions were dealt with one at a time.

There were a few curious looks from the parents along the sidelines, some had their attention on the field, but a few were looking in my direction and probably had been for some time. I finally picked up on their intent, “I can introduce you to the other parents, if you’d like.”

“That would be nice,” she nodded as she answered.

We set off across the field, angled slightly so we passed by the kids. I took a moment to organize passing drills, which would undoubtedly devolve into kicking the balls as hard as possible in the general direction of their partner. Once the drills got started, I had Kate and Perry watch over things and we made our way to the sidelines to get the introductions underway.

* * *

By the end of the first session, we had a bunch of exhausted kids. The goal of making them tired enough to sleep decently had been sufficiently reached, and I had a better grasp on where everyone’s skills were. Jenna turned out to be rather ahead of the curve compared to most nine year olds, her adopted home town of Atlanta was one of the more successful pro franchises in the States and she proudly counted herself among their most loyal fans. The kids that had been in the camp from previous years were doing well enough, some had even managed to practice on their own or played in recreation leagues if their parents could do the drive north for practices and matches.

The parental introductions had gone smoothly, with many of the parents asking the general questions that I hadn’t had time to after the initial greetings. While I kept an eye on the field, I also kept an ear out on the sidelines. It turned out that Mrs McAllister preferred to go by her first name, Kisa. She had been hired on at the factory, the company had a liberal policy regarding equal opportunity and they applied this to demis as well. It was an IT position, and from the bits I could gather she dealt with the programming side of things. They’d only just moved a few days ago, most of their belongings were still in boxes, but Kisa wanted to make sure that her daughter made it to the first day of the training camp. It explained her state of dress, they’d come directly from the factory where she had her official check in and a brief tour. Jenna was already in her soccer garb except for her shoes, those had been quickly changed on the ride to the field.

“Alright, now everyone in for the break.” I put my hand down first and the kids all placed their hands in, Jenna’s resting on top. “Alright, on three: One, two, three!” The kids shouted “Go team!” in response as we all raised our hands. With that, the first practice session was over. I still had cleanup to do and notes to copy down, but the kids were all talking happily among themselves and draining what was left in their water bottles.

It took a little while, but I got the gear down and properly stored. Each goal had its own bag, and the cones had one too. Several of the parents had long drives home after practice, so unless my knee was acting up horribly, I let the kids go and l took care of the tear down myself. Besides, the extra walking helped loosen my knee just a bit if I had stood in one place too long. It generally wasn’t all that bad, certainly nothing a couple of advil wouldn’t help fix.

As I picked up the first of the goals, I heard the rapid thumping of feet on turf as Jenna raced past me snagging the bag of cones. Before I could say anything, I saw Mrs McAllister grab the other goal and nod at the parking lot, “I assume the truck is yours.” There were only two vehicles left, her white sedan, and two car widths away from that, my admittedly vintage red Ford pickup.

“Yep, it’s paid for, and until the wheels fall off that’s what I’ll drive.” I slung the goal bag over my shoulder and began the trek to the cars. “Thanks for the help.”

We walked at a measured pace, I wasn’t running anywhere, and Kisa was content with walking along beside me. Jenna had made several runs between the parking lot and us in that time, dropping the cones off in the back of the truck before bounding off and around us to complete another few laps. Like many kids, I think she just liked the feel of running.

We dropped the goals off in the back of the truck and waited for Jenna to complete one more run around the field. As if warning me to not try and do the same, my knee gave a sharp pain when I turned to grab the bungee cords from the pickup bed. I sucked in my breath, it made a small hiss through clenched teeth, and I shifted my weight to my good leg.

Kisa’s ears went back at the noise, but she glanced down at the offending knee, “Hurt bad?”

I waited until the stabbing pain slowed back to a more manageable throbbing, “Yeah, every so often I tweak it the wrong way. It’ll be fine.”

“Hmm, you’ve been favoring it all day,” her tone held a bit of concern.

“It’s an old injury, short of a full replacement, there’s nothing more to be done.” I half laughed and leaned against the pickup. “Just promise me that if you’re ever asked to go on a ladder, make sure there’s someone watching what's going on ground wise and that they keep idiots far away.” I wouldn’t be speaking from experience if I’d followed that advice myself.

“Ah, I see,” she answered with the same concerned note in her voice.

We both looked up at Jenna’s sudden arrival, her rapid steps crunched across the parking lot and she showed no signs of slowing down. She nearly slid to a stop on the gravel, her cleats sending small pebbles flying into the tires of my truck and her tail acted neatly as a counter balance.

I ignored the pain from my knee and knelt down, “So, did you have fun on your first day?”

Jenna’s ears were pricked forward, and this time there wasn’t anything forced about her grin or her response, “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded with a wild eyed look, still exhilarated by the run and the afternoon’s events.

“Glad to hear it. Oh, hold still a moment,” I plucked a small bit of twig that had gotten lodged in the longer fur behind her ear figuring it’d be irritating later, “There we go.” She’d watched my hand somewhat nervously until I showed her the stick stowaway and she gave a small giggle as I sent it flying off with a flick. “Alright then, I’ll see you two days from now, OK?” I held my hand out, palm up as her mother had shown me.

Jenna stared at it for a moment before placing her small hand on top of mine and a large smile spread across her face. She nodded again then hopped into the car, buckling up and working at her shoe laces. I stood up, stifling the grunt that wanted to escape, then brushed my knees off. Kisa had been watching the interaction closely and shut the car door softly. “She’s a great kid, glad to have her in the camp,” I had turned to look at her and my voice trailed off the second my eyes met hers. Kisa’s features were unreadable to me, and I had no idea what I’d done wrong. I froze, staring back at the blue crystal pools that were watching me with an almost frightening intensity.

“Thank you,” she spoke so quietly, I almost didn’t even catch her words.

I just stood there, transfixed by her gaze, not understanding anything about the situation. Before I had time to react or even process the events, let alone say anything in response, she took my hand between both of hers and pressed gently. To her, there was something in the gesture, a meaning I didn’t have the slightest idea about at the time, but the warmth it conveyed was unmistakable and I at least understood that I hadn’t done anything wrong.

My sense of touch and attention were concentrated on Kisa’s cat like hands. I felt the pads of her palms and fingers, the short fur which grew in between, and just noticeable were her claw tips. The small part of me that wasn’t completely absorbed in the moment was working furiously, trying to figure out what I should do. I finally had the presence of mind to nod, and blanking on anything more, I placed my left hand on top of hers and replicated what she’d done, feeling the smooth fur of the top of her hand to her wrist.

I saw her smile and felt her release my right hand, so I followed suit and withdrew my hands as well. She turned and got in her car, careful to sweep in her skirt and tail as she sat in the driver’s seat then pulled the door shut. I could tell that Jenna had started up a conversation almost immediately with her mother. The two were smiling and chatting, though I couldn’t hear it and was glad since I didn’t want to eavesdrop on the pair, even if by accident.

I stood there for a long while, leaning against the pickup as the final events of the session kept replaying in my mind. I always enjoyed coaching the summer soccer camp. Each year someone brought something new, some new perspective on things that I hadn’t thought of before. This time around, I met someone completely new in every imaginable way, well two new someones actually, a very enthusiastic child and her very intriguing mother.