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parents should stay out of it. Leave the coaching to the coaches.”
    â€œCarrie knows her stuff,” Cheree agreed. “And the girls really like her.” Carrie had coached most of the girls on last year’s junior varsity team.
    â€œCarrie is good people,” Pete agreed, “but her best is only as good as her knowledge. That’s why I’m sharing what we learned this summer. It’s revolutionary.” A spray of saliva blossomed over their table.
    â€œIs that so?” Mike asked, sliding out of the booth.
    â€œIt’s an absolute truth.”
    â€œMy turn to buy the beer.” Mike gestured for Pete to follow, and the two men headed to the counter.
    Trish smacked her forehead. “Can you stand it? We’re all genetically inferior to Olivia.”
    Jane and Keiko laughed.
    â€œAnd that’s quite a poor strategy,” Keiko added. “To position Olivia against Harper, who is probably our team’s best all-around player.”
    â€œThat’s kind of you to say, but I don’t cherish my daughter’s being the Fergusons’ target.”
    â€œAnd he spit on our pizza.” Cheree started dabbing at the remaining pizza with a napkin. “Did you see that? That’s just gross.”
    The women chuckled.
    â€œOh, it’s hopeless,” Trish said. “The pizza, I mean. It’s got cooties now.”
    â€œYour husband is a saint,” Jane told Cheree.
    â€œDon’t let him hear that or he’ll never unload the dishwasher again.” Cheree was the chair of the high school English department, a strong, down-to-earth leader. Over the years, Jane had come to admire her for her unflappable, sanguine calm.
    â€œThis is going to be an interesting season.” Keiko’s eyes were dark with impending omen.
    â€œI would like to have an exciting season,” Trish said. “Fun. Even challenging. But interesting? Look, if I want to get burned, I’ll add some cayenne to my chili. If I want drama, I’ll watch Housewives . I don’t need these shenanigans on my daughter’s softball team.”
    â€œSame here,” Jane agreed. “I swore off the adrenaline rush of drama a long time ago.”
    â€œOh, I think we all get enough drama from our daughters.” Keiko leaned back in the booth. “My daughter says she’s getting her arms tattooed when she turns eighteen.” She ran her slender hands down her arms. “Sleeves, they call them.”
    â€œNo!” Trish gasped.
    Keiko nodded. “Emma is emphatic about it. My husband says that this is not the thinking of a Japanese child, and Emma responds that she is American. I think she will kill her father before his time.”
    â€œShe’ll probably change her mind before she hits eighteen,” said Cheree.
    â€œOr maybe she’ll compromise with a tiny tattoo on her butt,” Trish suggested.
    â€œHarper hasn’t mentioned a tattoo,” Jane said, “but if Emma is thinking about it, I’m sure my daughter isn’t far behind. Here’s a story for Emma. My friend Laura got a butterfly on her wrist the minute she turned eighteen. A few years later, the summer after graduation, when she was interviewing for teaching jobs, she had to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover the ink. Back then, the tattoo would have been a deal breaker for a teacher. It was a hot summer, and she really suffered. The principal who hired her later admitted that he wondered if she was covering up needle marks. Laura only got the job because the principal was personal friends with one of her references.”
    â€œSee? That’s the thing.” Trish stabbed a finger in the air. “Our kids don’t realize that people will hold things like a tattoo against you when you’re trying to get a job.”
    As the gathering began to wind down, Jane was sorry to see it end. Although she had met most of these women through her