The First Pick -- by Troy Oliver

For the most part, the room was silent. A few random streams of clapping came from the masses of girls standing against the far wall, but for the most part ... the room was silent.

Matt Foster had used the word "Dynasty" at the draft.

To the common observer it might have seemed too haughty. Worthy of an eye-roll or a snicker under the breath. After all, practices hadn't even started. Teams hadn't been chosen. To use the word "Dynasty," seemed downright idiotic.

But those of us on the inside. Those who had been to the run-throughs, and watched and evaluated the talent. To us ... it was a word worth using. The simple truth was: Emily Wallace ... was that good.

Zimmerman pointed to Elijah. "You're on the clock, coach!"

Elijah studied his clipboard. He knew that Foster was the only other person in the room with an eye for talent in the same league as his own. Other coaches would look for obvious skills; quick feet, speed, catching ability, throwing ability. But few knew how to place girls. How to tell which players would compliment other players. Elijah and Foster didn't have good players listed on their clipboards. They had the right ones. So, in all practicality, while the others were picking good players ... Elijah and Foster would be creating good teams.

That was how we knew Foster would be the one to beat. And now ... he had the best weapon.


I stood close to Elijah so people would think I was his assistant coach. I wasn't. Not yet. Of course, I was hoping he would ask but I thought dropping hints would be a little above my talent level. I figured, howver, that doing the little things like attending the draft, working up schemes, drawing charts ... and leaving a mint on his pillow ... might put me over the top.

Since the middle of the last year, after a rumor surfaced that Elijah would be coaching a team, there was a secondary rumor involving Foster. Many believed that Foster would be approached for the assistant's job. As close as I was to Elijah, I still didn't know if that rumor was true, but knowing Foster, I knew that he would be nobody's assistant.

So here we were. The yellow socks were gone. Taken. But Elijah still needed a quarterback.

Elijah walked over to the mic. It cracked and buzzed as he leaned in.

"Tara McCain."


There was no dynasty in that pick ...