The Perfect Star

by Rob Buyea

  “No,” I replied.

  “Me neither, but whatever it is, I bet it’s great!” Scott loved surprises—not me. I was leery.

  We filed into the auditorium and took seats. I glanced around and spotted Randi sitting up front with Gavin. I felt better knowing she wasn’t alone. Trevor found Scott and me and joined us.

  “Where’s Mark?” Scott wanted to know.

  Trevor shrugged. I didn’t think much of that until Mark walked in and I saw his dejected expression when he spotted Trevor sitting with me and not looking for his best buddy. I knew right then and there that this spelled trouble, but I didn’t act on my suspicions.

  Once Mr. Allen had the entire eighth grade gathered, he got our attention by speaking into his microphone. “Good morning, eighth graders, and welcome back. I hope you had a fun-filled summer and that you’re ready for a terrific school year.”

  His remarks were met by the predictable mix of cheers and moans and groans, but Mr. Allen didn’t let that slow him down. “I’ve brought you together this morning because I have exciting news to share. News too good to wait on.”

  “I knew it,” Scott whisper-shouted, bouncing in his seat and clapping. “I knew it.”

  He didn’t know anything, but I sensed what was coming. Mr. Allen waited, and a hush fell over the room. I braced myself.

  “Number one,” Mr. Allen said. “I’m thrilled to say we received an overwhelming response from your parents in favor of sending you to Nature’s Learning Lab this fall. We’ve already moved ahead and reserved dates. You will be going next month.”

  The auditorium erupted in cheers and high fives. Scott was on his feet, jumping up and down. I sank down in my chair. Just as I’d feared.

  “You okay?” Trevor asked.

  I shrugged.

  “It’s wonderful to see such enthusiasm,” Mr. Allen said. “I suspect you’ll be even more excited after watching this highlight video about Nature’s Learning Lab that we’ve prepared for you. Sit back and enjoy.”

  The lights dimmed, and the video commenced. I sat up. Best to know what I’m getting myself into, I thought.

  I was pleased when I didn’t see tents, but bunking in a cabin filled with girls didn’t exactly thrill me, either. The scenery was pretty; the mess hall was not, but then again, neither was our cafeteria. All in all, it was good to get a feel for where I’d be going, though I can’t say it did much to calm my nerves.

  At the conclusion of the video, the auditorium filled with excited whispers. “Your teachers will be sharing additional information with you in the near future,” Mr. Allen explained, “but you can start looking forward to this amazing experience.”

  Continued whispering. I focused on slow, even breaths.

  “And now for my second big announcement,” Mr. Allen continued. “After an extensive search, it is with extreme happiness that I can introduce our new head football coach.” Immediate silence blanketed the room. “Please put your hands together for our very own Mrs. Magenta.”

  There was thunderous applause for approximately three claps, and then it abruptly stopped. The room sat paralyzed. Mrs. Magenta is our new football coach? I thought, delighted but taken by surprise. Everyone else must’ve been equally shocked. Everyone except for the one person who was on his feet and still clapping.

  “Woo-hoo!” Scott cheered. “Woo-hoo!”

  Thanks to Scott, I snapped out of my temporary paralysis and clapped along with him, and soon half of the class had joined us, but their applause was lukewarm at best. Unlike Scott and me, their clapping was out of pity, not genuine excitement.

  Mrs. Magenta stepped up beside Mr. Allen, and he handed her the microphone. Perhaps she sensed the less-than-enthusiastic response, or perhaps she was already wearing her coach hat. Whatever the reason, she didn’t attempt to make a glorified speech. “Practice today at three o’clock sharp. If you want to play, I’ll see you on the field. Don’t be late.” She passed the microphone back to Mr. Allen and walked off the stage.

  I’m not certain if Mr. Allen had planned to end the assembly at that point or if this was an impromptu decision, but that was how he played it. “I wish you all a great year,” he said. “You may now report to your second-period classes. Thank you.”

  The auditorium instantly transformed into a mob pushing its way toward the exit doors. I held Scott back so that he didn’t get trampled.

  “A girl football coach. What a joke,” I overheard a boy saying.

  “We’re going to be the laughingstock of the league,” another commented.

  “This is Mr. Allen’s worst idea ever,” said a third.

  “We’re going to get killed,” a fourth added.

  Scott heard it all. “It’s going to be okay,” I reassured him.

  He spun around. “Of course it is!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Magenta is Coach’s daughter. It doesn’t matter that she’s a girl. She’s got more football knowledge in her pinky than most people have in their whole bodies.”

  I smiled. Mrs. Woods would have been proud to hear that.

  “Too bad not everyone sees it that way,” Trevor said, raining on our parade.

  “That’s okay,” Scott said. “I’ve been studying. I’m ready to help her. We’ll show them.”

  “Natalie,” Mr. Allen called, beckoning me to the stage.

  “What’s he want?” Trevor asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’d better go and see. I’ll talk to you guys later.” I walked up to the front of the auditorium. “Hi, Mr. Allen.”

  “Natalie, I probably don’t need to explain this to you, but since Mrs. Magenta will be coaching football, her after-school program won’t be running.”

  “Oh.” My posture sagged. “I hadn’t stopped to think about that, but yes, that makes sense.”

  “And I almost forgot. I received a call from Mrs. Woods early this morning. She said to tell you she’ll be here immediately after school to meet and get the newspaper up and running. She said the news doesn’t wait. You’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot.”

  I smiled. Of course Mrs. Woods knew there’d be a story to report, since her daughter was taking the football coaching job. “Thanks, Mr. Allen. I’ll let the others know.”

  “I’ll swing by. There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

  “Okay. That sounds great.”

  “Have a good day, Natalie.”

  “You too.”

  By “others,” I meant Randi. It was clear the boys were going to be busy with Mrs. Magenta—correction: Coach Magenta—so it was only going to be Randi and me, but that was fine because Randi needed something to keep her busy so that she didn’t get too depressed. I’m no doctor, but I was acutely aware of what her body language was telling me.

  I wanted Magenta to do a good job ’cause I liked her. I wanted her to do a good job ’cause I’d spent all summer throwing passes so we could win. And I really wanted her to do a good job ’cause I was afraid of what people would say and how I would feel if she didn’t.

  Let me tell you, Coach Magenta put my worrying to bed at our first practice. We were all there when she stepped onto the field and blew her whistle at three o’clock sharp. She pulled the team together and told us to take a knee. Then she got down to business. We listened to her first talk, and it wasn’t classroom teacher talk—it was coach talk.

  “Gentlemen, we’re behind the eight ball. Other teams have already started scrimmaging, and we won’t even be in pads for another week. We can spend time whining about that or we can get to work. We’re getting to work. If we practice hard and smart—and that’s the key, gentlemen, hard and smart—then we’ll be ready in time for our first game.”

  She paused and slowly gazed over us. No one said a word. Her seriousness gave me goose bumps.

  “I c
an stand up here and try to convince you by talking, or I can show you. Get up and give me two laps around the field,” she barked. “I’m going to show you.”

  That was when I realized that Mrs. Magenta and Coach Magenta weren’t exactly the same person—and I liked it.

  “Let’s go, men!” Scott cheered, hopping to his feet.

  “Let’s go,” I echoed, jumping up and taking off. Time to be a leader.

  We jogged those two laps, and I swear we never stopped moving after that. Magenta put us through a fast-paced warm-up, and then we went right into agility stations. Scott was running in circles, arranging cones for all the different drills. When Magenta said we were behind and she was going to catch us up, she wasn’t kidding. We even worked during our water break.

  “Listen up. We need to start putting in plays,” she announced. “There’s no time to waste. If you were on the team last year, go to the position you played. You can bring the water bottles with you. If you’re new to the team this year, then go to the position you’d like to play. Hustle!”

  We hurried to our spots.

  “Stats Man, we need a depth chart,” Magenta instructed.

  “On it,” Scott replied.

  “Make sure Scott gets your name. First and last,” Magenta told us. “None of this is permanent or finalized,” she explained. “I will be evaluating your play over the course of this week and all season long. If I think you’d be better in a different position or you’d help the team more from a different position, then I’ll move you, but in order for us to start putting in plays, we’ll go with this for today.”

  First we learned a new cadence for hiking the ball, and then we put in five plays—three running and two passing. The schemes were simple, which some people mighta thought meant not effective, but I wasn’t one of them. I still remembered Coach telling Scott that it wasn’t how many plays we had in the arsenal, but how well we executed the ones we did have.

  Magenta had us rehearse the five plays over and over, and she had us change up the snap count so that the ball was hiked on one sometimes, on two sometimes, and even on the first sound out of my mouth sometimes. That meant the offense had to be very disciplined not to jump offside, but if we got good at this, then we’d have an advantage over the opposing defenses. They’d never know when we were going to start, and we might be able to trick them into jumping offside in some key situations. This was just what Magenta had been getting at when she’d said we were going to be smart.

  Day one with Coach Magenta was the best-run practice I’d ever had. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Mom and Dad and Meggie all about it—and that was something I’d never wanted to do last year. Barring any injuries or major disasters, we were gonna have a great season. I was already a believer in Coach Magenta—but not everyone was.

  It wasn’t until our first water break that I finally got a chance to talk to Mark. I’d missed him at the morning assembly, and he wasn’t in any of my classes this trimester, not even lunch, and I hadn’t seen him after school because I’d been with Natalie. I’d looked for him before practice but hadn’t been able to find him, and then Mrs. Magenta had gotten things going right away. It was weird. It was almost like he was trying to avoid me. But that was crazy. Why would he do that?

  “Hey, bro,” I said when I finally caught up to him.

  “Hey.”

  That was it. Nothing more, just “hey.”

  “Haven’t seen you all day.”

  “That’s because you’re always with your girlfriend. It’s been like that ever since I got back from vacation. Even when we hang out, she’s all you ever want to talk about.”

  I was searching for a comeback, but Stats Man didn’t give me the chance to say anything.

  “Hey, guys!” Scott cheered. “Better drink up. Coach Magenta means business.” He handed each of us a cold water bottle. “Not every day can be fun in the sun like we had at the beach, you know,” he said, trying to break my chops.

  As hot as I was, I felt my blood go cold. Scott smiled his goofy grin and moved on, passing out water to the other guys.

  Mark looked at me. Glared at me, was more like it. He tossed his water bottle on the ground and jogged back out to the field. He wasn’t supposed to find out about the beach.

  I turned to look for Scott. He was scurrying around, picking up the empty bottles and refilling them. He’d only been trying to be funny, but nothing was funny about what had just happened. Scott had no idea how he’d just messed things up for me. I couldn’t get mad at him, but I was mad—at myself.

  Coach Magenta blew her whistle. There was nothing I could do to fix it now. I had to try to make it better after practice. But it only got worse.

  When practice was over, I hurried and changed into my regular clothes, and then I waited for Mark just outside the locker room. I didn’t want to have this talk in front of the guys, so I was going to stop him when he came out the door. He would have to listen to what I had to say. I needed to explain things. He’d be ripped, but he’d get over it. It wasn’t that big a deal.

  That was my plan, but before any of that happened, Natalie came around the corner and spotted me. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “So how was your first practice?”

  “Good,” I said. “Real good. Mrs. Magenta’s going to be a great coach.”

  “Of course she is!” Natalie exclaimed. “I could’ve told you that, and I don’t know anything about football.”

  I laughed. “What’re you still doing here, anyway?”

  “I was with Randi and Mrs. Woods. We were getting things organized and ready to go for our newspaper, but we came up with a new idea. Well, Mr. Allen approached us with the idea, actually, but I’m thrilled about it.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Walk with me to my locker and I’ll tell you.”

  I glanced at the door. Mark had taken too long. I couldn’t tell Natalie no. “Okay,” I said.

  We set off in the direction of her locker, and she began filling me in. “Instead of the newspaper, we’re going to launch a broadcast,” she said.

  “A what?”

  “We’re going to put together a morning news show and broadcast it over the classroom TVs. We have a space and all of the equipment for it already. Can you believe it?” She wasn’t slowing down. She didn’t even give me a chance to respond. “Apparently there was a teacher here years ago who purchased everything with plans to use it, but that teacher ended up leaving. The stuff has just been lying around ever since. Some of it was still in boxes. It’s never been touched. Mr. Allen happened to find all of it buried in the faculty supply closet a couple of weeks ago when he was rummaging through things, looking for something else.”

  “A miracle,” I teased.

  She punched me in the arm. “Don’t make fun. I don’t care if it was a miracle or dumb luck. I just know we’re going to use it.”

  We stopped at her locker.

  “Cool,” I said.

  Natalie fumbled with her combination, and I peered down the long hall. I caught sight of Mark just as he was turning around. He’d seen us. I watched him shaking his head as he walked away, straight out the exit doors. We always got a ride home together. He left without saying anything. Just ditched me—like I’d done to him on beach day.

  “Ready?” Natalie asked, closing her locker and shouldering her backpack.

  “Ready,” I said—but deep down, I knew I wasn’t ready for any of it.

  “How was your first day?” Mom asked when I got into the car.

  “Fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on the floor.

  She stared at me and sighed. “Randi, I know—”

  “It was fine, Mom. Everything’s fine. Can we go now?”

  She put the car in drive. “Fine,” she said.

  But no
thing was fine—and we both knew it. How could it be when I couldn’t do anything? I was exhausted from putting on a fake face and fake act for everyone at school, and Mom was paying the price. I felt bad about that—but I felt worse about me and my lousy situation.

  I didn’t need a football coach or any fancy broadcast show. I needed a new leg.

  Natalie and Mrs. Woods had had two great ideas. The first was about our brand-new morning TV show, and the second was about not starting the broadcast until the following week. Natalie had said that she and Randi and Mrs. Woods needed time to get things organized and set up because if we tried meeting now, it’d just be a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. She promised that we’d meet soon to sort out parts and roles and expectations. I was super-excited to start the show because it was going to be awesome, but waiting was a good plan because it gave Coach Magenta and the guys and me a chance to focus on football—which was easier said than done.

  The team had just started stretching, and I was reviewing our depth chart when Mr. Allen came jogging out onto the field. It had to be urgent because he didn’t even stop to say hi to me. He went straight to Coach Magenta. I slid closer and did my best eavesdropping.

  “Olivia, we have people going directly to the superintendent, calling for your resignation. There are fathers claiming it isn’t safe because you can’t teach proper techniques, and mothers are concerned the boys won’t listen to you. The Lake View High coach is among the protesters. He fears that having you as the middle-school coach will deter kids from playing and ultimately kill his varsity program.”

  “That’s not true!” I blurted. “We haven’t lost a single player. Everyone who signed up is still here.”

  “Scott! I didn’t realize you were listening,” Mr. Allen said.

  “I was listening, and it’s not fair. They haven’t even given Coach Magenta a chance,” I argued.

  “Mr. Allen, I wasn’t looking to do this,” Mrs. Magenta said. “You came to me after my mother went to see you, remember? Nobody wanted this job after last year. As a matter of fact, I seem to recall that I turned down your offer, but you begged me. I told you there would be backlash, and you said you’d stand by me.”