Exiting the car, I lock it and start walking toward the front door. “I really like my job.”
“That’s good to hear,” she replies and I can sense the relief in her voice. “Here’s what I’ll do. Instead of us going elsewhere for a weekend, I’ll come to you.” That’s a much better idea.
“I’d love that! I miss you so much and I can’t wait to see you.” I enter the school and wave at a few of the teachers I see making their way to their respective classrooms.
“You better miss me, I’m your best freaking friend after all. Let me confirm with my boss that I actually have this weekend off and then I’ll let you know.”
“Awesome, I can’t wait to see you. Anyway, I’ve gotta—”
“You’ve gotta go,” she says, finishing my sentence.
“Duty calls.”
“You’re taking this waaaay too seriously,” she jokes.
“It’s an important job.”
“Educating our future,” she replies, quoting a phrase I’d tell her whenever we talked about why I was majoring in education.
“Alright. Go make sure our future is in good hands. I’ll call you later.”
I go for one last dig because I can’t help it. It’s fun poking my best friend. “And by later you mean a whole other week!”
“Stop it!” she retorts.
“Bye,” I say, hanging up the call.
When I get to the office, I notice that Hannah isn’t at her desk yet. Heading straight into my office, I take off my coat and hang it on the rack then I take a seat at my desk. A few minutes later, I fish my phone out of my pocket when it vibrates with an incoming text.
Emely: Drama queen. Maybe you should’ve gone into acting.
Me: I’ll consider that for when I retire.
Emely: **Rolls Eyes** Bye.
Me: Love you too.
Emely: Always.
I love my best friend. I can’t stress that enough. She’s been in my life for ten years now. She knows my every fear, my every dream and wish. She knows when I’m angry or happy. When I need her to just listen or when I need her to talk me out of doing something stupid.
She knows me so well that she didn’t bother to ask about him and I appreciate her so much more for it than she will ever realize.
8
CHRISTIAN
I arrive at my new job feeling more refreshed and energized than I’ve felt in years. Even though it’s only been one week, the team is doing better and so am I. I haven’t been the miserable asshole I typically am, even Nigel told me this over drinks Saturday night. It’s crazy what getting back to the football field, the place where I excelled in high school, does to a person’s mood.
I’m not playing professional football, but at least I’m not painting other people’s houses for a living. That’s not a knock on people who do, it’s a profitable profession that some enjoy, but it wasn’t what I wanted.
I’ve always wanted a football in my hand. I wanted to call the plays. To execute the game. To be on the field. I wanted the rush of winning. I always felt invincible when I was there. Felt like I was on top of the world. While I don’t have that exact feeling yet, it’s pretty damn close.
Coach Cole is not a title I envisioned myself having, at least not this early in my career, but I will embrace the crap out of it. This team hasn’t won a championship in a long time and I’m trying to figure out how to change that. I’ve got something to prove and all these kids do too. I can tell they want to win. They’re thirsty for a championship trophy. They want to end the drought.
Many of them expressed to me their desire to make a splash so that colleges look at them. I’ll try my hardest to give them the opportunity that I ruined for myself, the chance to play at a higher level. To play professional football. To follow their dreams.
I had to abandon mine.
I don’t regret it, though, because I have Ari and she’s my world.
I just wish I hadn’t lost someone else in the process. If there’s one thing I wish I didn’t have it would be memories. As I walk by the halls, I can’t help but remember the past. Remember every kiss stolen from her lips. Every hello and goodbye. Walking by her locker, I’m reminded of the first day I felt her staring at me as I walked by. The words she shared with her best friend that she thought I couldn’t hear.
Being at this school reminds me of what I lost every day. I guess that’s sort of my punishment. I deserve that. I make my way to the locker room knowing I’ll be the first one to arrive. I’m here before the assistant coaches because I want to finish typing up the notes on the players I’ve been observing. I want to come up with a plan. I also want to figure out the practice schedule for the remainder of the year. We’ve gotta prepare if we want to win.
Reaching the door to the locker room, my mind recalls the many times she waited eagerly for me to step out after each home game. She always had a smile on her face and pride in her eyes. She made me want to get back on the field and play the game over and over again.
She was too good for you, my mind tells me, but it’s not like I’ve forgotten. Me not being good enough for her was a pill I swallowed the moment we started dating and every day since. It’s why I tried to be the best boyfriend I could be. But there wasn’t much I could do to come back from what I’d done.
Nothing could salvage it. Us.
I couldn’t keep lying to myself thinking I could somehow be good for her.
I had to be good to her... And to do that, I had to let her go.
After I finally shook those thoughts out of my head, I got to work. I went into my office and started getting things ready. Between scheduling practices, film time, game time, and everything in between, there were no empty spaces left in my calendar.
With a full week under my belt, I had a chance to look at all of our players. I watched their every move, analyzing them. I wrote notes about their weaknesses and strengths. I had a personalized plan for most of them. I haven’t had nearly enough time to make a personalized plan for all of them, so that’s the next task on my list. Looking down at my calendar, I look at where I’ve circled our first game. Two weeks from now. Two weeks until we face our first opponent. Two weeks for this team to be championship ready and they will be. Their success is my success and I’ve already lost enough in my life to keep on losing.
I look down at my watch. The guys don’t get out of class for another hour, which means I’ve spent almost seven hours getting things ready. My daughter should be getting out of school around the same time the guys will be piling into the locker room.
I decide to give Mom a call and remind her to pick Ari up. I used to be able to pick her up every day, but with conflicting practice times, that’s something I can’t do anymore. The phone rings for a few seconds before my mom answers. “Hey,” she greets me.
“Hi Mom, I was just calling to remi—” she cuts me off.
“To remind me to pick up Ari from school at 2:30,” she finishes.
“Exactly.”
“I remember. I once had a kid too, you know.”
“Yeah yeah, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”
“I won’t leave my grandbaby stranded. You worry about getting Bragan High its next championship and I’ll worry about picking her up every day.”
“Thanks again for taking care of that. I’ll pay someone to do it soon,” I tell her. I’m grateful for her help, but retirement is supposed to be about her resting, not taking over my responsibilities. I just need a little more time to save some extra money before I can pay a babysitter.
“Pay someone!?! Absolutely not. This job is the best thing that’s happened to me. I get to spend more time with Ari. You will not be paying someone to do something I want to do.”
“You say that now, but eventually you’re going to want to just rest.” She needs rest. My mom’s been working hard for too long.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
“Don’t say that!”
“It happens to all of us.
Anyway, I gotta run a couple errands before pickup, so I’ll let you go for now.”
“Alright, thanks again, Ma.”
“Of course. You may be a man, but you’ll always be my baby and that child of yours is my child too.”
I realize there’s another call on the line when the sound interrupts the conversation with my mom. I look at the caller ID and notice it’s Ari’s school calling. My stomach drops immediately. They never call me. “Ma, I gotta go.” I don’t even bother telling her why.
I hang up on her before she has a chance to say goodbye and pick up the call on the other line. “Hi, could I speak with Christian Cole please?” A woman’s voice says from the other end of the line.
She sounds too serious, like she’s about to tell me something I won’t like. “This is he. What’s going on?”
“Hi, this is Hannah Robles calling, I’m the principal’s assistant here at Bragan Elementary. We need you to come over to the school,” she says, ending her sentence there like that’s enough information. I feel my heartbeat increase as a fear for my child’s safety creeps in.
“Is Ari okay?” I ask, getting up from my desk and grabbing my coat. I feel for my keys in my jacket pocket and rush out the door.
I run right out of the school as I wait for the woman on other end of the line to answer my damn question. Why is she taking so long?
“She was just involved in an altercation.”
All air leaves me in one breath. “Altercation?” I repeat, trying to figure out what the hell she means by that. My daughter isn’t the kind of kid to get into any fights or any trouble whatsoever.
“Is she okay?!” I ask again, hoping she gives me a less coy answer.
“She is. She was the aggressor in this case.” Aggressor? Ari doesn’t fight. We talked about this when we clarified that for her being a fighter meant not giving up. “She got physical with one of the other kids during recess,” the woman adds. If Ari physically attacked another kid, it’s because she was defending herself. That’s what I taught her to do.
I wish this damn woman would stop speaking in code and would just tell me exactly what it is that took place. “What happened?” I press, tired of picking up the crumbs she’s leaving behind and ready for her to give me the entire story.
“It might be better if you just come in. The principal would like to talk to you.”
I feel a headache start to form in the back of my head. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Luckily for me, this town likes to keep the schools together and so my daughter is just down the road. I get in the car anyway and fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Bragan Elementary School.
I wrack my brain for other reasons why Ari would get physical with someone.
Maybe the call she knew I had with her mother upset her.
Maybe I missed some signals or signs that she wasn’t okay.
Maybe I screwed up.
Ari’s different than me. She’s better.
She has my eyes and other physical features, but in all other ways, she couldn’t be more different. She’s a genius for her six years of age. She’s responsible. Caring. Loving.
She’s all the good parts of life mixed together.
Stepping out of the car, I take the same path I’ve taken numerous times before to the principal’s office. Except this time, it’s not me who’s in trouble, it’s my kid.
9
AMARI
Emely sends me a few more messages, but eventually I get her to stop talking to me and get to work. Somehow, despite me believing I wasn’t going to be able to get through it, I sign off on the last expense for the day—the trip to the zoo.
While there’s more work for me to get done, none of it has to get done right now. Closing the folder, I decide to take a second to breathe. Sitting comfortably on my chair, I rest my head on the desk. Half a second later, a knock on the door followed by its opening startles me.
“Hey Hannah!” I greet her when I see her, trying to sound as awake as possible. I don’t want to be accused of sleeping on the job, which isn’t what I was doing anyway. I was just resting my eyes for a little while because I’ve read through too many proposals and my vision is starting to get all weird. I also skipped my lunch break, so technically, laying my head on my desk could be considered making up for it.
Hannah waves. “So, I called the father of the little girl, Ari, who kicked the boy during recess earlier,” she tells me, reminding me of the one thing I’d forgotten to add to my list. The incident, as she called it.
Not only did I have to do paperwork all day, but now I have to play the role of the disciplinarian. The bad guy. I have to talk to the little girl and then talk to her dad to make sure everything’s alright at home and that he’s aware of what happened. In the past, I’d typically let the principal do the dirty job for me. Sad thing is, I’m the principal. This is karma paying me back for every task I avoided by pegging it on someone else.
“Okay. And you said she just kicked the boy?” I ask again, making sure I know all the facts.
Hannah nods. “That’s what Mr. Randolph said.”
Back when I was in elementary school, a long time ago, that wasn’t enough of a reason to call a parent. But apparently, this school has a zero-tolerance policy on ‘violence.’ I guess it is violence, it just seems like something we should be able to handle without needing a parent to come in. Then again, I’m not a parent and I’m sure if I were, I’d want to be there to talk to my child and figure out what happened.
“Where is she?” I ask, ready to get this over with.
Hannah points behind her. “She’s waiting just outside the door.”
“Is the other kid okay?” I ask, realizing I didn’t bother to check on him. I’ll remember to do that after I talk to the little girl and her father.
“Yes. He’s in class right now. Do you want us to bring him in too?”
“Not right now. Let me talk to her first. I’ll talk to him after. Do we need to call in his parents too?” I ask. I don’t know what the protocol is.
“No need. I’ll be on the lookout for his parents when they come to pick him up and let them know what happened. Do you want me to let Ari in?”
At least I don’t have to talk to two sets of parents today. “Awesome, thank you. And yes, please let her in.”
Hannah nods then walks out of my office. Seconds later I watch her come back inside with a little girl following behind. She’s got long blonde hair, caramel colored eyes, and tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Hi,” I tell her, rounding my desk so that she doesn’t feel like there’s a barrier between us.
When I reach her, I lower to her level to make sure she’s not intimidated by me. “Don’t cry. We’ll figure this out,” I tell her.
“I’ll be outside if you need me. I’ll let you know when her dad is here,” Hannah says, escaping the uncontrollable sobbing by leaving.
“Thanks, Ms. Robles,” I say and wait for her to walk out the door before trying to speak to the little girl again.
“You called my dad?” Ari asks, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“We had to. You kicked someone during recess at the playground.” I should’ve asked Hannah for the name of the kid Ari kicked. Her dad will likely want to know too. Maybe her parents will make her write an apology letter or something.
“It was his fault,” the little girl says, walking past me and taking the seat in front of my desk. I walk the short distance and take the chair to the left of hers. I rearrange my chair so it’s facing her, then I try my hand at figuring out what’s going on.
“It was his fault that you kicked him?” I repeat, a look of confusion likely visible on my face because I’m confused right now.
“Yes,” she says, not skipping a beat as she crosses her arms in front of her. I have to stop myself from smiling. I can’t have her thinking I want her going around kicking other kids. But there’s something about her sass, her spunk, that feels fam
iliar.
“Ari, you have a beautiful name,” I start again, trying to gain her trust this time. But also, I really do like her name. “How old are you?” I ask.
“Thanks… I’m six. As I was saying, Kayden Harrison should be the one in trouble, not me.” I make a mental note of the kid’s name.
“You kicked him though…” I remind her.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “But that’s his fault,” she says once again. The tears that were falling down her face are nowhere to be found now. Instead, there’s a fire there and I recognize it as steely determination.
I try a different approach. “And why do you think it’s his fault?”
“Because… he called me names and then he pushed me.” We clearly did not get this side of the story. Her side. Hearing it now, if true, I understand why she would retaliate.
“He pushed you?”
“Yes. I was playing with a ladybug at the playground and he called me an idiot and stupid. Then, he pushed me and I accidentally stepped on the ladybug. So, I kicked him.”
Wow. I mean, if I were her age and a kid called me those words and pushed me, I’d probably kick them too. As the principal, though, that’s not something I’m allowed to say. “Those are not nice things. He shouldn’t be calling you that. He also shouldn’t have pushed you. But you know that kicking him back wasn’t the right thing to do, right?”
“The ladybug is dead now. Plus, my dad taught me to not let others hurt me. He said if someone attacks me, I have the right to defend myself.” With the way she recounts what happened, I find myself believing her version of events. I know she’s never been in trouble before, Hannah told me as much. I’m sure her father will not be happy to learn that we called him about his daughter kicking someone without first figuring out what led to that. The other kid pushed her and called her names. The more I learn, the less I look forward to the conversation I’ll have next.
Just Because of You Page 4
