by L A Cotton
A grin broke out over his small face, and he bounced out of the room. That just left Keylon. I exhaled a long breath. I knew I would need to take matters into my own hands, but I was nervous. Horror stories regularly circulated the teacher’s lounge about the King family. Keylon’s two older twin brothers, Keenan and Kyle, and sister Kaia had terrorized most of the faculty at one time or another. Kaia was a senior now and had straightened out her act, but the twins still spent most of their days outside the principal’s office or suspended. Trying to talk to Ms. King was difficult, almost impossible, since her new boyfriend came on the scene.
I tucked the white tickets into the blue folder I was using to organize the trip and headed down the corridor toward the admin office. Although my stomach churned with nervous energy, I was determined for Keylon to join the rest of his friends on the trip.
“Hey, Mrs. Cain.” I smiled at the gray-haired lady manning the reception desk.
“What can I do for you, Miss Macer, dear?”
“Please, call me Sharn.” Seven months and she still refused to call me by my first name. “I need a student’s home phone number. Keylon King.”
“Dear, you have more chance of speaking to the pope himself.”
My eyes widened at her blunt response. “Well, I’ve got to try.”
She typed something into the computer and pulled a pen from the pen cup. Scribbling down the number on a Post-it, she handed it to me and muttered something that sounded like good luck.
“Can I use the spare office?”
“Sure thing.”
I closed the office door and felt my heart pick up speed. I wasn’t easily intimidated, but I didn’t want an unnecessary confrontation with Keylon’s mother. As I dialed the number, I prayed that the boyfriend didn’t answer.
“Hello,” a female voice answered quietly, taking me by surprise. It wasn’t at all what I expected. Ms. King was a loud-mouthed, feisty, Afro-Caribbean lady who didn’t mind her p’s or q’s for anyone.
“Umm, hello. This is Miss Macer from Gainesville High. Am I speaking with Ms. King?”
She tutted in disgust. This was more like the woman that I expected. “Whaddaya you want?”
I coughed, clearing my throat. “As you’re aware, Keylon is involved with our new ninth-grade baseball program. Well, next week we are taking them on a field trip to play against another team. Keylon has yet to return his permission slip.”
Silence.
“Ms. King?”
A man’s voice boomed in the background. “Who you talkin’ to, Kendra?”
“Ain’t seen no permission slip. I gotta go.”
I panicked. “Ms. King. The other sixteen boys will be attending. We would really like it if Keylon could attend with them. He has the permission slip or a note from you would be fine. It’ll be good for him. Please think about it.”
“KENDRA. WHAT DID I TELL YOU ‘BOUT ANSWERIN’ THAT PHONE?”
I jumped, startled by the aggression in the male voice. Before I could say anything more, the line went dead and I slumped in the chair. Sometimes my job put things into perspective.
~
The kitchen doorknob turned, and I watched Dad enter with a stack of flattened boxes.
“Hi, sweetie. Sorry, I was away all weekend. I needed some time to clear my head and decide what’s next.” He smiled, and I watched as he leaned the cardboard against the wall and helped himself to coffee. He seemed lighter—like a weight had been lifted.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I was fine, by myself…all weekend.” I laid it on thick, pouting like a petulant child, but he laughed. “I’m sure you found some ways to keep yourself entertained, sweetie.”
I spat my mouthful of cereal back into the bowl. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, God, no, sorry. I didn’t mean anything-” he stuttered. “Sharn. You know your old man better than that. I just meant grading and hanging with Mae.”
My mind had immediately gone to a place that I didn’t want to remember. Dad knew my late teens were a little wild; Mom made sure of that. She’d comment over dinner or drop something out at random about which guy I was seeing that night, or whose bed I’d been in the night before. Yeah, Momma dearest thought I was quite the little whore. I guessed, for a while, I had played up to her opinion of me. What she didn’t know was that it was all her fault.
“So, you seem happier, Dad? What’s with all the boxes?”
“I’m going to spend today packing up your mother’s belongings. Then I’m going to dump them on Geary’s front porch, and wash my hands of her once and for all.”
I was shocked. He seemed so certain, so resolved. Unsure of how to respond, I just nodded. “Well, I’ll be home tonight to make dinner, but tomorrow I have a field trip.”
“Field trip?”
“Umm, yeah, I’m part of a new initiative to keep some of the ninth graders out of trouble. A baseball program.”
His mouth dropped. “Sharn, you hate sports.”
I laughed. “Don’t I know it.”
~
Students filed into the class, the usual post-lunch buzz in the air.
“What up, Miss M.” Kenny slung his book bag down and dropped into the desk in front of me. “Ready to see us kick some butt tomorrow?”
“You know it, dog,” Jared called from the back of the room.
“Okay, guys, settle down. We can save the smack talk for the journey tomorrow.”
Just as the bell rang, the door opened and another student entered the room. Keylon dropped something onto my desk without saying a word and took his seat in the middle row. I glanced down at the signed permission slip and smiled.
“Okay, class. Today, we are taking a break from Dickens. I wanted to do something a little different. Poetry.”
A chorus of groans and protests filled the room. Kenny rolled up a paper ball and threw it into the bin residing at the side of my desk. I glared at him, shaking my head.
“Quiet, quiet. Poetry is about expressing yourself through words. It’s not a test, but it is a warm-up for the office we’ll be doing on poetry next semester.” I picked up the whiteboard marker and moved to the board. “I want everyone to spend today’s lesson writing a poem about how they feel today. Happy, excited, sad, lonely, tired—whatever it is, I want you to find a way to express it in words on paper. It doesn’t have to rhyme, it doesn’t even have to make sense to anyone else, but it has to mean something to you. No one else will see them apart from me, and like I said, it’s just a warm-up activity.”
I wrote the instructions on the board and sat down behind the desk. Most of the class was deep in thought or discussing their ideas with their partners; a few usual suspects stared vacantly at their books—Keylon in particular. I set to grading some of my tenth graders papers and left the class to their poems.
“Okay, class, two minutes till the bell. Pack up. Poems on my desk as you leave, please. See you all Thursday.”
The bell rang and I watched as the pile of poems grew as the students filed out into the hallway. Keylon slammed his paper on top of the pile and slumped out of the room. I grabbed his paper, shut the door behind the last student, and took a seat.
They say being a kid’s the best time of your life
But it’s not all fun and games it’s full of strife
They should take a walk in my shoes
Fight or flight, win or lose
I’m only fourteen, it’s not the life for me
I’d choose to fly and be free
Live life my way without a care
Instead, I’m a ghost invisible like air
A slave to their cause, a soldier of war
For myself, I wanted more
They say being a kid’s the best time of your life
If that were true then why does it cut like a knife
I dropped the paper, stunned. Keylon always completed his English assignments and homework to an adequate standard, but his words were so full of pain. I wiped the single tear from th
e corner of my eye. A lot of the kids at GHS lived difficult lives—growing up wasn’t easy for many of them, but Keylon was one of mine. The fact that he’d written the words, knowing I’d read them, told me that he trusted me. Only I wasn’t sure whether he wanted me to keep his secret or talk to him about it.
Chapter 8
~ Keefer ~
“Guys, no eating in the minibus. Did I not tell you that like three times earlier?” I glared in the mirror at the boys seated behind me. Sharn sat directly behind me, and I could hear her laughing. “It’s not funny. Coach will have my balls if there are any stains on his beloved bus.”
“Seriously, what is it with men and their cars?” she muttered.
It sounded rhetorical, so I didn’t answer. We were only five minutes out from Nations Park. The other team, a team I’d helped coach a couple years back, were meeting us there with their coach. They were ninth and tenth graders from Newberry High.
“Yo, Coach. We almost there? I gotta pee.”
“Too much info, Reece.”
“Sharn, we’re almost there. Do you want to remind them of the ground rules?”
She leaned over the railing separating the driver’s seat and the passenger seats. “Again?” she chuckled, and I soaked up the sound.
“Yes. The team that we’re playing has always been good kids, but I want to avoid any issues.”
“Okay, you got it, Coach.”
My heart hammered in my chest as the words rolled off her tongue. I didn’t even need to be looking at her for her to affect me.
“Okay, listen up team. Rule one: no smoking. Two: no smack talk in earshot of the other team. Three: whatever Coach says goes. Four: we’re here to play ball, stick to the rules, and enjoy the game. Remember, you’re representing GHS, so please act accordingly.”
The boys booed her off, but in an excited kind of way. I wasn’t planning on them causing any issues; I had more faith in them. The only one concerning me was Keylon. He’d turned up, but he was no longer the happy kid that I’d met a couple of weeks back.
I pulled the bus into one of the parking spaces, right outside of the green building. The huge painted baseball on the wall made me smile; I didn’t feel at home anywhere more than on the field. Everyone piled out and Sharn attempted to organize seventeen excited teenage boys. None of them were exactly all-rounders at school, and I knew this was probably the closest thing that they'd get to compete against anyone other than their classmates.
“Right, I have to check in with the groundsman. Kenny and Micah, you grab the bags and follow me to the locker rooms.” I eyed the huddle. “You have fifteen minutes to change and dump your stuff. Let’s go.”
“I'll wait out here?” Sharn asked.
Unsure if it was a statement or question, I nodded, and as I did, my eyes involuntarily roamed down Sharn’s body. She had dressed for the occasion. Navy sweat pants molded to her curves and a gray hoodie with a navy emblem printed on the front clung to her chest. I lingered on her ass—until I caught the smirk dancing on her face. Shit. She'd caught me looking, again. I ducked into the building, hoping she didn't notice my embarassment.
~
Newberry was batting, but Keylon was a force to be reckoned with. Gone was the withdrawn, meek boy who had turned up ten minutes late for the minibus. He commanded the pitcher’s mound, throwing fastball after fastball, shouting directions to his first base and outfielders. He was completely at home on the field, and I knew I was witnessing something special—Keylon was a natural.
Sharn moved to my side from her position at the dugout and said, “Keylon looks so free.”
“He's got natural talent. What is going on with that kid?”
“I had his class write poems. His was-”
“YES!” I punched the air. “Nice catch, Jamal. Sorry about that.” I looked down at Sharn, and she smiled. “Wow. You take this seriously, huh?”
“I can get a little competitive.”
“I wouldn't expect anything less, Coach.” She blushed. It was so damn cute when she flirted with me, but it was quickly replaced with a frown. “I'm worried about him. His poem was so sad...so dark. It sounded like he's involved with something.”
“Like?” I didn't mean for it to come out so abrupt, but I rarely could find words, let alone around someone like Sharn.
“I don't know. Gangs, drugs, running stuff for his mom’s boyfriend? Nothing good!” Her voice screeched at the end, and I could sense her frustration.
Watching the field, I knew exactly what she meant. Life would deal probably a quarter of the thirty-four boys a shit hand. They would be failed by their families, education, society, and in the end, they'd fail themselves. I saw it every week working at juvie. It was one of the reasons I wanted to try to make a difference—inspire young men. I’d been there—okay, not with gangs or drugs. But I’d hated the world, hated myself. I found baseball and then, when I grew up, I found boxing. Sports had saved me.
“You’rrre OUT,” Travis, the umpire called, and my mouth dropped as the short and stocky Newberry player threw his bat down. It ricocheted off the ground, bouncing twice and landing just shy of Otis, who leaped back out of the catcher’s box.
“Watch it,” Otis called out as the player stalked off the field.
Sharn blew out a breath between her teeth. “Seems Coach Smith isn’t the only competitive one.”
I laughed. She had that right. I’d noticed some of the Newberry players taking things a little too seriously. So far, our boys had kept their cool. A giant-of-a-player stepped into the batter’s box. He looked fierce, with narrowed eyes that locked onto Keylon. Keylon stood a little taller and matched the batter’s intense glare.
“Give it your best, Momma’s boy,” the player smirked.
“Oh, shit.” The words came out before I could think.
“Oh, shit what?” Sharn perked up.
“This isn’t good. Keylon won’t tolerate being provoked.”
Keylon’s glare turned to a scowl as he readied his body for the throw. The ball sailed past the bat straight into Otis’s glove.
“Strike one.”
“I gave you that one, you little punk.”
How Keylon was keeping his cool was beyond me. He threw a second ball straight into the glove.
“Strike two.”
The batter cursed under his breath, and I laughed. It was half-amusing watching these kids get so worked up about a friendly game. But he had a look in his eye that suggested he wouldn’t take too kindly to being struck out. As the thought crossed my mind, the ball zipped through the air and landed in Otis’s outstretched hand.
“Strike three, you’rrrre out.”
He didn’t throw his bat, but he ripped off his helmet and jammed a hand into his mean-looking spiked hair. If looks could kill—Keylon would have dropped dead.
~
We won the game but only because we got lucky during the seventh inning, when Jared hit a fly ball deep to the outfield. After he’d picked his jaw up off the ground, he ran a home run. The boys were so excited; I thought they might spontaneously combust.
“Miss M, did you see my mad skills?”
Sharn smiled. “Yes, Jared, I saw. I suppose I’ll get to relive it in English class for the next week.”
“Try the next month, Miss M. That shit was crazy.”
“Language!”
“Oops, my bad. Yo, Reece did you-” He bounded off toward his friends.
“Isn’t it great to see them like this?” I came up behind her, fighting the urge to breathe her in.
“Yeah, they’re so excited. I’m kinda scared for the journey home.”
“Good game, Keefer. You got some good kids there.” Coach Culhoon grabbed my hand. “Oh sorry, how rude of me. I’m David. David Culhoon.” He dropped my hand and extended it out toward Sharn.
Her lips curled into a half smile and jealousy coursed through me. Fuck.
“Hi. Sharn Macer. I teach at GHS. These are my kids. Well, not my kids…I mean u
mm—I teach them,” she stuttered out, and my insides flipped again. She was just so damn cute when she got all flustered like that.
“Well, Miss Macer, you should be mighty proud.”
David was an old friend. He was a good eight years older than we were, but he had that hot-older-man thing that the chicks dug. I didn’t like the way he was looking at Sharn, but before I had time to intervene on their little heart to heart, I heard a commotion.
“Talk about my momma one more time and I swear-”
“Aw look, Momma’s boy’s panties are all in a twist.” The spikey-haired batter from earlier was all up in Keylon’s face, and I tried to fight my way through the circle that had formed around them.
“Leave him alone, punk. Or you’ll have more than just him to deal with.” Kenny stood next to Keylon; shoulders back and chin raised in challenge.
“And what are you gonna do about it, homie? Or is she your momma, too? Wouldn’t surprise me with the way your momma whores around. She’s probably got a whole line of homies just like you.”
I heard a crack, followed by the cursing. Spikey’s face flew back with the impact, but he quickly recovered, throwing his fist in Keylon’s direction. Keylon wasted no time in tackling him to the ground and the circle erupted into chaos. Before I could reach Keylon, Kenny swung at a boy his height, and they started trading blows. Most of the other boys were only pushing and shoving, but I struggled to push my way through them.
“Keefer, do something,” Sharn’s panicked voice called from somewhere behind me.
I scanned the scuffle, but her petite frame was swamped by the thirty boys jostling and arguing. David started to grab his players and push them away from the crowd. It seemed like a smart move so I started hauling out our players one by one, too.
“Wha-what? Let me back in there, Coach,” Marc groaned.
I rolled my eyes as I shoved him to one side. Jabbing a finger at him, I said, “Stay over there.”
The crowd began thinning out, and David was dealing with most of his players over to one side of the dugout. I spied two black eyes and one cut lip. Keylon and spikey hair were still going at it. Just as I reached them, Spikey’s fist connected with Keylon’s nose, and I didn’t need to hear the crunch or see the blood to know it was broken.
