CHAPTER THREE
Kate
Why is there a crowd?
Parents are dropping off their kids for the afternoon session and some of them are taking out their phones to snap photos of somebody. It isn’t until most people are huddled in the drop-off areas that our principal comes out and instructs guards to intervene.
I still don’t see what or who exactly they’re buzzing about when Mrs. Ramos calls us all into her office.
“Sorry,” she says as she closes the door to her principal’s office.
“I signed an NDA that I couldn’t talk about this until today.
And, I was supposed to set a meeting this morning if it weren’t for the issue with the children with the stomach flu.
” She looks at me pointedly and rolls her eyes.
This morning, about three or four students went home with a stomach bug, because they all shared a student’s lunch that had apparently spoiled.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I don’t have much time. That is Michael Lee.” My co-teachers gasp, but I try to contain myself, listening as intently as my headspace allows. Michael Lee. I just saw him on the news this morning. He’s… here?
“You all know the issue.” Yes, the one where this grown man threw a fit. “He is expected to spend three months doing community service in our school. In the Little League program.” She looks at me with an eager expression.
“I trust you can handle it?”
“Sorry? Me?” I stare in disbelief at our principal. I hear what she’s saying, but my mind is having trouble processing it.
“Yes, you, Kate,” she reiterates. “You volunteered to spearhead the Little League.” Well, that does sound like me. “And initially we were supposed to be joined by one of the coaches of the national team, but after that… incident, they decided to send Michael Lee.”
“Okay…” I say. I’m still having trouble thinking about how to do all this.
I stare at her, then at the ceiling, then at the framed quote on the wall that says ‘Be the change you wish to see in the world.’ Easy for you to say, Gandhi.
I doubt he ever got ambushed into heading a basketball program with a bunch of five-year-olds and a hotheaded athlete.
Mrs. Ramos folds her hands on the desk, watching me expectantly. “I trust this won’t be a problem?”
I scramble for a response. Will it be a problem? Yes. Will I do something about it? Probably not.
Because, once again, my greatest weakness has come back to haunt me. I volunteered. Even though the only reason I did was because no one else raised their hands and I have the spine of an overcooked noodle.
“Nope, not a problem!”
“Great!” She shuffles some papers on her desk and hands me a folder. “Everything you need is in here—schedule, roster, guidelines. Make sure he gets settled and oriented before practice starts.”
I blink. “Wait. I have to orient him?”
“You’re the program lead, aren’t you?” she says, looking over her glasses.
Okay, technically, yes. But when I signed up, I was picturing friendly neighborhood dads teaching kids how to dribble, not national-level basketball stars with viral scandals.
“Right,” I manage to say, tucking the folder in my arm.
Everyone exits her office, but I stay, the folder feeling heavier with every step.
“Good luck, Kate,” Farrah, my co-teacher and friend says. “I heard he has an attitude. I hope his pretty face can make up for it.”
I roll my eyes and smile. When everyone is outside, Mrs. Ramos returns and says, “Michael is here. I’ll take over the greeting activities for the children outside, while you orient him in your classroom.”
She doesn’t even spend a second to hear what I have to say before she gets out again.
I run to my classroom, passing the row of colorful paintings my students made yesterday, and quickly skim through the contents of the folder handed to me.
According to this, Michael will spend Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays here, assisting with the after-school sports program.
He’s also encouraged to spend even the earlier parts of the day with the children. I scoff. Yeah, right.
I just finished reading when a giant figure enters my room.
To nobody’s surprise, Michael Lee is tall.
So, so, so tall. Now, this is a preschool classroom, so everything is smaller than usual.
But I, standing proudly at five foot two, can still sit on the kids’ chairs with full lumbar support.
Michael, however, scans the room and doesn't find a seat his pinky can fit in, so he hovers in front of my desk.
He’s still wearing sunglasses. Indoors. While scrolling through his phone.
I clear my throat and stand up. “Hi. You must be Michael.”
He glances up, sliding his sunglasses down just enough to reveal sharp, disinterested eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m Kate Cruz,” I say cheerfully. “I’m in charge of the Little Sports League.” I extend my hand, because I’m a professional, even if he’s making it difficult to be polite.
Michael doesn’t even look at it. “Cool,” he says, going right back to his phone.
Cool?
I lower my hand slowly, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. “I need to go over some things before the program starts,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’ve got plenty,” he mutters, still staring at his phone.
I grit my teeth. “Okay,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “Let’s start with your role in the program. The kids are between five and seven, so we focus more on fun and movement rather than serious competition. It's less about strategy and more about—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, finally tucking his phone into his pocket. “I got it. Kids dribble, I smile, we all go home.”
I blink at him. “It’s a little more involved than that.”
Michael removes his sunglasses and tucks them on his shirt collar.
He looks up slowly, and then I see his eyes.
Dammit. Of course he has pretty eyes. Big, brown, and soft, like a doe.
His hair is tousled but also perfect, like he got out of bed and gave it a good shake and then it just works.
He also has a jawline that can probably cut glass.
Overall, he looks like a Korean boy band member.
But then there’s the rest of him. At first I only noticed how tall he was, but now that I really look, it’s clear that Michael’s built like someone whose actual occupation is being built.
He has broad shoulders, chiseled arms that look like they can carry three generations and a cat out of a burning building, and a chest that stretches his gray shirt.
Fine. He really does look like someone important.
If he were just a regular human, it would be a terrible waste of height.
And face. And torso. Fortunately for the human race, he looks like Superman and he’s the captain of the national basketball team.
Unfortunately for me, he’s also really arrogant, sarcastic, and mean enough to make you want to throw a chair at him but also admire his face from a safe distance.
So naturally, I hate him.
Oof. Okay, wait. Hate is a strong word. Maybe I just strongly, emphatically, with all the kindness in my heart… don’t like him very much.
He shrugs. “Look, Miss…” He looks at the nameplate on my desk despite me introducing myself earlier, “Kate, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m not exactly here by choice.”
Oh, I’ve heard. Everyone within a ten-mile radius has heard.
“Well, I’m here by choice,” I say, trying to sound calm. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat this like some chore you’re being forced to suffer through.”
He leans back, arms crossed. “And I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to be here at all. But life is disappointing sometimes.”
I suck in a breath, my fingers tightening around my folder.
“Okay,” I say with a too-sweet smile. “Then let’s make this easy for both of us.
Show up. Follow instructions. Maybe don’t shove anyone.
Think you can manage that?” Okay. That was mean.
And I’m not usually mean. I give free food to delivery riders and take in stray cats.
Why is the guy bringing out my inner goblin?
Michael barks out a short, humorless laugh. “Guess we’ll find out.”
For a second, we just stare at each other. Then he adds, “And if you could not hover over me like I’m about to set the school on fire, that’d be great.”
I snap the folder shut with a little more force than necessary. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
“Perfect.” He stares at me. I try to stare back, but it’s hard to be intimidating when your eye level barely makes it to someone’s armpit. I give up before my neck cramps.
“Are we done?” he asks.
“For the day, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Alright, Miss Kate.” He turns his back, and it isn’t until he’s at the door that he mutters, “This is gonna be a long three months.”
“For you and me both,” I retort. I don’t know where I’m getting this confrontational energy from. As the door clicks shut behind him, I can already tell that whatever these next three months have in store... I’m deeply, profoundly not ready for it.
I’m still muttering to myself five minutes later, pacing the length of my classroom.
“Show up, follow instructions…” I mimic in a flat, monotone voice. “Yeah, like I’m asking him to build a rocket. All he has to do is throw a ball and not act like he’s allergic to kindness. Why is that so hard?”
I storm over to the chalkboard, grabbing a piece of chalk. I pause, take a breath, and write my usual daily quote about happiness: ‘Kindness costs nothing but means everything.’ I stare at it for a second. Somehow, that feels too pointed today.
Grumbling, I erase it and write: ‘Be the rainbow in someone’s cloud.
’ Still too preachy, but it’ll do. I sigh dramatically and drop the chalk back into its tray.
“And what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors?” I mutter again as I draw butterflies around my chalkboard rainbow.
“What’s next? Leather jacket at recess? Gonna rev his motorcycle on the playground? ”
“Miss Kate?”
I whirl around so fast I nearly trip over my own feet.
Polly’s tiny face peeks through the slightly ajar door, her big brown eyes wide with concern. Behind her, her mom Tricia is holding a paper bag in one hand, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, Polly, sweetheart!” I smooth my hair like that’s enough to erase the fact that I was just having an imaginary argument with a grown man. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually,” Tricia says, stepping inside. “It was me. I just wanted to bring you some pastries to apologize for my brother.”
Her brother?
She must catch the look of confusion on my face because she adds, “Michael.”
I blink. “Michael is your brother?”
Tricia nods, looking way too amused by my disbelief.
“That’s your great, favorite uncle, Polly?” I ask incredulously. Polly’s always raving about her Tito Wowski. According to her, he’s her second-favorite guy after her dad. And that’s a title she doesn’t give lightly.
“Yes!” Polly beams proudly, bouncing on her toes. “Isn’t he the bestest?”
I open my mouth, but words fail me. Tito Wowski–the sweet, funny, pretend-bodyguard Polly idolizes–is that Michael Lee? The sunglasses-wearing, phone-obsessed, attitude-filled man I’d just spent the last ten minutes roasting in my head?
My brain scrambles for a response. “Uh... the bestest!” I echo, my voice an octave too high.
Polly grins like I’ve just confirmed her greatest belief. “I knew you’d like him!”
“Love him already, Polly Pocket,” I mutter under my breath.
Tricia sets the paper bag on my desk. “Those are my favorite pastries from our childhood in Seoul. They have it here now. I figured you deserved something sweet after... well, whatever attitude he gave you.”
I peek inside. There’s a neatly packed assortment of pastries, still warm.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “This might be the only thing that gets me through the week.”
“Don’t worry,” Tricia says with a grin. “I’ll keep him in check. He’s just... going through some things. I think. He’s not really very open.”
I want to ask what things exactly, but I don’t. I have enough on my plate without psychoanalyzing Michael Lee.
Before I can respond, the sound of giggles and excited chatter drifts down the hall as my students arrive. Polly’s classmates come bursting in, bags bouncing on their backs, energy at full blast. I wave goodbye to Tricia, take a deep breath and paste on my usual smile.
“Alright, everyone!” I call out, clapping my hands. “Let’s get settled.”
I try my best to maintain my bubbliness to make it through this afternoon session. Future Kate can handle whatever demon-possessed athlete life throws at her tomorrow.