September 3rd, 2008
Toby
My stomach growls while my students take a quiz on Spanish salutations. It’s Wednesday, so I’m thinking about lunch and JerryAnn while pretending to correct papers. Who am I kidding? I think about JerryAnn every day, but on Wednesday there’s a chance I’ll see her. Why do I torture myself? JerryAnn is too tall and athletic to end up with a short, squat, substitute teacher.
My eyes fall to the paper I’m correcting where a student has written “hula” in place of “hola” throughout the entire worksheet. I put a red mark through all the u’s and place an o above each. My stomach, anticipating lunch, rumbles, and my hangry thoughts return to JerryAnn. Wasn’t last week’s rejection clear enough?
The back door of the classroom opens, and Dr. Jacobs enters and takes a seat in the back. Great—the principal is here to observe my worst class: fourth period, when kids are hungry, ready for lunch, needing a break, and—let’s be honest—I need a break. But hungry kids are nothing compared with the wild card that is Milo Sims, currently sitting on the front row.
Milo looks up from his quiz, follows my line of sight, and blurts, “Buenos noches, Dr. Jacobs!”
If he’s going to interrupt the class, he should at least use Spanish correctly. “ Buenas noches is for night. It’s the afternoon so you would say, buenos dias or buenas tardes, Dr. Jacobs .”
Milo cusses, loudly, followed by, “Dr. Jacobs, are you gonna take that? Se?or Delgado just called you a tardes.” The class titters. Milo grins.
“Language, Milo.” Dr. Jacobs leans toward Milo and whispers, loudly, “You just earned detention after school today.”
Milo slams his fist on the desk and turns to me. “And I was just lookin’ out for you, Se?or Delgado.” The class snickers. I like Milo, and if I weren’t the teacher, I’d laugh.
There are minutes left in fourth period. My students finish their quizzes and turn them in just as the bell rings. Dr. Jacobs waits for the room to empty before approaching me, but he doesn’t know that a turkey and Swiss sub from Dion’s is waiting for me in the lounge fridge, and stealing from a substitute is considered a victimless crime.
“Mr. Delgado.” I’ve substituted in a lot of schools, but this guy has perfected his serious voice. “Do you have a minute?” I suspect he wants to discuss Milo, but one minute is enough time for the Math teacher across the hall with a taste for Dion’s to saunter into the teacher’s lounge and steal my sandwich.
But he’s the principal. “Sure.”
We stand in front of my desk, cluttered with Se?ora Johnson’s stuff. Students shout and shuffle through the hall, but a bubble of silence surrounds us. “I don’t know if you realize this, but the Spanish teacher you are substituting for was also the girls’ basketball coach.”
“Nope, I did not know that.” Is this conversation worth my sandwich?
“Well,” he pats me on the arm. “There’s a hole that needs to be filled in that department, and I thought of you.”
I laugh, but he’s serious. Makes sense that the first person the principal thinks of to coach basketball is the short asthmatic Mexican guy.
“Coaching basketball pays $2100 for the season.”
Okay, I’m intrigued. I’m still paying off Mom’s hospital bills.
He continues, “Practices are after school until 4:45 and games are on Fridays, usually over by 6.”
My other source of income is driving for a ride service with flexible hours, but I know nothing about basketball.
“I thought of you when I saw you talking with JerryAnn Rice.”
I blink. “How do you know JerryAnn?” Hearing Dr. Jacobs saying her name has transformed JerryAnn from a mere thought to a billboard flashing across my mind.
Dr. Jacobs nods. “She’s an Albuquerque legend. All-star basketball player through high school, broke UNM’s all-time scoring record. My wife and I would drive all across the district and state just to watch her play.” While Dr. Jacobs rattles on like an excited kid, I deflate. “And we never miss a UNM game. The team will suffer without her this year. I mean, really suffer.” He shakes his head, tragically, looking down at the ground and then up at me. “Haven’t you seen her play?”
“No,” I whisper. JerryAnn is way out of my league. In elementary school, I read the most books in a given year and graduated second in my high school class, but these things seem trivial when compared with the effect JerryAnn has had on Dr. Jacobs. I’m a substitute teacher and my mommy loved me. Does that count?
Dr. Jacobs shakes his head. “Put a basketball in Jerry’s hands and the game is beautiful.” His eyes trail off in the equidistance.
Can basketball be beautiful?
Dr. Jacobs snaps out of it, turns to me, and hits me on the shoulder, again. “Cleveland Middle School hasn’t won a basketball game in two years. My expectations are low, but with Jerry’s help, maybe we’ll have a chance. She’s already been employed by the district helping her dad with summer football camps. There's money in the budget for an assistant coach. All you have to do is convince her. Please, think about it, and let me know by Friday. Practices start a week from Monday.”
Dr. Jacobs is out the door reprimanding students for loitering while I stand, motionless. If JerryAnn helped me, maybe I could do it—be a basketball coach. I need the money, and I want an excuse to spend time with her. I don’t have her number, but I can reach her through Cate. Even if she is out of my league, she’s always on my mind.
Following Dr. Jacobs’ voice, I run down the hall and stop where he’s standing with his hands behind his back, surveying the hallway.
I wheeze up next to him, and he peers down his nose at me.
“I’ll coach the girls’ basketball team.” It’s a stupid idea, me teaching any sport, and my asthma is acting up as if to prove how stupid the idea is. I don’t always have asthma, but when I’m nervous, when I exert myself, when I’m allergic to something, it’s often there like the friend nobody wants.
“Great.” Dr. Jacobs pats me on the back. “Let’s go sign the paperwork.”