September 15th, 2008
Toby
I accidentally teach eighth-grade Spanish to a bunch of sixth-graders until a sixth-grade girl raises her hand in tears. My zipper is down when I hit the restroom during my prep time, and then fourth period arrives and Milo sits in his seat, his hair a messy halo around his head, muttering the lyrics to “I Wish” by Skeelo.
“Milo,” I say as I pass out papers.
Milo smiles. “I didn’t do it.”
“You’re not in trouble. I was just wondering if you’d be willing to help me coach the eighth-grade girls’ basketball team today after school?” My heart races. This could work.
Milo stands, hits his palm to his chest, and leans toward me. “Are you asking me because I’m Black?”
I stepped in it.
“That’s racism, Delgado. That’s flat-out racism.”
Where did I get the idea that he played? I search my mind but come up blank. Did I just stereotype myself into a corner?
Milo glares at me.
“I’m sorry, Milo.” I didn’t know my voice could still crack.
He stands and hits me on the shoulder. “I’m just messin’ with you, man.” He laughs. “I wish you could see your face right now. You a brown man with a red face.”
I laugh, but all my insecurities hit. Is my fly down? I’m a head shorter than Milo. Does this shirt make me look fat? Do I have sweat stains in my armpits?
“Sure, I’ll help coach the ladies.” His last innuendo-filled word makes me regret asking him to help out.
During eighth period, Cate hands me two letters. One is a letter of apology in English. The other is the first letter translated into Spanish, which morphs into a list of reasons why Cate’s mom would make a good wife. The part about her mom not being a convicted bomber takes my mind off basketball practice. After eighth period, I head for the gym.
Milo stops me in the hall. “Sorry, Delgado.” He lifts his hand to give me five, and I stretch up to meet his palm. “Got detention, can’t help today.”
We walk our separate ways. I think I lose an inch with each step. By the time I get to the gym, I’m smaller than a basketball.
Bad isn’t a strong enough word to describe the first practice. Ten minutes are spent tracking down basketballs. Next, the girls ask to run drills. I joke about fire drills, lockdown drills, earthquake drills, and power drills, but no one laughs. They shoot baskets while I praise every shot, though only a few make it into the basket, and an hour later, everyone leaves, unhappy.