Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Sayla
“Well, Kroft.” Dex smirks. “At this rate, I’m worried we’re gonna run out of clipboards.”
We’re on the porch, sitting across from each other in Adirondack chairs that feel more like punishment than decor.
I’ve already scrawled out three lists of departmental tasks we’ll have to address as soon as we return to school, but so far, we’ve got no solid plan for some big presentation to the accreditation committee.
I might be freaking out a little.
Or a lot.
“I understand why they want us to trade places,” I say. “Kind of. I’m just not sure how we’re supposed to do that and get the whole school to impress the SACSS.”
Dex guffaws. “And don’t forget we need to make it fun.”
“Fun on demand is impossible.”
“We’ll think of something,” he says. “Hopefully before I have to dig you out from under a pile of spreadsheets, to-do lists, and blueprints.”
“I mean, I can put on workout clothes and wear a whistle,” I say, “but I’ve got no idea how to coach a football team. And you can put on a costume and carry around a script, but you’ve never directed a play.”
“Facts.”
“Our jobs are completely different. What do Bob and Hildy expect us to do?” I let out a scoff. “You can’t teach the football team to perform Romeo and Juliet, and I can’t teach the theater kids how to kick a field goal.”
Dex tips his head. “Huh.”
I blink. “What?”
“Those aren’t bad ideas, actually.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Thanks for the compliment, but you can’t be serious.”
“We’re not supposed to be serious, remember? We’re supposed to be having fun.”
I gape at him. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe.” He straightens in his chair, hands on his knees.
“But you’ve got me thinking.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes in squint.
“Imagine if we did want the varsity football team to act out a scene from Romeo and Juliet. You and the theater kids would have to help me coach them, and vice versa. The football team and I could show you and the cast of the fall play how to scrimmage.”
“Okay …” I sink my teeth into my lip, while simultaneously resisting the urge to murder my cuticles.
“So I kind of have a picture in my head of the SACSS coming out to the football stadium in the middle of the day, and they’re sitting in the stands, and the school board is with them.
The administration, too. And maybe we’ve got a big stage set up on one end of the field with microphones and speakers.
And the football players act out something from the play. Like the ‘to be or not to be’ speech.”
“That’s from Hamlet.”
“All right. Some other famous scene, then. Like the one with a rose by any other name. And ‘wherefore art thou, Romeo.’ That’s gotta be Romeo and Juliet.”
“It is.” I nod. “And back in the Elizabethan era, the plays were all performed by men anyway. So it’s historically accurate.”
“Score one for social science, too, then,” Dex says. “In the meantime, you could have the theater kids down on the opposite end of the field in a football scrimmage running plays.”
“Ooh! Like a screen pass?”
“That’s a good one, yeah. In a screen pass, the throw to the receiver is short, so we wouldn’t necessarily need a quarterback with a good arm.
Not that I’m assuming someone in the theater can’t toss a ball.
It’s just that they can’t be in the fall play and on the team at the same time.
So the actors probably have about as much recent practice playing football as a guy on the team has reciting Shakespeare. ”
My eyes widen. “In other words, this gives them all the chance to try out a school activity they otherwise can’t?”
His brow quirks. “Win-win.”
“My two favorite words.” I nod, slowly, letting his vision take shape in my brain. “To make this really effective, though, we’d need to showcase other departments working together. Not just ours.”
“I agree. We’ll come up with different pairings that seem like total opposites. And not just curricular, but extracurricular, too. That way, the SACSS would see all parts of our school collaborating.”
“Like … we could have the Mathletes and the soccer team perform a lip sync with the advanced dance class.” I lean forward and my clipboard almost falls off my lap. “And maybe the sign language club could be onstage next to them, signing the song, too.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says.
“And maybe halfway through the song, the lyrics could switch to Spanish, with AP Spanish joining in?”
“Sure. Why not? We’re just brainstorming.”
I blow out a breath, ignoring the twinge in my stomach. “There would be a lot of moving parts. We’ll need all the teachers and club advisors to buy in. Do you think the kids will go for it?”
“If all else fails, we can offer extra credit.” His mouth slips into a lopsided grin. “A little bribery never hurt anyone.”
“True story,” I say, with a laugh. “Also true? I have no idea what a screen pass is. My mom and I just watched a lot of Friday Night Lights when she was in between boyfriends and I was in between … friends.”
“Huh.” Dex’s gaze comes to mine. “I’m surprised you’d watch that show. I always assumed you hated sports.”
“Not really. I just never played on a team.”
“Wow. None? Never?”
“We moved around so much, we usually missed the sign-ups, and I was always landing at a new school in a new town mid-season. So I never felt like I could or should jump on a team that was already established.”
“Some coaches would’ve let you join. The good ones, anyway.”
“Maybe, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be good enough.
And being good was expensive. We couldn’t afford club teams or private coaches.
And I never wanted to let the team down.
So I’d wait for the next season to roll around, thinking maybe if I got in at the beginning of a season, I wouldn’t be too far behind.
By then, it was usually time for us to move on again. And again.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t awesome.” I swallow, hoping Dex won’t notice the shift in me. I don’t like accidentally tripping headlong into vulnerability. With anyone, but especially him. And that’s been happening a lot to us lately. “But that’s how I ended up in theater, so I have no regrets.”
“How was being in theater any different, though?” he asks. “If you kept moving around, didn’t you run up against the same problem?”
“I’m only speaking from my own experience, but I felt like there was less competition.
Everyone was encouraged. And unlike a club team, there were no cuts in the drama club.
No one was paying for private coaches on the side.
Theater was free. And yes, there were tryouts for music solos and lead parts in a play, but pretty much everyone could get a role as an extra.
As opposed to—let’s say—making the girls’ basketball team. ”
Dexter’s eyes crinkle. “You might’ve been a little height challenged for that anyway. Although plenty of people would argue that athletes come in all shapes and sizes.”
“I get that now,” I say. “But when I was fourteen …” I let my voice trail off for a moment, but he waits for me to finish. “Let’s just say I lacked confidence. In all areas.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “Because I’m guessing you were a phenomenal teenager.”
“Well.” I huff out a tiny snort. “Phenomenal is relative.”
“Come on, Kroft. Based on who you are today, you must’ve been smart,” he says. “Funny and very cute. I can totally picture you with the little ponytail and the freckles and braces, maybe. When I was fourteen, I would’ve thought you were hot.”
His eyes lock with mine, and my insides fizz like I’m full of butterflies or Dr. Pepper or …
Wait.
Slow down, Sayla.
“You can stop trying to make me feel better,” I say, willing my cheeks not to heat.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, “except I’m not in the business of dropping false compliments.” He sinks back in his chair. “You’ve just been too busy hating me these past three years to realize I’m a hopeless truth-teller.”
For a moment, I blink at him, trying to decide what to say. Then I land on, “I don’t.” My throat feels cotton-dry. “Hate you, I mean. It’s just that when I came to Stony Peak, you were just … everywhere.”
“I wasn’t in the women’s locker room.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “I was brand-new to the school, just trying to make my mark. But everything I tried, you’d already done.
Or you ended up doing better. So I never felt like I was good enough.
Or just enough, in general. So I ended up tangled in the envy and admiration and frustration and insecurity.
All those feelings kept getting tossed into one big pot until there was this …
soup of feelings … and I didn’t want to admit how much I cared or how easily I could be hurt.
But I didn’t want to be sad anymore, either.
In the end, being mad at you was just … easier, I guess. ”
His mouth goes crooked. “Feelings soup?”
“Yeah.” A breath puffs out of me. “Pretty much.”
“So what you’re saying is … maybe you don’t actually hate me now?”
“That’s right.” I let a small smile play on my lips. “I don’t hate you. Maybe.”
“You don’t hate me, maybe.” He laughs. “That’s the best you got?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Definitely take.”
My smile spreads wider. “So. This is us collaborating now, huh?”
“Yep. We’re doing it, Kroft.”