Chapter 8
Teagan
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, my anxiety heightened as I pull onto the winding road that will take me to the ESA.
It’s my first day as an official teacher at the ESA, the place that shaped me into who I am.
Home of the Wildcats. This place was my sanctuary as a kid.
It’s where I got to learn and expand my gymnastics skills while meeting two of my best friends.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved living with my grams and pops, but without this place, I don’t know where I’d be in life.
It gave me routine, discipline, and something to look forward to as a kid who was lost and angry all the time.
The winding road is about a mile long, and my mind drifts back to my weekend. To Baseball Guy.
God, he was…so different than what I’m used to.
Usually, my hookups are immature boys who are good-looking enough that I overlook it since it’s only for one night.
But Baseball Guy, he was a man.
He was confident while being honest about his nerves, something most won’t admit, hot without being cocky, and he could keep up with my quips and teasing. I wasn’t lying when I said in another lifetime, he would be the kind of guy I’d be into dating.
When I walked back into the bar, I told Kaya and Clara that I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to run into him again because I was worried things would be awkward, so we ordered a rideshare and went back to my condo for the rest of the night.
I told them what happened, their squeals and excitement not helping with the guilt that slowly started to fester since I left him in that car.
While I knew I made the right choice, it didn’t mean I didn’t feel bad for rejecting him.
My girls know how I am, though, and didn’t make me feel bad for not giving him a chance to explore anything between us. Instead, they were happy I had a good time, and we finished the night eating chips while we watched reality TV.
My car finally makes it to the end of the winding road, bringing me to the familiar wrought iron gates that keep this place secure.
Which is essential seeing as many retired athletes work here, and fans who are crazy enough would try to get inside if there wasn’t this level of security put in place.
I pull up to the booth, my mouth dropping when I see who it is.
“Rocky?” I say in disbelief at the man sitting inside. It’s the same security booth worker who has been here since I attended the ESA.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get here. How are ya?” he asks, his voice raspier than it was the last time I was here six years ago.
“I’m in shock that I’m back here. It feels like forever ago.”
He chuckles, fixing his glasses on his nose. “I remember your grandma driving you here day in and day out until you could finally stay here full-time. I heard she and your grandpa passed. I’m so sorry.”
A pang of sadness blooms in my chest at the mention of their deaths. It’s been three years since they passed, but grief doesn’t have an end date. Sometimes when they’re brought up, it doesn’t affect me much, but with Rocky having known them and offering his condolences, it does.
“Thank you,” I croak, doing my best not to let a tear slip.
“You’re going to do great today, kid, don’t even sweat it,” he says, his tone assuring.
“Who says I’m nervous?” I play it off as being unbothered, but deep down his support right before I go in is exactly what I needed to hear.
Doing a job I’ve never done before in itself is a scary position, let alone one that involves me working with little and older, moody humans.
“You don’t have to say it. But you got this. If anyone acts up, tell them my wife will stop making the cookies that I leave in the cafeteria every Friday,” he says with a chuckle that turns into a cough.
My lips turn up a tad, a small smile on my lips. “Will do, Rocky. It’s nice to see you. I should get going. I have to meet Lisa at nine.”
“Have a great day, Teagan. It’s good to see your face again.” He beams, weathered eyes crinkling as he smiles and opens the gate.
I wave to him as I slowly drive through the gates and veer off to the left when I see a sign that says staff parking lot.
Once I’m parked, I take a moment to inhale and exhale slowly. Trying to put myself in the same state of focus that I do before a competition.
I can do this, I internally tell myself. And even if it’s hard, I have to do this. It’s my only hope to get where I really want.
It’s with that final thought that I exit and lock my car, my eyes falling upon the welcome center. The building is two stories, with a modern design and large glass panels surrounded by lush landscaping filled with different flowers and plants.
I didn’t visit the center much as a student here, seeing as it was primarily for staff and to welcome newcomers.
Unless I was in trouble, which happened often during my first few years here, so I was well acquainted with the principal’s office.
Opening the glass doors, I make my way to the front desk and am shown to Lisa’s office on the second floor by the receptionist.
Lisa has been the principal since I attended the ESA, and while we had a bumpy start to our relationship when I was a kid, things got better over the years, and I respect her immensely.
I knock on the oakwood door, signaling my presence.
Lisa looks up, glasses perched on her nose. “Hi, Teagan, welcome back.”
She gets up from her brown leather chair, walking around her desk to shake my hand.
I place my hand in hers, shaking it as I say, “Thank you for having me.”
Lisa smooths her gray hair to the side, a warm smile on her face. “We’re so happy to have you back here at ESA. I’m aware you’re an alumnus here, so I imagine it must be a mix of emotions for you.”
“You could say that, but I’m excited to teach what I love,” I say, which is true. While it may not be ideal, it puts me back in the gymnastics world when I could be worse off.
“That’s great to hear.” She claps her hands together. “Why don’t I take you to the gymnastics center? I’m sure you’re well acquainted with it, but I’ll show you where your office is and go over your schedule.”
About an hour later, I’m sitting in my brand-new office, spinning around in the black leather chair and wondering what the hell I’m going to do today.
Lisa informed me that my first class of the day is at one o’clock, giving me three hours to go over the training program the previous coach left behind.
They’re seniors, and since I expect their skills to be more advanced, I’ll be implementing a training routine that would be more rigorous than one I’d give to the younger kids I’ll be seeing later today at four o’clock.
Three hours seems to fly by as I’m engrossed in my work, making rough plans for the rest of my classes this week seeing as today is already planned for me. I say rough plans because based on my observations today, I may need to tweak things based on their skills.
Whoever said being a teacher is easy has never once taught a day in their life. I haven’t even done the teaching part yet and I am already exhausted mentally from all the prep work.
I quickly change into my black t-shirt and tights I packed as Nina informed me that I would be teaching today, wanting to be comfortable to move around and model for the students.
It’s the first time I’ve worn a leotard since the competition, and my body thrums with excitement at the feeling of being back in my element.
Exiting my office, I enter the gym as the bell rings for the start of class.
The girls sitting on the mats all turn to me, their eyes widening as their mouths part in shock. They immediately whisper amongst themselves, and it’s clear no one warned them who their new teacher will be.
A slight shiver of trepidation runs down my spine, but I do my best to shake it off and appear confident. “All right, ladies,” I say, raising my voice to signal that it’s time to stop talking. All of the girls quiet down, their expectant gazes staring back at me.
Not wanting them to sense my fear, I clear my throat, using a confident tone as I say, “My name’s Coach Witt and I’ll be your teacher for the rest of the year.
When you come to my class, I expect you to be ready to train and wearing the proper attire so that we don’t waste any time.
I know you guys have classes outside of this, along with personal obligations.
But I’m going to train you hard, and I expect you to give it your all.
Of course, we’re human, so if something’s up, just come talk to me.
Show me respect, and I’ll give it back to you. Any questions?”
All twenty girls stare in silence, until a girl with a slicked back ponytail raises her hand.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
“My name’s Zoey, and I think I can speak for all of us when we say we’re a little starstruck right now.
You’re a legend, and you’re standing there telling us you’re our new teacher?
That’s insane in the best way.” Her voice squeaks near the end, hair bouncing off her shoulders as she lifts them up in excitement.
“I’m flattered. I get it, if I ever got to meet my idol, I’d probably react the same way. Let’s get started with our training today, though, and if we have time at the end, you guys can ask questions or whatever you’d like, all right?” I hedge, hoping that’s the right thing to say.
All the girls nod in unison, so I break them off into their groups I made based on the report that was on my desk from one of the trainers.
By the end of the class, I’m surprised to find myself…enjoying it? The girls are well behaved, not as moody as I once expected since I remember how moody I was at that age. Maybe it’s the honeymoon period, and more behaviors will come later. Whatever it is, I’ll enjoy it for what it is right now.
While I was teaching, I found myself feeling joy when I’d see the improvement after a student took my advice. Being back in the world of gymnastics in general was like taking a fresh breath of air after being suffocated. Because that’s exactly what the last two weeks have felt like, suffocating.
I hate to admit that Nina was right, but I think this is going to be good for me.
What the fuck?
I think to myself as I watch my group of ages 6-8, fooling around on the mat after I instructed them to practice their cartwheels.
While the seniors were a breeze, the younger group is proving to be more of a handful.
My patience is running thin, and it’s exhausting me.
But I muster up the ability to stay calm, walking over to the group, hands on my hips as I firmly raise my voice and say, “What is going on here?”
“We’re having fun,” a girl explains, as if that’s not a bad thing.
“What were your instructions?” I ask her.
“To do cartwheels, but I’m already good at it, so why do I need to practice?” she asks, sassy as ever.
Lord. Help. Me.
“Because I’m your teacher and I said so,” I say, my tone veering on the edge of annoyance. “Do I need to talk to your parents when they pick you up about you not listening?”
Her brown eyes widen, etched in fear. “No! Okay, I’ll be good.”
“That’s what I thought,” I mutter as she gets back in line and joins the group that was listening.
As they perform cartwheels across the mat, I intervene and adjust as they go, watching to see if they listen and apply the information.
Some of the girls do, while others need constant reminders. Another difference from the seniors, as they got it in the first go, whereas the littles need more help. Which makes sense, but God does it make me want to scream after repeating the same instructions over and over.
I thought teaching was hard before, and now I think it might be the hardest job in the world. Kids are exhausting, and I don’t know how people work all day then go home to their own kids.
I spend the rest of the class correcting forms, putting out fires, and demonstrating back walkovers.
When pick-up time comes around, I’m completely drained.
“I really liked today’s class, Ms. Witt,” one of my students says, drawing a tired smile from me.
“I’m glad you did, and call me Teagan,” I tell her, then ask, “What’s your name?”
“Olivia Lewis. You’re nice and very good at gymnastics,” she says sweetly.
Her compliment lifts my face into a smile. It’s exactly what I needed to hear after a long day.
“Well, thank you, so are you,” I say, remembering that she is one of the few kids who listened today.
I sense she wants to say something else, but before she can, a man with shoulder-length hair and tattooed arms walks in.
“Dad!” she yells, running up to him and into his arms for a hug.
He strangely looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before. A lot of these kids have parents who are professional athletes, so I might have seen him on TV or scrolled past his picture online somewhere.
He takes her hand in his and makes his way over to me.
“Hi, I’m the new teacher, Teagan Witt,” I say, introducing myself as I have to all the parents today.
“Nice to meet you. How was Olivia?” he asks, slinging Olivia’s bag on his shoulder.
I don’t know why the sight makes me emotional, but it does. Maybe it’s because it’s something I never got to experience with my mom. So many times I longed for her to be the one picking me up, only for it to never happen.
Ignoring the lump in my throat, I answer his question. “She was great. Her skills are looking good.”
“That’s good to hear. If you ever need to contact us, my wife and I want to be as involved as we can be,” he says, then adds, “Have a good night.”
“Good to know, and yes, you too, thanks.”
Once the last two students are gone, I put away the equipment we used today and then head to my office, where I shut the door and sink down to the floor.
I lean my head against the door, taking a deep breath.
Today has been a whirlwind of feelings.
From being nervous, to content, to stressed, to exhausted. I think I’ve felt it all, which is more than I’ve felt in the last two weeks in total.
Despite being tired, I feel…proud of myself.
For trying something new, something I didn’t necessarily want to do or ever see myself doing. But I’m here, I’m trying, and I’m actually enjoying parts of it, which is more than I expected from this job.
After I go over my plans for tomorrow, I grab my speaker from my bag and bring it with me back into the gym. I hit play on my playlist, and “Alive” by Pearl Jam blares through the gym.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I realize I have the entire gym to myself and can practice for the first time in weeks.
By the time I’m done, having practiced floor stunts and balance beam tricks, I feel more like myself.
And hope travels throughout my body, that this really might be a good thing.