Chapter 21
Teagan
It’s an easy skill, and the apparent best little gymnasts in the country, they seem to be forgetting this tidbit. But as I’ve learned since starting this job, while they are talented, they are still only so young and need reminders often.
“Like this, Coach Teagan?” Mabel asks for the fourth time.
“Yes, Mabel,” I say as sweetly as possible, trying not to lose my patience as we’re not even an hour into training yet.
To my surprise, I have more patience than I thought before starting this job.
“Hey, Coach,” Zoey greets me as she comes to stand beside me.
“Hey, Zoey. How’s your history essay coming along?” I ask.
Over the past few weeks with my students, I’ve gotten to know them personally, and I make sure to check in often when they tell me certain things. For example, with Zoey, she told me last week about her history assignment that was stressing her out, so I want to see how it’s going.
Zoey sighs, a frustrated sound leaving her. “I’m halfway done, but there’s no guarantee it’s any good.”
“I’m sure you’re doing a great job. Keep trying your best,” I encourage her, knowing how hard it is to feel motivated to do homework for a subject you find difficult.
“Thanks, Coach. What’s next, how can I help?” she asks. Zoey started volunteering to help with my younger groups two weeks ago and it’s been a huge help. She’s one of my most talented and kind seniors, making her the perfect candidate to assist me.
“Can you grab the bin with the resistance bands from the equipment room, please?”
Zoey gets right to it, and I gather the girls on the tumbling mat, where I explain that we’re going to be doing some stretching using the bands.
The rest of the training session goes as expected. We move from practicing handstands to bridges and finish with walk-overs. Creating training plans isn’t the hard part. In fact, I find that I like it a lot.
But you know what’s tough about this position?
Putting on a cheery face every day while trying to keep these little spitfires in check.
These girls are talented, but they’ve all got a personality, let me tell you.
And I didn’t go to school to be a teacher.
I don’t know the right things to say or how to solve conflict.
For instance, just last week, Mabel and Olivia got into an argument because Mabel said she wasn’t Olivia’s friend anymore. I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling and proceeded to tell Olivia, word for word, “Be friends with someone else then.”
I’m not sure it was the best thing to say, but Olivia made new friends and there hasn’t been a scuffle between the two of them since.
So maybe I’m doing okay at this dealing with kids thing. And the truth is, I want to be doing a good job. I care about these kids more than I thought was possible.
And to top it off, Nina released the news to the public a few weeks ago and it was the talk online.
Sport networks praised how nice it is to see a celebrated athlete return to their roots and help the next generation.
That’s the common theme amongst the talk online about it, which is exactly what Nina and I hoped for.
In time, hopefully Coach Samuel can see I’m serious about this new persona and will invite me back to the team.
Things are better than they were two months ago, and I hope that trend continues onward.
So long as this sickness goes away and I don’t need to puke during class again.
Our session comes to an end about an hour later, and the kids all get picked up by their parents.
I know many families that moved across the country to live in Detroit so that their child could start training at the academy as soon as possible.
ESA is a coveted sports training facility, and once graduation comes, the students go professional if possible, or go to Rock Land University, the best college sports institution in the nation.
It’s the next best possible option if going pro isn’t an option quite yet, as it gives students the best chance at expanding their skills and getting scouted.
As I walk through the pristine halls, memories of my time spent here hit me like they usually do.
The day I met Clara and Kaya. The day I cried in a bathroom stall when I found out my mom was missing my birthday yet again. It was my tenth birthday, and she had promised she wouldn’t miss me entering the double digits. After that, I stopped believing her, but I never stopped hoping.
The day I won at nationals, meaning that I’d made Team USA and would be going to my first Olympics.
Good and bad, I’ve experienced it all here, giving nostalgia a bittersweet undertone.
“Have a nice day, Teagan,” Nicole Walsh says as I pass her, like we do every day at this time.
I’ve always admired Nicole as an athlete.
She’s headstrong, dedicated to her craft, and doesn’t put up with shit.
I’ve met so many athletes in my time that have no personality, only the one their agents curated for them.
At least with Nicole, while she can be blunt, you know she’s being real.
It’s where I pulled inspiration from, wanting to be like her as an athlete.
“You too!” I say back, realizing how most people would freak out over this interaction, and yet I see her daily, never thinking twice of it.
This place is oozing with legends and celebrities, but we don’t make a fuss of it because this is a safe space for us.
We’re given the opportunity to teach and pass our knowledge down, while remaining immersed in the sport.
It’s the best possible outcome once your prime is over.
And I’m going to do everything I possibly can to ensure everyone knows my prime isn’t over yet.
Back in my office once all my classes are done for the day, I settle into my chair as I take a minute to relax. Until my phone rings, cutting my rest short.
I frown when I see it’s the owner of my building calling. He never calls, and I have no idea what this could possibly be about.
“Hi,” I say as I answer the call, nerves pricking at the base of my spine.
“Teagan, where are you right now?” he demands, sounding breathless.
“I’m at work. What’s wrong?”
“There was a fire in your apartment.”
“W-what do you mean?” I stutter as I freeze, my hand flying to my mouth.
“The firefighters said there was a faulty wire in the kitchen—”
“Oh, so it wasn’t too bad then?” I ask, hopeful that’s the case.
The owner swallows, his voice laced with pity as he says, “Everything’s gone. There’s nothing left of your apartment, Teagan. I’m so sorry.”
“Everything’s gone?”
“Everything,” he confirms. “Do you have anywhere to go? I feel awful, but I have no units available.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell him, then hang up, my fingers shaking as my body turns numb.
The only thing I can think of right now is calling Quentin. I don’t know anything right now, but I do know that he’ll be here for me and know what to do.
He picks up instantly.
“Quentin.” My voice shakes.
“What is going on?” he asks, sounding on edge.
“My apartment burned down.”
God, the words don’t feel real as they leave my mouth. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m at work, and I’m physically fine. Mentally… I don’t know,” I admit as a tear escapes and rolls down my cheek.
“I’m on my way.”