Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
I brace myself for yet another.
Of all of the buttons on my computer screen, that tiny little X has been my favorite. Clicking it in the last week has brought me much peace and joy. And on that note, I click the X, only to open yet another unread email.
Leah clicks into my classroom, today’s suit royal blue, her accent necklace a vivid pink, like bubble gum. I motion to her outfit. “I love it.”
She sinks into a student’s desk across from my desk and smiles. “Thank you. Me too. It makes the job a lot easier to look incredible.”
I smile. “I bet.” Refocusing on my screen, I read the next one, this time aloud. “Dear Miss Rivers, my son Jon did not need to know about how to get a girl pregnant at age fourteen, how could you corrupt him that way? I will be seeking legal action. Sincerely, Jacob Martin.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Legal action? I’m literally following the course guidelines approved by the State of California.”
Leah drums her nails on the desk. “These parents kill me. They think Jon didn’t know about sex until you started the reproduction unit at school? Jon is probably a master at incognito internet tabs, Jacob Martin.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, Riley. I guess I should’ve tried to warn you that if you actually taught the core curriculum as planned, this would happen. Bluebell isn’t used to it. Mr. Cunningham really talked mostly about deodorant and brushing your teeth. They just… weren’t prepared.”
I nod, understanding the situation and trying desperately not to be depressed by all the negative attention coming my way. “I’m really only doing my job. The condoms are to keep my students focused. And honestly, it works.”
Leah roots around in the desk she’s sitting at, pulling out a fidget spinner. “They still use these?”
I shrug. “I don't know.” I glance back at my computer screen where forty-two other messages wait. “Are they emailing you complaining about me?”
Leah spins the toy and loses grip, and it clatters along the desk, onto the floor, across the room. “And calling,” she says. “But don’t worry. The first game of the season is next week. The town will be preoccupied with football and the fall farmers market. Their care for their children’s education only rears its head when nothing else is going on.”
She gets up and fishes a mint from the small bowl of candy on my desk and pops it into her mouth. “How’s Cadence, by the way? She being cunty?”
I almost choke on my coffee as I sip it. “Cunty? Leah!”
She steals another mint, this time, popping it into her suit pocket. “Well, Caine wanted the JV cheer job.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, hoping Leah answers me honestly. “I didn’t just get this job because we’re friends, right?”
Leah lets her arms fall to her sides limply, as her serious gaze rains down on me. “First of all, that’s massively unethical and not who I am. Secondly, you’re excellent at both teaching and coaching. Why wouldn’t I hire excellence? Because you’re my friend? No way. If anything, our friendship was a con on the pros and cons list, but ultimately, you are just too good to pass on.” She smiles, alleviating the tension building.. “Anyway, Cadence is in the mindset of being head cheerleader, not the coach. She’s not right for JV and half of the time, I question if she’s right for freshmen either.” She clicks across the room and grabs the fidget spinner from the floor, tossing it to me. “You’re the right one for the job. Health and cheer. Trust me, I’m the principal, I’m brilliant.” She winks, and leaves me there with lots of unanswered hate mail, but feeling so much better than before.
“Trust me, when you’re out there in front of the crowd, you won’t want to be wheezing and out of breath. Conditioning isn’t about some power trip I have, okay? I’m well adjusted. I don’t need to secretly get off on controlling you guys. This is to make you better athletes, so run the lines like you mean it or stay until you do.”
Twenty red and sweaty faces track me as I walk back and forth, sending home the point. We’re running suicides because half the team can’t make it through halftime without acting like they just finished the CrossFit games.
Priscilla, the athlete I’ve appointed as team captain, tugs the hem of her t-shirt up to her forehead, swiping through the sweat. “I think we run through it one more time, on my count,” she tells me as she struggles to catch her breath. “If we can’t hear you when we’re out on the field, they can follow my count.”
I nod my head. “I agree.” I cup my hands to my mouth and shout, “Text your parents. Twenty more minutes,” I tell the girls before turning back to Priscilla. “Run it through two more times, and I’ll go double check the schedule for tomorrow’s practice.” We have to share the gym with the pep rally, so tomorrow’s practice may run even later than normal. I hate it, but cheer is one of those sports that, because it’s only a female sport at this level, we learn to take what we can get.
Walking past freshmen practice, I overhear Cadence disciplining some of the girls, but stay focused on my task of schedule checking. I want to catch Priscilla leading the halftime dance.
After verifying that we will either have to practice on the blacktop or start our indoor practice two hours late, I head back to the girls. Or at least, I intend to head back to my girls.
Cadence’s high pitch chiding causes my hackles to rise, and I can’t help but stop and see what’s going on.
“That leaves us in a worse off position, Jolene. Okay? Noelle could’ve easily moved out of the way, and then we’d be down one girl instead of two. Two makes it a show. It makes it obvious, do you understand?”
Jo Jo nods her head. Her cheeks are red, she’s breathing so hard, and she’s bent in half, gripping her knees, fighting for a breath. “Yes,” she pants, trying to tell Cadence what she wants to hear. Next to Jo Jo is another frosh cheerleader, on the ground, holding her ankle, her cheeks pink from tears, not exertion.
“What’s up?” I ask, and when Cadence turns to see that her coaching has gathered my attention, she rolls her eyes.
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, her upper lip rolls with a snarl. “It’s not enough you took JV from me, but now you wanna coach frosh, too?”
I blink at her. Cadence is beautiful. Huge dark eyes, silky honey hair, legs that are twice as long as mine despite the fact she's just as tall as me. She’s one of those women that looks like they have a fresh face of makeup no matter the time of day, whose nails always look perfect, and clothes always look either new or ironed. She’s walking perfection, and in my experience, all of that perfection is usually shielding something.
In Cadence’s case, I think that something is a shitty personality.
“Just overheard that someone might have gotten hurt, that’s all.” I pretend that my athletic joggers need retying as I scan the girls’ faces.
Cadence, aware the girls can hear us, clears her throat, gripping her clipboard to her chest with white knuckles. If she could get away with punching me in the face right now, she totally would. I can see it in her calculating eyes. But she can’t, so I smile and wait for her to respond.
“Well, Miss Rivers, one of the girls tripped and I was explaining to them it’s better to have the show go on than to stop and make a scene.”
I look at the girl on the ground holding her ankle and then look back to Cadence. “She seems pretty hurt. Seems like stopping to help when someone is hurt is the exact thing to do.” I look over at Jo Jo, whose mouth lifts on the edges just a moment as our eyes meet. “That’s the kind of cheerleader who looks out for her team, that’s the kind of girl everyone should be. Makes the squad stronger,” I tell Cadence, my voice loud, spilling out into the open gym, the girls on both frosh and sophomore absorbing my words.
Cadence hardly moves her mouth when she hisses under her breath, “She’s weak and her skills suck, so if you love her so much, you take her.”
My eyes slide to Cadence, tight-jawed and straight-backed, her evil glare set on a group of fourteen-year-olds that just want to dance a little and have some fun. Jo Jo probably isn’t ready to move up, but the truth is, she belongs on a squad that’s going to make her like the sport of cheer, not hate it.
“Jolene Turner,” I call out loudly over the hushed whispers of the team. “C’mon, you’re moving up to JV. I could use a girl with the team sportsmanship you displayed tonight.”
Cadence groans. “You can’t actually take her. I’m down a spot now.”
Before I took this position, I read all the rules and by-laws, I went through every single piece of detailed information. I like to be prepared that way, because while it hardly happens, weird situations can arise. Like this one. And now, due to all of my diligent reading and research, I am prepared.
I smile at the girls and talk to Cadence quietly. “I actually can, and I just did. So you better replace Jo Jo’s spot or it’ll look bad.” I tap my chin, enjoying the salty expression twisting her face up. “Will it look worse to be down a girl or worse to have a girl that helps others when they’re hurt?” I shrug. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” I hook a thumb toward my practice. “Jo Jo, let’s go.”
Whispers start rumbling from the frosh girls.
“She stayed after class to talk to Miss Riley, wonder what they were talking about,” one voice says, and without looking, I know it’s Alexa. Heat springs to the back of my neck, and my stomach cramps with unease. A quick breath in through my nose and out through my mouth and I turn to the girls, Jo Jo on my heels. This is Cadence’s job but because Cadence is, as Leah so aptly put it, more a high school girl than a grown woman, it apparently falls to me. Along with actual sex education.
“If it’s worth saying, say it loud enough for everyone to hear.” Alexa’s face grows red and her eyes drop to her shoes before sliding back up to Jasmine, her forever sidekick. These two girls are supposed to be Jo Jo’s allies, and here Alexa is yet again, sitting in the captain’s chair, steering the ship to backstab alley.
High school girls are brutal, I swear.
“Alexa, was it worth saying?” I press, not because I want to, but at this point, it feels like she could use a little check. “Is there some reason that Jo Jo staying after class has something to do with you?” I make a show of looking around the gym. “Is this health class?” I face the other girls. “Girls, is this health class?”
The girls shake their heads in near unison. If you’re not a bratty pain in the ass trying to get attention, you’re a people pleaser. Those are the only two options for fourteen-year-old girls.
“No, it’s not. So now you’re talking about something someone else did during a different class. It was important enough to you to interrupt practice, so please, come on forward,” I tell her, motioning for her to come stand in front of the girls. “Tell everyone what you just said, please, since it is just that important.”
Cadence blows a whistle. “Alright girls, let's run through it one more time,” she says to the squad, but I don’t miss the way Alexa’s angry eyes linger on me a moment longer than they should.
Alexa doesn’t know it isn’t personal. Everything that happens to you at this age is so extremely personal in your mind, but in truth, it’s not at all. I won’t send her home thinking I hate her, but I also won’t tolerate bullies.
“Jo Jo, go catch up with my team,” I smile, and turn to see the sophomore girls moving through their halftime dance for the second time. “Alexa,” I call, but Cadence stops me.
“Everyone gets it, you can flex because Leah’s your friend.” She flicks her hand in my direction as if dusting dirt off of something. “You can go now. ”
I don’t address the comment about Leah, and instead call Alexa aside. She glares the whole time she stomps toward me.
“What?” she hisses.
I put on a patient smile. “We’re all Bruisers. We all wear the same uniform. We’re a team. Frosh, JV, Varsity, we’re all on the same team.”
She tightens her ponytail, which is the same as a muscled guy cracking his knuckles pre-fight, but says nothing.
“Jolene isn’t moving up to JV because she stayed after class one day. Okay? And I think you know that. I also think you know that being the girl that is mean to other girls isn’t cool.”
Alexa’s lips curve into a smile that makes my pulse jump. I’m ten years older, but still, her smile is eerie. “Oh, and you know what's cool, hmm?” She looks down at my feet, my favorite black and white Nikes on them. “Neat shoes, grandma.”
With that, she turns and leaps back into the group of girls, already working on their dance.
Cadence gives me a smug little smile, and even though I know it’s impossible that she heard what we talked about from where she’s standing, still, she looks so satisfied.
Whatever.
I tried to teach her a lesson. I tried.
And sometimes as a coach and teacher, trying is the only thing we can do.
“He’s not a big cell phone type of guy,” Jo Jo tells me about her dad as she tries calling him one more time. “I mean, he knows— Dad? ”
A thick voice vibrates through her cell phone, and Leah’s melted expression at Jake Turner’s beauty floats through my mind.
“I’m done. You can come now.” She hangs up abruptly, without saying goodbye, without details as to how practice went or if she’s hungry. No discussion of how much homework there is left to do, or if anyone else needs a ride. It’s the coldest, shortest, saddest conversation between a daughter and parent.
Well, one of. My family could give Jake Turner a run for his money.
Jo Jo slides her phone into her bag, and redoes her ponytail.
“That was… succinct.” She levels a glare my way which causes me to raise my palms in innocence. “Just noticing,” I comment with a smirk.
She smirks too, and it lightens the mood.
“You okay with moving up to JV? I wasn’t bullshitting you know. I love your team spirit. The fact that you helped–” shit, I don’t know her name.
Jo Jo helps. “Maribelle.”
“Yeah, the fact you helped a hurt teammate instead of kept going—I like that, seriously. I mean, Cadence is talking like we’re on mat at a big competition. But it’s not that serious here. We don’t compete, we just have fun, work hard and try to learn how to dance along the way. Toss in some cheers, and… well, let’s just say, it’s not so serious that we should let someone sit hurt on the ground in the middle of a performance.”
Her smile is wide and so genuine that warmth worms through my chest in response. “I agree.”
I fidget with my hair. “You good with moving up? Like I offered before, I can help you catch up on skills or dances or anything like that.”
She nods, twisting the end of her long dark hair around her finger repeatedly. “Yeah, I think it’s cool. Thank you.”
“And you know,” I tell her pointedly, “that me pulling you up to JV has absolutely nothing to do with you and I chatting after class the other day. That’s just Alexa’s jealousy.”
She chews the inside of her cheek, still twirling her hair. “I know.”
I can tell Alexa is maybe a sore subject, so instead, I ask her about her dad. And I keep Leah’s words very, very far from my mind. Like you’d need a map and a compass to find her story of Jake’s hotness. Yep. Absolutely, positively not thinking about it.
“Will your dad be okay with you moving up to JV? It’s the same time commitment but, I don’t know, I just want to make sure he’s okay with it.”
Jo Jo makes a show of rolling her eyes. “Like he cares what I do.”
I think of my parents, and suddenly I wish I could conjure the fantasy image of Jo Jo’s hot cowboy dad.
“He cares. Of course he cares. Parents always care,” I assure her, because it’s true. It’s true in the sense that they don’t want to see you dead, and that they always think they have your best interests at heart. The key word there being think . They always think they’re caring in the best ways, but some parents, as I know better than most, put their own interests front and center, disguising them as their child’s best interests.
I want to believe that some of those parents don’t realize they’re doing that.
I want to believe that more than anything .
“What are your parents like?” Jo Jo asks, and when I look up at her from the tie on my shoes, I find her studying my expression, reading my features, trying to decide exactly how I’m feeling. So I plaster on a smile because I’m here to help these teenagers, not the other way around.
But before I have to sugarcoat anything, a truck rumbles up into the parking lot, but stops at the end, parking.
“He’s gonna make you walk!” I tease her.
She levels me with a glare. “I tell him to pick me up down there.” She gets to her feet and lifts her bag over her shoulder, pulling the end of her ponytail out from under the strap. “Thanks for bumping me up to JV. And thanks for just… being cool, I guess.”
I give her a nod and watch her until she steps up into the truck and it disappears down the road where it came.
And then I go home and take a long run, reminding myself that just because our parents don’t always love us the way that we want, it doesn’t mean they love us any less.
I run eight miles and by the time I get home, I’m not sure I believe it anymore on mile eight than I did on mile one.
Important thing is, Jo Jo believes it.