Chapter 22
22
Tuesday, July 25, was a nasty day. Barely sixty-five degrees, with a dark sky and clouds that seemed to sag from the sheer amount of rain that fell from them. The sheets of water pouring onto them were endless, and it made the air thick and humid, smelling like wet grass and dirt and that distinct rain smell. It was the kind of weather that would not have deterred a professional football team from practicing outside. But as high as the standards they held themselves to were, the Greenbelt Senior High players were not professionals. As such, Landry held practice inside the school that day. Because they were days away from the start of the school year, this meant that half the boys were tasked with moving furniture in classrooms while the other half made use of their meager weight room.
Landry had relieved the assistant coaches of their duties for the day as well. Jade was unsurprised when everyone but her took him up on it. The man was still hell-bent on ignoring her, it seemed. Though, if she were forced to extend any fairness to him, he’d been quiet overall.
Jade had spent days mulling over the last few years of her life in response to the conversation she’d had with Miri. She’d even made one of those goals and accomplishments lists.
“Head coach” was at the top of her goals list, but things like “Get the team a winning season” and “Make more time for personal fun” were there as well. Her accomplishments were where she really shined, though. She’d become the first woman to assistant-coach high school football at her school, she’d managed to pay off her student loans, the family and friends who made up her community were shining stars, and at the end of the day, whatever ended up happening, she was mighty close to reaching her biggest goal. That was an accomplishment in and of itself considering the odds she was up against.
Then she’d sat there, staring down at the paper that had listed so many things that so many people wouldn’t believe a little Black girl from nowhere South Carolina could do. Pride had filled her up. The good kind that reminded her of who she was and what she’d done.
Miri had been right. As much as she loved Greenbelt and was loyal to this team, and as much as she wanted to be the one leading it, her opportunities were not solely confined to this place. She was incredible at what she did, and even more than that, she loved it. The game, the mentoring, the sheer thrill of winning. This was what she’d been born to do. Or, at least, one of the things. No one could keep her from it but herself. Certainly not Duncan Landry.
And now that she knew that, she needed him to know it too.
She bided her time until lunch, when the boys were sent to the cafeteria to eat, and it was just her and Landry. He was sitting at the round table at the front of the weight room, working on his laptop, when she walked up. The room was absolute crickets with just them. The only sounds were the loud whirring of the air conditioner and the occasional click of Landry’s mouse. He couldn’t even be bothered to spare Jade a glance.
Whatever anxiety she might have had left over about speaking to him faded as the indignation welled in her chest like reflux. The relief she got when she finally decided to let her words spew was just as sweet.
“I’m done with this.” Her tone was firm as she stood in front of him with her arms crossed.
The man looked almost startled at the sound of her voice. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
“Coach, if you’re unhappy with me or my performance or my presence here, I’d appreciate it if you just came right out and said it. Instead of sitting around pretending like I don’t exist.”
“I haven’t—”
She cut him off. “Yes, you have, and you know it. I’ve been like a ghost to you for two weeks now, and I’m tired of it.”
Landry pushed his laptop away and leaned back in his chair, crossing his own arms. The defensive stances they both took would have been funny if the tension between them wasn’t as thick as cold grits.
“I don’t know what to do with you, Dunn.” Landry sighed, shaking his head. “You fucked up. Bad. And I’ve been here for weeks trying to figure out if you can handle the responsibility all this brings.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not, but it’s true.”
“No, I don’t agree,” she said firmly. “Would you be doing all this if Carr were in my spot or literally any of the other guys? Would you be this hard on them?”
“No, I wouldn’t be,” Landry was quick to answer. “Because none of those other guys have even an ounce of what it takes to do this job. The standards for them are completely different.”
Jade huffed. “So, what? I’m held to some kind of impossibly high standard by you that leaves me no room to make mistakes? I mean, damn, Coach, I’m not saying that I didn’t mess up, but the fact that you’re actually considering giving up on me for this of all things just doesn’t make sense. Not a lick of it.”
“ This was big, Dunn.” Landry groaned. “One of West Beaufort’s assistant coaches caught you pulling that stunt, and if that man didn’t know me as well as he did, he could have gone to the dis trict about it instead of coming to me directly. The team’s reputation could have been ruined. The boys could have lost their season before it even began.”
He was right. There had never been any denying that, not even to herself.
“I know.” She let out a shaky breath. “I know I was wrong. I know I could have completely ruined us. It’s not that I don’t know that now. It’s just that I didn’t really grasp it then. I was…”
“You were shortsighted.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. I was shortsighted. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.”
“Learning how to do that is an essential part of this, Dunn.” He grunted. “I’d even argue that it’s the biggest part—always remembering the bigger picture. When you’re staring down the barrel of low morale and losing streaks and everything it means to be a leader to these kids, that bigger picture always has to be on your mind. You cannot forget it.”
Jade swallowed, nodding silently. There was nothing for her to say. Once again, he was right. Her silence wasn’t even born out of feeling like a scolded child. Nor was it based on feeling sorry that she might still lose everything. It was pure shame. Sure, no one had gotten hurt by her scheming, but they could have. She closed her eyes and imagined the faces of every kid on their team. Sweaty and round-eyed, looking up at her with all the trust in the world. Then she imagined the way those same faces would turn if people unfairly labeled them as cheaters because of her actions.
It made her feel sick.
Landry kept going. “Look, I apologize for ignoring you. I’ll admit that wasn’t the best decision on my part. I just didn’t know what to say to you, because, truthfully, I still don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“Right.”
“I know that’s not comforting, but maybe it’ll give you a chance to get your head back on straight. Remember why you’re really here and why you want this. Because I know that it isn’t just so you can say you won.”
Her stomach churned again. Someone might assume that, with the amount of life-draining talking-tos she’d been given in recent history, she would have gotten used to the sinking feeling in her gut that came when someone made her realize something new about herself. But she hadn’t.
“I’m going to make you proud again, Coach.”
Landry had gone back to his computer, but he paused and looked up at her. This time, the look on his face wasn’t disappointment. It was soft. So soft it made her ache.
“The only person you need to make proud is yourself, Jade. That way you can catch up to how the rest of us already feel about you.”
She and Lim had exchanged numbers the night she’d shown up at Jade’s parents’ house. Jade had never made use of it. But in the days following their last encounter—and Lim’s justified rejection of her advances—Jade had taken up the habit of opening her phone’s contacts list, finding Lim’s number, and attempting to send her a message.
Every single time, she typed something out quickly. Normally, it was a few lines—an introduction—that she’d edit and agonize over forever. Then, every single time when she got that message to the best version of itself, she’d delete it because it still never felt good enough.
This night wasn’t so different from the rest. Except that whatever was in her stopping her from pressing Send all those other times simply wasn’t there anymore.
She kept it pretty bare-bones.
Jade:
Hey. It’s Jade Dunn.
Lim:
Hi! Way to formally introduce yourself like a boomer. You literally put the number in my phone. I know it’s you.
Jade:
Now I’m thinking I should block you for all this sass…
Lim:
Sorry, sorry. I’m just kidding, swear.
Lim:
What’s up? Everything ok?
Jade:
Fine as it can be, honestly. I kind of just wanted to check in, I think. Things were weird the last time we spoke.
Lim:
Weird is an interesting way to put it. I’d say it was more along the lines of really fucking sad.
Jade:
A little pathetic too, on my end.
Lim:
I think we were equally pathetic.
Jade:
Nahh.
Jade:
You basically had me crying on the floor when you left.
Lim:
… I shouldn’t enjoy seeing you say that, right?
Jade:
Depends on whether you enjoy it because I was hurting or whether you enjoy it because I was hurting for you specifically.
Lim:
Definitely the second one.
Lim:
Which for sure makes me a bad person.
Jade:
I guess we’ll have to be bad people together, then, since I’ve been leading the scoreboard on that with you.
Lim:
You *have* been an asshole.
Jade:
I know.
Jade:
I’m sorry.
Lim:
How sorry?
Jade:
Like, sorrier than a sorry son of a bitch sorry.
Lim:
Hmmmm.
Jade:
Maybe we could talk about it for real, in person?
Lim:
When and where?
Jade:
Tomorrow night at Blu House.
Lim:
Is this you asking me on a date??
Jade:
Yes.
Lim:
Oh.
Lim:
Come on, Dunn, you can ask me better than that.
Jade:
Francesca. I want to take you out and sit across the table from you and watch you eat truffle fries and drink wine.
Jade:
I want to plead my case.
Jade:
Will you let me?
Lim:
Yes.