9. Finn
Finn
FRIDAY, AUGUST 22ND
“ D ad, can you please stop pulling on your clothes like that? It’s mortifying.”
“Lex, these are ridiculous!” I protest. We’re walking through the parking lot towards the school, and if my daughter thinks she’s embarrassed, she’s got nothing on me.
I should have known Callie would do something like this to me. The wicked grin she wore when she dropped off the bag of clothes at my house yesterday had sent chills down my spine.
“Oh my god, Dad, seriously,” Lexie hate-whispers. “They’re just normal clothes, you’re being such a baby.”
“These are not normal.”
“I can’t,” she holds up a hand and picks up her pace to get away from me before disappearing through the front door of the building.
By the time I get there myself, I’m greeted by a roar of applause and catcalls. All up and down the main hallway are teachers, staff, and even (unfortunately) some students. And who’s standing at the forefront of the whole production?
Mighty Aphrodite herself, sporting purple streaks in her hair that are somehow more appealing than the pink. Didn’t think that was possible.
Her white teeth are on full display in a dazzling smile, with most of the mischief gone from her face and replaced by a mixture of pride and—maybe appreciation?
The thought of Callie checking me out helps me embrace this entirely too-tight ensemble I’m wearing, and I stand tall and take a bow.
Piper jogs up to us with a camera in her hand. “All right, Wild Turkeys, let’s get this kicked off with a picture. I want to see you looking competitive.”
Callie is by my side now and she turns to look at me, her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised. I mimic her stance to the clicking of Piper’s camera.
“Perfect, now let’s get a friendly one because this is all in good fun, right?”
Before I know what’s happening, Callie plants her left arm on her hip and wraps her right arm around my waist. It prompts me to rest my left arm over her shoulder and resist the urge to run my fingers through her hair.
Piper’s busy snapping pictures, but all I can focus on is the sensation of Callie’s touch running over my abs.
“Are you feeling me up right now?” I ask under my breath, still holding a smile for the camera.
She answers back in the same fashion. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just surprised you’re not an amorphous blob of sweatsuit material.”
“Would it really have been so bad to just pick something slightly less embarrassing for me? I would have preferred a dress, honestly.”
“Seriously? You’d rather be in a dress than shorts and a t-shirt that fit you?”
“These are definitely a size below fitting me, I feel like you knew that when you bought them.”
“Well, I did the best I could, considering you’re usually just wearing a fleece-lined trash bag.“
“You should be grateful I let you win or you’d be a human hamster ball right now.”
At that, she digs her nails into my side, and I yelp and quickly step away from her.
She walks towards her classroom and makes the universal “I’m watching you” signal of pointing at her eyes and then back at me.
Piper approaches me, smiling as she reviews the preview screen on her camera. “Finn, you have to see these pictures, they are perfection.”
I begrudgingly look through them with her, doing my best not to notice the t-shirt that’s stretched so tight across my chest, it looks like I’m Bruce Banner mid-Hulk transformation. Or the gym shorts that are dangerously close to me not being able to wear them in a school. Instead, I see two people who are challenging each other and…actually…having fun. I rub my chest a little.
“Those are great,” I tell Piper.
“You two look good together, just sayin’,” she trills as she walks away.
I rub my chest a little more.
“All right!” I blow my whistle and pull at the hem of my shirt. “Let’s head out to the field for laps!”
A collective, middle-school groan rings out.
“No whining or I add another lap!”
The groaning is still there, but it goes significantly softer, so I let it pass. The kids jog over to the double doors, pushing them open and letting the daylight stream in. I expect them to continue heading out to the track, but instead they’ve stopped short and they’re all giggling.
I blow my whistle again (Ernie is right, these things are fantastic). “Let’s go, let’s go! I don’t have all day!”
“Field’s taken, Coach,” Asher states.
I trot over to see what they’re looking at. If this was a movie, the whistle would have fallen out of my mouth. “What the…?”
Ernie, who’s already outside and grinning like an idiot, notices us all standing at the doors and motions for us to join him.
“Dad,” Lexie pops up next to me, breaking her firm rule of never acknowledging that I exist as her gym teacher. “I need to go back to the locker room and get my phone. I have to get pictures of this for the paper.”
I’m still a little confused by what I’m witnessing, but I’m able to look over at her.
“Please? Can I go get it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure, go ahead.”
She proceeds to run faster than I’ve ever seen her attempt around a track.
The rest of us just stare, watching Callie, in a giant, inflatable hamster ball, getting pushed and kicked all over the field by her first graders. Everyone is obviously having a blast, including her, even though her face is somewhat obscured by the clear plastic. They all move as a team, trying to get her to one side of the field before changing directions and moving the other way. From what I can gather, the track is the boundary line that no one can cross, and all turf in the middle is fair game.
“What is she doing out there?” I ask Ernie.
Ernie chuckles. “She came to me this morning after second period and asked about it. Said it would be a good way for the kids to get out some energy.”
“But she won the bet, why is she out there doing it anyway?”
“Beats me,” he shrugs. “I’m just surprised she’s not throwing up yet.”
“I’ve been uncomfortable in this damn outfit all damn day and she went and just…did the crazy thing.”
“You could get some revenge,” Ernie offers, mistaking my comment for irritation instead of what it actually was. “If you and your class head out there, she’d be flying across the field.”
I rub at my chest. “No,” I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t want to do that to her.”
He gives me a sidelong glance.
“I mean, no one wants to clean vomit out of that thing, right?” I cover. “And I don’t want to pay for a new one, so…”
He nods. “Right. Got it.”
I’ve never met anyone who leans into things the way this woman does. She’s more than fun, she’s more than just a good sport or a good teacher.
She’s remarkable.
And that is why I have to kick her ass in the yoga showdown this Saturday.