CHAPTER 14
Bailey
There aren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot as I pull up to the middle school.
As I contemplate where to park, it dawns on me that I should’ve either a) gotten Palmer’s phone number or b) asked about exactly where the gym is to even have a side door.
Or, if I would have used a little bit of common sense, I could have gotten here early instead of twenty minutes after practice started.
The last thing I need is for the cops to show up and ask why I, a grown-ass man, am prowling around a school well after everyone has gone home for the day.
That would definitely earn me a well-warranted talking to from my superiors, paired with a mildly obnoxious and wildly inappropriate nickname for the rest of my life from the guys.
Instead of risking it, I take a slow pass around the building. Rounding the final corner with the parking lot in view, I spot a door cracked open that’s in plain view of where I had initially planned on parking.
Your powers of observation never cease to amaze, Diaz.
And yet, somehow, I made it into Special Forces. Don’t ask me how. I’m still trying to figure that one out myself most days.
I open my truck door and hear voices. I follow them to the side door and let myself inside.
Immediately, I spot Palmer across the way.
Her blond hair is gathered on top of her head, bobbling with each movement she makes.
Facing her are fifteen people of varying sizes.
Judging solely from my quick glance, some of them are adults and others are children at least middle or high school age.
There are males and females, some moving along with Palmer and others watching from their spot on the floor.
“Everybody, follow me!” Palmer claps out a slow beat then steps her feet together while shouting out the steps. “Five-six-seven-eight! Right, together. Left, together. Good! And again, clap!”
The cheerleaders move with Palmer, their steps and claps not quite all on beat, but they follow Palmer’s directions. The more they move, the more in-sync their steps become until they move as one, the sound reverberating off the wall in unison.
“Yes!” Palmer throws her arms up in the air and cheers. “Amazing job, everyone! Let’s take a five-minute water and bathroom break. How many minutes?” She holds her hands up and cups her ears.
“Five minutes!” they all shout back.
“Good! And go!” She hits a button, and the buzzer beeps the timer to a start.
The cheerleaders split off to the sides to grab their water bottles, and it’s the first time that I get to study the other people here, too. They’re parents and other guardians based on the way they interact with the athletes.
Along one wall, I watch a woman interact with one of the men who, based on the words coming from his tablet, is hellbent on getting something to eat.
“Fabian, stop,” she says, bringing her right hand to the palm of her left in a chopping motion. “First practice, then dinner.”
The man flings his hands up over his ears and plops on the ground, and the woman pulls out a timer. She kneels in front of him and holds up her fingers. “One minute or two?”
He lifts his head to glare at her then holds up two fingers.
“Great, two minutes it is. Two minutes then water.”
The man gives her a thumbs up, and she stands, moving back to her seat against the wall.
To the other side of me, I hear one of the girls arguing with what appears to be her older sister. “I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I have my pull-up!” she shouts.
“Yeah, but Mom said if you use the bathroom and not in your pull-up for five days then you get a new stuffie, remember?” her sister prompts, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I don’t know about you, but I think I would want that new stuffie. If you don’t want it, maybe Mom will give it to me.”
The girl’s eyes go wide, and she runs toward the bathroom, shouting over her shoulder. “Fine! But I can wipe myself!”
Her sister shakes her head and rolls her eyes, following her anyway. “Sure, sis. Whatever you say.”
An unbidden smile creeps onto my face. Sounds like most arguments between me and my sisters.
I continue to watch the interactions around the room, fascinated by both the structure and independence I see.
I’m not sure what I expected when Palmer mentioned the Special Olympics, but it wasn't this. Between all the timers and devices and demands given to the athletes, there are choices they get to make. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really been around people with disabilities before, but seeing the way everyone interacts is fascinating.
People are communicating in different ways, and yet, everyone has a voice and is understood.
Across the gym, Palmer hands a water bottle to two athletes, pantomiming slowly drinking from a cup herself. I don’t know much (or any sign) but I do recognize the sign for “thank you” that they do back.
“Three minutes!” Palmer calls out, holding up her thumb and first two fingers at the tip of her left pointer finger.
“Three minutes!” the athletes repeat back to her.
Several firm tugs on my sleeve bring my attention next to me, where an older boy stands nearly eye level with me. He has big brown eyes and short black hair.
“Hi,” he says, his hand sweeping in a broad wave. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Bailey. What’s yours?”
“I’m Ethan. I’m sixteen. How old are you?” he counters, holding out his hand.
I take it in mine and shake it firmly. “Wow, sixteen? You’re almost an adult. I’m thirty.”
Ethan’s eyes go wide, and his jaw drops. “Thirty! Holy crap. You’re old!”
I laugh heartily, the comment unexpected.
“Ethan!” A woman with the same wide eyes comes rushing over. “Don’t say things like that. It’s rude! You need to apologize to Mr…” She looks at me.
“His name’s Bailey, Mom.” Ethan rolls his eyes, and I smother a chuckle.
“You need to apologize to Mr. Bailey, Ethan,” she reiterates.
Palmer calls out again. “Two minutes!”
“Two minutes!” the athletes respond, and they begin to move slowly back to their places.
Ethan mumbles, “Sorry.” He scuttles back to his place.
The woman shakes her head and turns back to me. “He’s such a shit, sometimes. Sorry. I’m Virginia and that’s Ethan, my son, as you’ve heard. So, which one is yours?” Virginia gestures toward the group.
For a moment, I’m unsure how to answer, then I come up with what I think is a socially acceptable response. “Well, none of them, technically.”
Virginia whips her head toward me skeptically, her body stiffening, and she starts to take a step back.
Not socially acceptable enough, I guess.
“But I’m a friend of Palmer’s,” I finish quickly.
“Oh, okay!” Her body language relaxes again.
“Coach Jade did tell the athletes that she would have a friend joining to watch practice today. I just didn’t expect—” She gives me a quick once-over then trails off before beginning again.
“Here, you can come sit with me. Coach Jade said you would be able to watch her dog, too.”
Right on cue, Mouse’s ears perk up from behind a bench.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, patting my leg.
Mouse comes trotting over and trails her tongue over my hand in a sloppy kiss.
“Good to see you again, too,” I mutter.
Virginia gives me a look that makes me feel like I should explain.
“I went with Palm—er, Coach Jade, to get Mouse from the shelter. And I help take care of her sometimes. That’s what I mean.”
She cocks an eyebrow that tells me she doesn’t believe me, but she puts her hands in the air as if to say, “That’s none of my business.”
We sit together on the bleachers, and Mouse flops down next to my feet. When I look up, Palmer catches my gaze and shoots me a bright smile. She gives me a big wave, then turns her attention back to her athletes as they count down the timer on the buzzer together.
“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” The buzzer beeps, and the athletes clap.
Meanwhile, I’m left with my stomach doing somersaults from the smile she shot my way. My heart races, and I have to mentally remind myself that she’s just being friendly. That’s how she would greet any friend.
Even if the friend can’t stop remembering what her beautiful body looks like under the baggy workout set she’s wearing.
And would like to see it again.
“Ready?” Palmer calls out.
“Ready!” they all repeat, feet together and hands pressed firmly to their sides.
“From the top!” She begins to clap. “Five-six-seven-eight!”
* * *
“Great practice, everyone! I will see you all again on Thursday. Don’t forget, we are going to be needing sizes to order uniforms at our next practice, so bring your measurements. Have a good week!” Palmer says as the group disperses.
Virginia gathers her things and stands. “It was so ni—"
“Mom!” Ethan yells. His thudding footsteps stop just short of the two of us, and he blurts out, “Can we get fast food for dinner? Fabian told me that’s what he’s getting!”
She puts her hand up to stop him, but he continues.
“Please! Pretty please, Mom? You said we could!”
“Ethan.” Her voice is sharp, and he stops talking. “You are interrupting. Let me finish talking to Mr. Bailey, then you can ask your question.”
He clamps a hand over his mouth then nods, dancing from foot to foot.
“Thank you.” Virginia turns back toward me. “As I was saying, it was very nice to meet you. I hope we get to see some more of you around here. We love getting to build our Hijinks family.”
“Hijinks?” I ask.
Viginia smiles. “That’s the name of our team.
The athletes love to play pranks on each other and everyone else, so it only seems fitting.
Anyhow, we hope to see you around some more!
Their competition is coming up in a month or so, and our cheer section is always looking for some new blood.
” She turns back toward Ethan who is still swaying as if it physically pains him to wait.
“Thank you for waiting, Ethan. What was your question?”