Chapter 2 Weston
Weston
I stood in the middle of the gym and scanned the kids along each wall. They had their toes on the line, waiting for me to blow the whistle. Along the half-court line, rubber balls stretched out in a neat row.
“Are you ready?” I called out.
The kids mumbled a halfhearted, “Yay.”
“I can’t hear you, Timberwolves. I asked, Are you ready?”
This time, their response was louder. One kid might have even roared, but it was hard to tell because I had several linebackers from the football team in my PE class.
I gave them one last look before heading to the sideline. No way was I standing in the middle of the court during a game of dodgeball. The last thing I wanted was to get pelted with a rubber ball.
As soon as I’d stepped over the black sideline, I blew my whistle. Both sides raced to grab a ball, and I watched their strategies unfold. Some kids hurled the balls as hard as they could, while others teamed up, throwing simultaneously to catch their targets off guard.
The first kid out was Cutter Vaughn. I’d never admit it if anyone asked, but Cutter was one of my favorite students.
Coaching him in basketball and baseball was a privilege.
He was the kind of athlete every coach dreamed about—dedicated, hardworking, and never one to complain.
Baseball was his golden ticket, and I planned to call some old major league buddies and Division I and II coaches once the season started about getting him signed.
With their help, maybe I could get Cutter some looks.
Otherwise, I doubted he’d go to college; I knew his mom probably couldn’t afford it.
The Vaughns lived two houses down from me on a dirt road just outside town.
Every day, I drove past their house and wondered how it was still standing.
Miriam Vaughn was always outside fixing something, whether it was spring, summer, or fall.
I’d lost count of how many times I’d stopped to offer help, only for her to politely decline.
She needed it, though she’d never admit it.
And every time I passed by, Cutter was outside, too, shooting hoops or throwing his baseball against the pitch-back net. His determination and work ethic never failed to impress me.
“What happened?” I asked Cutter when he walked over the court to stand next to me.
He shrugged. “I saved Eleni.”
Eleni was his girlfriend, according to the Grove Hill rumor mill.
From what I’d seen in the hallways between classes, it was easy to believe the rumors were true.
But that wasn’t something I could ask my student or player.
As his teacher and coach, I had to keep my boundaries—unless he came to me for advice.
One by one, more students joined us on the sidelines, some panting and out of breath, others fuming about getting out.
“Are we playing again, Mr. Schmidt?” Malik Carter asked, his tone eager.
“Do you think you can stay in the game longer this time?”
Malik gave me the “Come on, Coach, are you serious?” smirk and nodded confidently.
He was our basketball team’s point guard—a smart, strategic player who always thought two steps ahead and saw the floor better than anyone in the state.
He played on a travel team during the spring and summer and already had a select number of colleges recruiting him.
Malik had a bright future and was a great kid to coach.
When one last student stood victorious, I blew the whistle before he had a chance to celebrate and told everyone to get on the line. They did so quickly.
“Count off: one, two, three, four.” Unfortunately, I had to watch each of the kids yell out their numbers, because you’d be shocked at who couldn’t follow directions or forgot which number came after three. “All right, if you are a one or three, stay here; twos and fours, go to the other end.”
“Coach, really?” Cutter groaned. “Now I can’t protect Eleni.”
“Very noble of you,” I told him, but I didn’t remind him that she’d lasted longer than he had in the last round. “Line up.”
For the most part, my classes went smoothly.
The kids followed instructions and enjoyed coming to class.
They used this time to burn off pent-up energy or let out some frustration.
School wasn’t easy—not even when I was a student.
Teachers could be tough, and classes were often challenging.
Since graduating with my degree in physical education, I’d made it my goal to create a safe space where students could express themselves.
Like last time, I lined the rubber balls up along the mid-court line, walked off to the side, and blew my whistle. I watched, my head moving back and forth, as kids aimed for their classmates.
They jumped, ducked, and dodged flying balls, hollering excitedly when they got one of their classmates out, and groaning when they didn’t see the round orb coming toward them from the side.
It was usually the smaller, sneakier kids who prevailed.
They tended to be quicker and often used the taller students to hide behind until they were the last ones standing.
Jayden Torres threw his arms up in victory when he was the last one remaining.
With him standing five foot nine, he’d completely shot down my theory of the smaller, faster student.
His speed and agility played a factor, though.
Jayden was one of the fastest kids in the state, having won the state title in the one hundred, two hundred, and four hundred.
He’d told me once that he ran track for fun, but basketball was where his heart was.
He came to the sideline and was congratulated by his classmates.
I knew that outside of here, the students didn’t always get along, but during gym class, I stressed the importance of teamwork.
I never wanted anyone to feel as if they didn’t belong or didn’t have a partner in class.
There was nothing worse than seeing a kid struggle in PE.
With five minutes to go before the bell rang, I excused the kids to go and get changed. My other counterparts often kept their classes until a minute before, but I never saw the reasoning. I never wanted the kids to feel rushed to change and make it to their next class.
After I’d excused them, I went out into the hall and stood between the two locker room doors. I’d asked the kids many times to wait in the locker room until the bell had sounded, and while most did as I asked, a few of them didn’t.
The door to the boys’ locker room opened, and Cutter appeared. I gave him a quizzical look. He smiled sheepishly.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Vaughn?”
“What time do we have to be at the game?”
Cutter tried to be subtle as he looked over his shoulder at the other door. My guess was that Eleni would be coming out shortly so they could do what teenagers did at this age—make out.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling or laughing, needing to maintain a straight face. This boy knew exactly what time he needed to be at the gym tonight for the game. And when the door to the girls’ locker room opened and Eleni stuck her head out, I knew I was right in my assumption.
“Ms. Chen,” I said, giving her a nod. She blushed, ducked back inside, and closed the door.
I glanced at Cutter, who suddenly had a fascination with the floor.
I didn’t know much about the Vaughn household, but I suspected Cutter’s father wasn’t in the picture.
Being a meddler had never been my forte because I respected people’s privacy.
I feared, though, that Cutter needed a male role model, someone to guide him through these building hormones.
“If you ever need to talk, my office door is always open,” I told him. “You can also text me.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Coach.”
The bell rang, saving us both from any awkwardness.
I watched as the kids filed out of the locker rooms, but I mostly kept my attention on Cutter and Eleni.
High school was already hard enough, but adding in teenage hormones made life seem like hell.
I remembered, all too well, my first girlfriend, who eventually became my wife.
I shuddered to think what our children would’ve been like if we’d had any.
We would’ve ended up being the kind of parents who said, “Do as we say, not as we do.”
I continued to stand in the hall, monitoring the students as they made their way to their next classes.
Locker doors slapped, voices carried, and current and former kids said hi as they walked by.
I had to issue a few warnings about roughhousing in the hall, but overall, the transition from one class to another was easy.
Generally, I gave the kids three minutes to get changed and be on the court for class. This was the time I stopped in my office, checked my phone for any important texts, and used the teachers-only bathroom. If all went as planned, my next class would be in the gym when I came out.
Class after class went off without any issues.
Everyone enjoyed a relaxing day of dodgeball.
Did the game have any purpose? Not really, but the students enjoyed it, and it was one of those games that allowed you to let out a ton of energy.
It was better than running, in my opinion.
And it was nice to break away from the curriculum every now and again.
I finished up my attendance reports for the day, late as usual, and shut my light off. I would be back in a couple of hours for tonight’s basketball game.
This was my third year coaching varsity basketball, and the only reason I had the job was that the former coach had walked off the court, mid-game, three years ago. I was the assistant at the time, filling space during the winter months while I waited for baseball season to start.
My first year as head coach was rocky, and we lost all but three or four games. The next year had been marginally better, but this year had been vastly different.
The Grove Hill Timberwolves were undefeated.
At the core, this team had heart and determination. They played well together, worked as a team, and were never hard on one another. If one boy struggled, the others stepped up.
Tonight, they faced a crosstown rival. Between the two teams, most of the boys knew each other because they all played travel ball together. They were friends until they stepped onto the court.
In hours, the stands would be filled with parents, friends, and family, and the student section would come to life. Cheerleaders would guide their classmates in cheers while the Timberwolves played to packed stands.
It was games like tonight that electrified me as a coach and them as players.
The gym would be loud, with students standing up the entire game.
Nothing excited me more than looking into the stands to see the signs people had made or those fat heads that parents had printed off.
Although some of them were rather scary looking.
As I headed out of my office and toward the parking lot, I saw my favorite student with his arm leaning against a pole with his girlfriend next to him. Cutter was smooth, I’d give him that, but I feared he’d find himself in a situation he wasn’t ready to be in.
“See you tonight, Mr. Vaughn. Five thirty,” I reminded him as I walked by. He had a ton of potential to take his game to the next level, and I wasn’t about to see him throw it away.
I was in a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t situation. As much as I wanted Cutter, along with my other students, to succeed, it wasn’t my business. The last thing I wanted was to be told I was overstepping. All I could do was offer an ear and some sage advice if he asked.
I hoped like hell he’d ask.