Chapter 4 #2
“In!” he responds without glancing back. “I’m sorry, but how did you find out where I work?”
“How are you my kid’s P.E. teacher?”
He blinks. “What?”
“I’m Emma Adler’s mom.” I stretch out a hand and he shakes it, not breaking eye contact.
“You’re kidding.” He shakes his head fast, like he’s removing the memory of the last time we met from his mind.
“Um, I mean, Emma’s great. A pleasure to have in class.
” He’s rambling, embarrassed, confused. It’s kind of cute, not as self-assured as the last time we saw each other.
“Is there something I can help you with . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. ”
“Nola,” I say with what I hope appears to be a professional smile and not a I’ve-been-thinking-about-you-too-much-and-never-thought-I’d-see-you-again, daydreaming grin.
Collecting myself, I launch into my prepared request. “I’m sure you are aware Emma was out of town last week for a wedding.
Principal Bennett gave us permission for her to make up everything this week that she was unable to turn in online and her P.E.
grade this morning caused a little panic on her end. ”
He goes back to the stance I found him in a minute ago. Legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over the clipboard pressed against his chest. “Getting a B is nothing to be upset about.”
“Sure, but Emma’s a straight-A student and she said missing the mile run is what dropped her down from the A she carried all quarter. I was just wondering if she could run it after school and we could get that grade updated—assuming she earns it, of course.”
Coach studies me long enough that I become self-conscious. Is he attempting to intimidate me? I smooth out my blazer and slide my hands into my pockets while I wait. Patiently.
He turns to face the volleyball game. “You made an interesting Ben Franklin and you don’t strike me as a Nola.”
“What?” I chuckle. “What do I look like to you?” This is not at all what I’m here for but now I’m curious.
“I don’t know.” He offers a single shoulder shrug. “Maybe a Rachel or a Jen?”
Without thinking, I reach out and playfully shove him. “That’s just mean. You’ve met Jen, right? Ruler of the PTO? I’m nothing like her and you need to take it back.”
A loud laugh erupts from him, bouncing off the walls of the gym and causing a pause in play.
He motions for a student to pick up the dropped volleyball and they start back up.
Then he leans in toward me, conspiratorially, like somebody may overhear us.
“She is the worst, right? It’s not just me thinking that? ”
“What are you going to do about Emma?” This man keeps derailing the reason I came to talk to him and I’m over it.
The smirk is wiped from his face and his brow furrows. “I’m sorry, but grades are in. Principal Bennett said changing them is a whole process and I mean, it’s just a lousy P.E. grade. In the long run, she’ll get an A for the semester and it won’t matter, right?”
“Coach—”
“Max,” he says.
“Coach,” I emphasize, because we may have briefly locked lips in an impulsive moment but we’re not friends, and he’s not earning points by being difficult about a simple ask.
“Just let her run and I’ll go through the process of getting the grade changed. It’s educational computer software. You’re not hacking into the CIA mainframe. Her quarter grades affect her overall GPA, so this actually is a bigger deal than you maybe realize. Emma’s a great kid—”
“And a B is a fair grade. It was a low A to start with, I think around a 91 percent if I’m recalling right. She is a great kid, like I already said, but she really isn’t on the same level as some of her other peers in class . . .”
He lets that hang and my mama bear comes out of hibernation.
“Are you saying that she deserves a B, not because you’re too lazy to resubmit grades, but because she isn’t athletically inclined?
Because STEM is more her thing, she can’t get an A in P.E.
too? What, do you have a finite amount of As you’re saving for the jocks? Huh?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then I’d like you to explain it to me like I’m five-years-old before I set up a meeting with Lisa”—I use this moment to leverage my (very casual) friendship with the principal as a warning—“and you can tell her how you’re refusing to put your student’s best interest at heart.”
“Lying to Emma about her athleticism to boost her self-esteem isn’t in her best interest.”
I fume and before I can retort, he adds, “You know why the Armadillos lost the playoffs last week?”
I blink. What does baseball have to do with this?
“Management got caught up in worrying about the fragile egos of the players instead of respecting the ecosystem that a winning team needs to thrive. I’m not going to do a disservice to my students by handing out participation trophies.
Instead, I’m hoping to push them to become the best versions of themselves. ”
He’s spit balling nonsense to distract from the actual problem here, which is his ego in this most pointless of school specials. As far as I’m concerned, P.E. goes last on my totem pole of classes that will have a lasting impact.
“Alright. I’m done.” I put my hands on my hips. “I tried to come in here and be reasonable but you’re making it impossible.”
Turning on my heels, I prepare to march into Principal Bennett’s office and tattle if need be, to make things right for Emma and all the other students who aren’t varsity athletes, when Jen opens the door to the gym.
“There you are! Oh, and both of you! This is too perfect.” Jen flips her hair behind her shoulder and smiles brightly. “I never heard from either one of you about the Harvest Carnival, so you two get the last spots I couldn’t fill. Have fun at the dunk tank.”