Chapter Eleven #2
In that moment, she resented being in charge, being accountable with the information. The fear from mere minutes ago was a sour rot in her belly, tainting everything.
There was no easy solution. It was likely Cope wouldn’t even admit to a problem, let alone receive help. Marcee sure hadn’t. She also hadn’t wanted to have anyone pushing her to get better. Even Eli, who knew her better than anyone, was oblivious.
Marcee let out a strangled sigh, warring with her emotions. “I’m going to have a chat with the guidance counselor, then go from there. I need to make sure I follow protocol on this.”
The EMTs pushed through the doors from the parking lot, bags slung over their shoulders. She couldn’t help but think about all the adults in her life when she was a teenager who ignored what was right in front of their eyes, or those who bought the lies she fed everyone, including herself.
I’m healthy.
There’s nothing wrong with watching what you eat.
I’ll stop after ten more pounds.
Marcee couldn’t ignore the issue.
Not this time.
“Mark Harp is a walking bag of shit with a tiny dick!”
The office door rebounded off the wall after she threw it open, the metallic clang of the handle like a gunshot. It’d been a week since Cassidy collapsed, and it’d been the longest week of Marcee’s adult life.
Nicole flinched as Marcee flung herself into her swivel chair.
“What’s new?” she drawled.
“Apparently, all the good gossip goes down at church on Sunday mornings around here. Mark was telling the entire congregation about Cope’s episode on the field and heavily insinuated it’s because I’m taking it out on the girls because I got ‘showed up’ at camp by Remy.
Basically, I’m running them to death.” Saying it aloud made her fired up all over again, so she threw a pen against the wall.
She would never harm those girls. Never.
Nicole snorted. “You gotta hand it to the guy. He’s already campaigning for your job, and the season hasn’t even started. He’d make a great politician.”
“The only thing I’m going to hand to Mark Harp is an ass-whoopin’.”
“Look at you—we’ll make a Southerner out of you yet!” Nicole crowed dryly.
“For real, though, I am sick of this old boys’ club mentality.
It means even more that we pull out a successful season.
How else can we prove to them and the town that having boobs doesn’t make us second-class citizens?
The girls need to see you and I succeed so they know they can.
” Geez, she sounded like a freaking after-school special.
She was all for female empowerment—Marcee just never thought she would be that kind of role model for anyone, especially not at the tender age of twenty-four.
She didn’t even know how to file her own taxes, for God’s sake!
Grumbling under her breath, she grabbed her phone, pulling up her messages.
Why are men such dicks? She texted Remy, hitting send before thinking better of it. Frantically, she sent another.
I mean, since you are such a big one.
Dick, not man.
Although you are a man, too.
Ugh. Great job, Marcee.
“I agree, and I am the last person to interrupt what feels like the beginning of a ‘smash the patriarchy’ speech, but you did schedule a meeting with the guidance counselor,” Nicole reminded her.
Marcee checked her watch. “Right. Great timing.” If it was anything else, she’d cancel, but this was too important. “Okay, I’ll be back.” She grabbed her school ID so she could enter the main building and slid her phone into her back pocket.
“I’ll hold down the fort, maybe watch some game footage from last year.”
She could always count on Nicole’s work ethic. “Earn that paycheck, baby!”
Nicole’s voice chased her from the office. “Yes, sir!”
Marcee used the few minutes it took to reach the main building to get in the right headspace.
The meeting was essentially an intervention with Cope, and she couldn’t imagine it would go well.
In fact, she knew it wouldn’t. The counselor had already met with her once and made zero progress.
A letter was sent to her parents, who never responded. The denial was alive and well.
Ms. Shelley, the French language teacher at Marcee’s high school back in Brooklyn, was the first person to approach her when she moved from “careful eating” to full-out skipping meals, which led to not eating at all.
She loved Ms. Shelley, but the day she kept her after class and called her out on her lack of focus, her dwindling attitude, and all the other physical signs she wasn’t hiding as well as she thought—well, she’d hated her.
Cope had always harbored a defiant attitude. After the meeting, Marcee would be lucky if she didn’t quit the team.
The card reader on the door beeped as she swiped her ID and pulled on the handle. Class was in session for another ten minutes, so the hallways were deserted while she bustled to the west wing.
For two straight nights she’d had dreams about high school: soccer fields, the dreaded school cafeteria, her parents, and the worst—Eli’s accident.
Every fear she had for Cope was manifesting in her subconscious.
Marcee already had three extra sessions with Dr. Crowley the past few weeks to try and get back to some kind of normal.
Remy chose that moment to text her back.
I mean, I don’t want to read too much into this, but did you just
tell me I have a big dick?
Forget it. I’m still pissed and have no desire to talk about your
junk.
YOU texted ME.
True.
Before she knocked on the door to the counselor’s office, she took three deep breaths and centered herself.
She had a duty to be present and attentive in the meeting. Cope deserved at least that.
“Come on in!” Breelynn Engle’s sweet, soft-spoken lilt barely breeched the sturdy oak door after Marcee’s knuckles rapped across the surface.
She slipped inside, a polite smile in place. Breelynn was roughly the same age as her mom, but she talked to Marcee like an equal, so she wasn’t surprised when the counselor pulled a chair parallel to her desk so they were sitting on the same side.
“Ready?” she asked, patting the cushion.
“Not at all.” Marcee sat and crossed her legs, the ball of her foot bouncing up and down on the carpet.
She was as antsy as a kid at the dentist. Being on this side of the equation was surreal.
She felt like a fraud, even though God knew she had more than enough firsthand experience to talk through it.
Despite making a lot of progress in recovery over the years, it didn’t erase her memories or how it had felt when she’d been called into the principal’s office and her own guidance counselor had been there with her parents—confusion, anger, betrayal.
The months of rehabilitation had been the hardest of her life, and just when she’d thought she’d made it past the negativity, she’d found out who had betrayed her, and it was a thousand times worse.
What followed was a sequence of events that would haunt the rest of her life.
Cassidy didn’t deserve any of that and Marcee would do everything in her power to make sure she had a healthy, happy future.
The potent tang of coffee, laced with hazelnut, filled the tiny office as Breelynn popped an instant coffee pod into her single-serve machine. “Coffee, hon?”
Caffeine was a terrible idea. “Sure, thanks.”
“You know, I wish I could say this type of thing is a rarity in my line of duty, but I’ve been doing this for over twenty years and there are two things as prevalent as ants on honey.
” Breelynn spun around, handing Marcee a steaming ceramic mug.
At her questioning look, she smiled. “Pregnancy and eating disorders. Aside from advising about college, it’s how my days are spent. ”
Marcee sipped at the liquid, grimacing. Hot and bitter.
“That’s tragic,” she responded, accepting the creamer the counselor handed her way. She poured liberally until the taupe liquid lapped against the rim.
“That’s teenage girls. And boys for that matter. I hope we can make some headway with Cassidy today. My first meeting was not productive, aside from leading me to believe you’re correct. And the fact that her parents never responded, well, it’s not unexpected, but it’s also not great.”
An assertive knock came from the other side of the door, and they exchanged a look.
“Showtime.” Breelynn straightened in her seat, adjusting some paperwork. “Come in!”
Cassidy Cope stepped inside hesitantly, and it was the first time since Marcee had known her that she’d seen her unsure. Her parents filed in behind her, well-dressed and put out.
Marcee’s player noticed her, and a bevy of emotions flashed across her features: surprise, confusion, suspicion.
“Take a seat, Cassidy. Good morning, Mr. Cope, Mrs. Cope. Obviously, you know Coach Ackerman.”
Cassidy sat across from Breelynn’s desk, perched on the edge like a bird on a power line, ready to take flight at the first sign of danger. “Coach.”
Her father edged past his wife, extending his hand. “William Cope, although everyone calls me Bill.” He gave Breelynn a polite smile. “We haven’t actually had the pleasure of meeting Cassidy’s coach prior to now.”
Marcee shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to Cassidy’s mother, who gave it a fleeting glance before taking the seat next to her daughter. “Okay, then.”
Now that Cassidy was in front of her, off the field and out from under the pressure of intense physical exertion, Marcee searched for the signs Ms. Shelley saw in her all those years ago.
Was her face sharper than normal? Did her hair look thinner?
She’d always been fit, but was she losing muscle tone?
Marcee’s heart hammered in her chest as guilt swelled.
Why hadn’t she paid closer attention to this?
She took her seat and gulped the coffee, relishing the burn down her throat.