Page 51 of Waiting for Friday Night

“But she’s not like every other player on the team,” Jeremiah cut in with a raised finger. “She’s a female and therefore she’s going to need adjustments made in order to accommodate her. Now, the district is okay with that, but you need to remember that these parents and the rest of the community already are judging you and every move you make with this team. I want you to remain our football coach. Doing so means you can’t stick your head in the sand and pretend like you don’t know what you and Shania will be facing. You can get mad all you want, but it’s reality. If I didn’t warn you, then I wouldn’t be a good principal or a good friend.”

“You call this being my friend?”

“I call it not being your enemy,” Jeremiah said. “Just think about what I said. Your situation is unique to say the least. I support you, but don’t give me a reason not to.”

Quinton glowered but nodded stiffly. Jeremiah patted him on the shoulder. The supposedly reassuring move he used after having any type of course-correcting conversation with a teacher. Quinton frowned as he watched Jeremiah leave the classroom. As much as he wanted to finish his sentence and tell Jeremiah, Coach Clyde and anyone else in town who questioned his coaching ability to kiss his ass and mind their business, Jeremiah had made a point. Quinton couldn’t pretend as if every move he made wouldn’t be scrutinized even more. He was already being scrutinized and was just beginning to earn the respect and trust of the people in this small town. Of course, people would judge him and his abilities more as word got out about Shania being his biological daughter. Even worse, Shania would be under the microscope. Judged. Possibly bullied.

The situation gave him flashbacks of his high school days. When he was judged on where he came from and what he had to offer instead of what he could accomplish. He thought about the mayor’s request. Not only would he have to deal with this, but he’d be dealing with it when Khris Simmons showed up with Travel Magazine to judge the town. All of the stuff Quinton had walked away from would be back in his face. How could he pretend as if he had everything together when the person who’d tormented him the most was going to be in town with the sole purpose of judging him and his involvement?

The shadow of an ache started in his shin. Quinton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The break had happened years ago and no longer bothered him. But when he thought about how it happened, he could still feel the pain of that moment.

He shook his head and opened his eyes, letting go of the past before it overwhelmed him. Football practice would start soon. He could focus on that. He stood and shook out his shoulders. He needed to let go of the irritation coursing through him like a raging river before he dealt with his coaches and the rest of the team.

He left the classroom and headed for the gym. He could go through the equipment and make sure everything looked good before the kids started arriving for practice. He entered the hallway leading to the locker room just in time to overhear, “My mom said she’s a test tube baby.”

Quinton stopped in his tracks. At the end of the hall Deandre, one of the players on the team, spoke to another player, Malachiah.

Malachiah let out a surprised laugh. “What?”

“Something they used to say back in the day,” Deandre continued. “Kids not born the regular way.”

“Test tube baby.” Malachiah laughed harder. “That’s crazy.”

Quinton cleared his throat. The two jumped and faced him. Their eyes widened as they exchanged worried glances. “Um... Coach, hey,” Deandre said, waving stiffly.

“What was that you were saying?” Quinton pointed between the two.

Deandre shook his head. “Nothing.”

Quinton came farther down the hall. “Nah, sounded like you two were having a fun time. I like laughing. Go ahead. Tell me what you were saying.”

Malachiah held up a hand. “My bad, Coach. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Quinton placed his hands on his hips and eyed both boys. “That’s right. You shouldn’t have. Shania is a member of this team. My business and how she got here doesn’t have anything to do with how she plays or how I coach. But I never have and never will stand for bullying and talking about each other. You got me?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said.

“Now leave, and don’t let me hear you saying anything like this again.”

They nodded and then scrambled down the hall into the locker room. Quinton watched them go. His stomach twisted in knots. He’d caught them, but how was he going to stop this from creating problems on his team?

Halle looked at the pile of decorations in front of her on the table in Tracey’s kitchen. “Tell me why we’re doing this again?”

Tracey sighed and pointed at the mountain of artificial flowers, tulle and rhinestones. “We have to make a good impression when Travel Magazine is in town. Homemade decorations give my place a spot over others.”

“But you aren’t craftsy,” Halle said, not to be insulting, but because it was true. Tracey was not into the arts-and-crafts life.

“They don’t have to know that I learned recently.” Tracey tapped the screen of her phone and a video about ways to make a wreath for the door played. Her braids were piled on top of her head in a bun and she wore black leggings with a green Fresh Place Inn T-shirt.

Halle fingered the tulle. She was just as bad at crafts as her friend. “You really can just have someone make these for you. They’ll still be homemade.”

“But I want it made from my hands. The Fresh Place Inn is about the down-home touches. That’s what makes it the place to stay in Peachtree Cove.”

“It’s the place to stay because you have great food, and your service is impeccable. You making the wreath on the door has nothing to do with it.”

“I just feel like I need something else. Some sort of umph to make it stand out. It’s not just about Peachtree Cove being named Best Small Town, but about me getting named best place to stay in Peachtree Cove. Maybe even my own separate feature.”

“Then why am I helping?”

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