Page 4 of Did You See Evie

“Nonsense. You’ve earned this just as much as they have,” he says. “Let me spoil you.”

Even in a cheap establishment like this, the bill will be high, but I was prepared to pay it. Connor works in finance, his salary almost triples what I make. Still, since we’re not married yet; I prefer to keep our accounts separate. Independence is something I worked so very hard to achieve.

“Let the man pay,” Joanna says, swatting my hand. “We should be celebrated just as much as the girls.”

Two women approach the table, interrupting us. Beatrice’s mother, Lynette Nichols, and Amber’s mother, Melinda Terry.

“Congratulations, Coach,” Lynette says. “Our girls did a good job tonight.”

“They sure did,” I say.

“It was down to the wire,” Melinda says. “I wasn’t sure we’d pull it out.”

Melinda’s compliment doesn’t come across quite as genuine. I’m used to this tone with parents. They want the best for their child, and often kiss my ass to get it, but they also think they know best. Everyone wants their child to be the shining star.

“I never doubted them,” I say, pointedly. You never know what the outcome of a particular game might be, but I always had faith in my team.

Without invitation, the two women join us in our booth. Lynette sits beside Joanna while Melinda scoots in beside Connor and me, forcing us to scrunch together.

“We realize the season is over,” Lynette begins, “but we were hoping to discuss how we might celebrate the girls’ title.”

“This meal is a grand gesture,” Melinda says, somewhat snottily. “But winning the district championship is a big deal. We’ll have to come up with something to mark the occasion.”

“I plan on talking with the athletic director tomorrow,” I say. “Anything sponsored by the school will have to be approved by them.”

“You know, there’s a new indoor waterpark opening in the next town over,” Lynette says. “That could be a fun place for the girls?”

My mind starts calculating costs and risks. Hotel rooms and chaperones and potential dangers. It won’t be good for next year if one of the players suffers an injury on a school-sponsored trip.

“We’ll see,” I respond, politely. “I’m happy to mention the idea.”

“Mr. Lake and I are good friends,” Melinda says. “You’ll have to let me know what he says.”

I grit my teeth at the obvious namedrop. Mr. Lake is the school’s athletic director. Manning Academy is a private school. Parents pay sky-high tuition to ensure their children have an exceptional education, and that extends to every element of the school experience. Dealing with parents is one of the negative aspects of coaching, particularly in this privileged setting.

Now that the girls have finished eating, they’re getting restless. Most of them are out of their seats, huddled around Beth and Evie’s table. I use the distraction to my advantage, excusing myself to go over and supervise.

“We have plenty of time to come up with a plan,” I tell the mothers, gently moving to push Connor and Melinda out of the booth.

When I approach the girls’ table, I see several phones out. They jump back when they see me standing behind them.

“What’s so exciting over here?” I ask.

“Nothing, Coach,” Beatrice says, moving to hide her phone. “Just going over highlights of the game.”

“Let me see,” I say, holding out my hand. It’s always fun to see the game from the audience’s point-of-view, and thanks to social media, I get to see dozens of clips.

“Phone is about to die,” Beatrice says with a shrug.

“Hopefully someone got a good video of the winning shot,” I say to Evie, but I notice she’s not looking at me, or the other girls. She doesn’t seem to share in their enthusiasm. She’s staring straight ahead at the table, hands clenched into fists.

“Is everything okay?” I ask her, but Amber is the first to answer.

“We’re just tired,” she says, pulling on her jacket.

“Thanks for the food, Coach,” Tara says, and the three of them skip away before I can ask anything else. I watch as the various clusters of girls and parents disperse, thanking me for their meal and a victorious season on the way out.

Evie remains sitting at her booth, tapping at the flip phone in her hands. The top of her forest-green hoodie is pulled up over her head.

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