Page 7 of Did You See Evie

I can’t help noticing she doesn’t explain why she did. Evie said she had work, but it looks like she woke up recently, not that she just returned from a shift.

“Two championships back-to-back,” I say, focusing on the good news. “And Evie scored the winning shot.”

Again, she beams.

“Proud of you, kid,” her mother says. “Now, let’s get inside and get some sleep.”

Evie gives me a little wave before mounting the porch steps. I stand there, waiting until they’ve both disappeared inside. I can’t shake the feeling that my conversation with Evie remains unfinished. There was something important she was on the verge of telling me, and I resent that Crystal’s appearance interrupted us.

“That the mother?” Connor asks as I’m getting back in the car.

“Yeah,” I say. “Real piece of work.”

“Looks like it. She didn’t even come to her daughter’s game. Who does that?” He puts the car in reverse, the tires all but squealing as we exit the driveway. It’s as though he can’t get out of here fast enough. “I’ve never been to this side of town before. It’s a real dump.”

My stare stays on Evie’s house, until it’s swallowed up by the night.

I’ve never admitted to Connor that I grew up in this same neighborhood, that Evie’s life, as pathetic and desperate as it might appear, mirrors mine in more ways than one.

And I’m not sure I ever will.

FOUR

I lean back in my chair, propping my feet on the wooden desk. In my hands is a copy of this morning’s local newspaper. I’m admiring the photo on the front page of the sports section. It’s a great shot of the girls gathered around me mere seconds after Evie sunk that final buzzer beater. The headline reads:manning academy secures another district title.

Pride swells inside my chest as I read. The article dives into more detail, describing the ups and downs of the game and the eventual victory.

“I was going to bring you a copy.” The school’s athletic director, Mr. Lake, stands in the doorway to my office. “Looks like you beat me to it.”

“I picked one up on my way into work,” I say. “I couldn’t resist.”

“That was a helluva game last night.” He rattles his copy of the paper in his hands.

“They had me worried for a moment,” I say. “But only a moment.”

“This is good news for you.” He sits in the leather armchair across from my desk, smoothing the fabric of his pants around his knees. “Solidifies you as a member of the coaching team.”

That statement provides more reassurance than any trophy or article ever could. It’s no secret that not everyone is keen on me being a head coach, which makes every move I make all the more important, every win another conquest. Mr. Lake runs the sports program at Manning Academy with transparency. He let me know early on there were whispers about my efficiency as a team leader. I hadn’t even held the job for an entire season before some of the parents started campaigning for my removal. Sometimes I think he only told me this to put pressure on me, pushing me to succeed under fire. Three championships in four years have helped cement my position at the school, but being a woman in a male-lead realm means I must continue to work twice as hard to keep my spot, especially when I’ll never be viewed as “the right type of person” in the eyes of the parents.

Beside my computer sits a framed photograph of me during my own basketball days. Coach Phillips stands beside me. He became my mentor in middle school, even allowed me to live with him during my last two years of high school. If it weren’t for him, I never would have secured a full sports scholarship to a small university several states away. I wouldn’t have my degree or my job, this entire life I’ve built. He’d be proud to see me where I am today, of everything I’ve accomplished against all odds, even if he was never aware of the worst things I’ve done.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. Coach Reynolds steps into sight, addressing Mr. Lake. “I was looking for you.”

Mr. Lake nods in my direction. “I was just congratulating Cassandra on last night’s victory.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Although Mr. Lake never told me exactly who was questioning my abilities, I’ve always assumed Coach Reynolds tops the list of people out for my job. Right now, he serves as the head girls’ soccer coach and assistant basketball coach for the boys’ team, but he wants my title. As a Manning Academy graduate, it’s no secret he would have it, too, if it weren’t for my impressive winning streak. It must irk him to have to congratulate me in front of our boss.

“Missed you at the game last night,” I say to him.

“Oh, I was there. It was quite the atmosphere,” Reynolds says. “I hear it carried over to the local Waffle Shack.”

I smile politely. “It’s a tradition.”

“One I’m sure the parents love.”

As Melinda Terry pointed out last night, the students and parents of Manning Academy have loftier expectations than the local diner, but it was an opportunity for the girls to connect with one another in the wake of victory. That should be more important than anything else.

---