Page 4 of Coach
I blew the final whistle sharp and short, the boys scattering like someone had dropped a live grenade at center court.
“Good work today, men,” I called after them. “Tryouts continue tomorrow—same time, same gym. And remember: Hydration is not a myth, gentlemen!”
A few muttered, “Later, Coach,” whileothers just offered exhausted waves before dragging themselves toward the locker rooms, sneakers squeaking sad final notes across the court.
I was jotting down some final notes on the clipboard when movement caught my eye by the main entrance doors. There, leaning against the gym doorframe like he had a right to look that smug in my gym was my fellow teacher and best friend, Mike Albert.
He wore jeans, boots, a fitted T-shirt that said, “Support Your Local Troublemaker,” and a grin that said he was about two seconds away from mocking me to death. The air conditioner vent that pummeled anyone brave enough to walk through those doors blew his fire engine hair in ten directions, taking his nerdy, bespeckled look to a whole different vibe of geekdom.
I jogged over, wiping sweat off my forehead with the hem of my shirt—because who needs dignity after three hours of screaming at teenagers?
“What brings you to my humble gym, Mr. Albert?” I asked, stopping just shy of barreling into him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking like he had personally invented the concept of being irritating. “I had to see it with my own eyes, the legendary Coach Ricci wrangling hormonal chaos intobasketball excellence.”
“Envy looks terrible on you.” I rolled my eyes. “And you’re a redhead. You can’t even blush properly.”
Mike chuckled, but before he could fire back, a voice sweeter than arsenic floated down from the top bleachers. “Mr. Albert!” Jessica called, practically bouncing down the steps, her ponytail swinging like a weaponized flirtation device. As she took the bleachers one row at a time, my brain heard her boobs making that “jiggly, jiggly” sound that ran through my head every time I saw Jell-O.
Mike tensed, like a man spotting a tornado on the horizon.
“Jessica,” he said with the strained politeness of someone greeting a neighbor’s aggressive Pomeranian.
She strutted right up to him, all bright smiles and glossy lips, and for a horrifying second, I thought she might try to climb him like a tree. Instead, she settled for sliding her hand down his arm, slow and shameless, like she was petting a particularly attractive house cat.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Mr. Albert,” she purred, giving his bicep an inappropriate squeeze.
Mike smiled the tight, strained smile of a man trying very hard not to flee the building. “Lookingforward to it,” he said, voice a full octave higher than normal.
Jessica winked at both of us, then sashayed out of the gym like she was walking a Victoria’s Secret runway, her backpack bouncing behind her.
As soon as the doors slammed shut, I turned to Mike, grinning wide. “You okay there, champ?” I asked, clapping him on the back. “Need a safe space?”
Mike scrubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to wipe off the experience. “I swear to God, Mateo, if that girl turns eighteen and proposes marriage during second period, I’m transferring schools.”
I snorted. “She’s harmless.”
Mike shot me a look. “That’s what they said about rabid raccoons.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the idiot who’s irresistible to teenage delusion.”
He pointed a finger at me. “Youcreated this monster. You let these kids believe teachers are approachable. You smiled. You encouraged dreams.”
“And yet,” I said, grinning, “only you are the object of Jessica’s undying love. I wonder what that says about you.”
“It says,” Mike said, “that I’m bringing pepper spray to homeroom.”
I barked out a laugh and tossed my clipboard onto the bench. “All right, now that we’ve survived puberty’s final boss, what do you wanna do?”
“You hungry?” Mike jerked his chin toward the door. “Elliot’s working late, so I’m a bachelor tonight.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
Mike pushed off the doorframe and ran a hand through his rusty hair. “I thought we could head into Decatur, grab something to eat, then hit up that big arts festival.”
I cocked my head. “Arts festival?”
He nodded, completely casual. “Yeah, there’s a whole section of antiques and antique furniture I wanna check out. They’re supposed to have some good pieces.”
