Well, for the most part.
Jason’s off to the side, watching the door, anxious to get outta here. At some point, he pulls his phone out, glaring at it like it insulted his momma.
Dude’s been like this all week.
On the field, he’s a machine, fast, focused, damn near untouchable.
But off it?
He’s barely there, and always has somewhere to be.
I gotta talk to him before it turns into a problem. ‘Cause no matter how good a kid is, you keep stuff bottled up long enough, eventually it leaks out onto the field.
I dismiss the guys with a few final words of encouragement. They file out still hyped, smacking lockers and cracking jokes, but when Jason tries to slip out with the crowd, still glued to that damn phone, I reach out and catch his shoulder.
“Hang on, Barnett. Need a word.”
He stiffens, tucking his phone into his bag. Kid looks like he got called into Holloway’s office. “Relax, man. You ain’t in trouble. You played real good out there.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stands there with his arms crossed while I lean back against the row of lockers, hands tucked into my pockets. “You’ve been quiet this week.” He shrugs, but I continue. “Hell, you’ve been quiet all season. Everything alright?”
“Everything’s great.”
“You sure?” I press. ‘Cause I’ve been watching. And you’re sharp during practice, but off the field? You look like you got something gnawing at you.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Look, I’m not trying to get all up in your business, but I’ve seen what it looks like when somebody’s carrying too much.”
“I’m good, Coach, really.”
“Alright, man. I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want anything messing with your shot at playing college ball. You’re too good for that,” I tell him, but I know he’s not listening, his eyes still sliding back to the exit.
I watch him go, not feeling any better than before.
I can’t make the kid talk to me, and I know I’m doingeverything I can.
I just wish it were enough.
Friday afternoon, before the game, we’re heading out of the school when I spot Iris.
She’s got her arms wrapped around a box of art supplies, damn near the size of her, trying to manage the box and the door leading to the faculty parking lot.
I nod toward the door. “Alex.”
He moves ahead to hold it open, and I step forward to catch the box as it starts to slip from her grip. “Afternoon, Ms. Patel. Let me grab that for you.”
“Oh, thank you, you don’t have to do that.”
“Sure, I do,” I say, giving her what I hope is my most charming smile.
“Well, I appreciate it, Coach Wesley.”
We follow her to a little green car, and I can’t help but notice that it suits her. “Here?” I ask, motioning to the trunk.
She nods, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, Iris.” I set the box down and shut the truck before I face her again. “You coming to the game tonight? It’s homecoming, so it’ll be a big one. The boys would love the support. And, uh… so would I.”
