“Shut up,” Mike says, posing harder.
“Cam,” I call out, not even looking up from my clipboard, “if I hear one more flex-off narrated like National Geographic, you’re running ‘til your legs fall off.”
“Sorry, coach, just trying to enrich our learning environment.”
A few guys are curled up with dumbbells in the back like it’s fucking arm day. I point at them with my coffee cup, “Y’all realize curls don’t block linebackers, right?”
“But Coach, I gotta work on the guns. Might even scare ‘em off the field.” I can’t help the smile tugging at the corner ofmy mouth. They give me a hard time, and I give it right back, but hell if I don’t love these boys.
When the guys finish their morning workout, I call them into the locker room. “Alright, team. Good work this morning. I know it’s early, and you’d rather be in bed scrolling whatever y’all scroll, but this,” I gesture around the room, “Is where the season starts. Not out there on the field Friday. Here. Now.”
I pace in front of them. “I want hard work. Accountability. If somebody’s lagging, you pull them up. If somebody’s mouthing off, you shut it down. You’re a unit out there. If one of you is slacking, you all are. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” they echo in unison.
“Good. Practice after school. And if one of y’all shows up late again without a decent excuse…” Groans ripple through the group, cause they know what I’m about to say before I say it. “You’re running.”
“Now go shower before y’all stink up the whole damn school.”
They file out, laughing, shoving each other.
I lean against the lockers and sip my now-cold coffee, the quiet setting around me, Jason’s tired face lingering in my mind.
I hope I’m not putting too much pressure on the kid, making him captain.
I’ll check in with him again later, but right now, I’ve got adifferent battle to face.
Freshman PE.
God help me.
The halls are buzzing with first-day energy. Students greet each other like they haven’t seen each other in years, teachers all smiling and calling out names. All the wide-eyed freshmen wandering around with schedules held out in front of them like survival maps.
I love the first day of school.
You can just feel the excitement in the air.
I lean against the wall outside the gym, greeting my students as they pass, and pointing the lost ones in the right direction.
“You loitering?” I turn my head and see Layla Carter striding up, curls bouncing, textbook clutched to her chest, and that signature smirk tugging at her lips.
“I’m supervising. Preventing hallway shenanigans.”
“Uh-huh. You’re a good guy, Wesley.” She leans against the wall next to me. “How’s the team?”
“Allergic to punctuality, but they’ll shape up.” I glance at her. “You look like you survived first period without murdering anyone.”
“Barely. Seniors who think they’re too cool for Shakespeare. I might make them read it out loud in accents to humble them.”
“Evil,” I say, grinning. “I respect it.”
She bumps my arm with her elbow. “You’re in a good mood.”
“It’s the first day. Everyone’s pretending they care. It’s contagious.”
“Or maybe,” she drags out the words with that look I know too well. “You saw the new art teacher.”
I blink. “There’s a new art teacher? Huh. I figured Ms. Price would’ve stayed forever.”
