AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Whoa. Kirk frowned, framing his next words carefully around something he sensed was there but hadn’t yet identified.
“I wave at all the mothers,” he said easily. “And fathers, too. Every day.”
“Why?”
“To let them know they can trust their kids to me.”
“Oh.”
Another car was approaching. The Smith boys. They were good kids. Kirk knew several Smiths, including the business professor in college who’d mentored him during his undergrad years and then grad school—and guided him through his first multimillion-dollar deal.
Glad that Smith was such a common name, Kirk kept hoping that the more decent Smiths he knew, like his professor, the less pain he’d feel at the thought of the one bastard he’d never met—the Smith who’d changed his life forever.
“That’s dumb.” Abraham was staring out at the street, but didn’t seem to be focusing on much.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, man, it just is.”
The Smith boys had stopped halfway out of their car, apparently listening to some last-minute instruction from their mother. According to her sons, she had a different name—Simms. And apparently she was a juvenile court judge.
“Basketball tryouts are next Tuesday,” Kirk said casually.
“So?”
“I’m the coach.” Steve McDonald, principal of Menlo Ranch and the one person who’d remained a friend to Ki
rk all his life, had included the coaching position in the package he’d presented last spring. It was intended to save Kirk from himself. And it seemed to be working.
“So?”
“I’d like you to try out.”
“I’m too short.”
“You’re quick. And I’ve seen you at lunch, tossing trash in the can from eight feet away. You never miss.”
Kirk served as lunchroom monitor during the middle part of the day.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his freshly laundered jeans, Abraham shrugged his backpack higher on to his shoulders. “I don’t have time.”
“It’s only for an hour or two after school.”
“What is?”
The Smith twins had arrived. Kirk looked up and waved as their classic blond beauty of a mother pulled past them. He waited for her to go and then stepped off the curb.
“Basketball tryouts,” he answered Blake. “They’re next Tuesday.”
Abraham had already left them.
“Cool,” Brian said. “Can anyone try out?”
“Of course.”
The boys were walking slowly across the street, seemingly oblivious to the traffic they were holding up.
“You coaching?” Blake asked.
