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“Are you ex-military?” I hope he says yes. I’ve always found the army types to be tight-lipped, which is perfect for my situation.
“Who, me?” Ted points to himself with a gnarled finger and chuckles like I’ve asked him something funny. Who else would I be talking to? “Not a chance. All my injuries took place in there.” He points to the cafeteria. “Never come between a troll and his seconds. Not unless you want a war on your hands. And I mean that literally. Cold drinks, hot food, and all.”
He winks conspiratorially, and I’m not sure what he means by it. But I take my chances and assume it’s about my previous point—anonymity.
“I most certainly don’t,” I reply, awkwardly trying to hand him the folded bills. Ted looks at me like I’ve just shit in his shoe or something.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” There’s something about the way Ted purses his lips that jogs my memory. Suddenly, I get a distant flash of his face, younger but no less cheerful.
Don’t say I never gave you nothing!A younger Mr. Fellow’s voice rings in my ear as another wave of recognition washes over me. How could I forget this guy and his stellar Halloween candy?
“Mr. Fellows!” My smile is genuine, and so is my hope he’ll keep my presence in this town a secret.
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” He chuckles.
“Wellyoudon’t spend this all in one place now, you hear?” I hand the confused satyr his hush money. “Don’t say I never gave you nothing. Good seeing ya!”
I march off just as the bell rings. With my shirt sleeves down, sunglasses on, and a hat covering my hair, I’m confident I can make it to Verog’s office unseen. But not if anyone catches me up close.
“I don’t—”
“I’ll get the rest to you later!” I tell him, then shuffle down the hall toward the locker rooms. Whatever else Ted has to say is drowned out by the sounds of a hundred children chattering.
I make sure to focus on the wall of trophies as Verog’s students exit the locker rooms. I notice each of their white shirts and navy blue jersey shorts as they round the corner. In over two decades, the school hasn’t changed their PE uniforms.
Something about that feels comforting to me, but I push it to the back of my mind just so I can focus on the task at hand. I’m calling it Operation Get Verog To Think Me Co-Coaching Is His Idea. Sure it’s a long title, but I won’t be sharing it with anyone else, so why make the extra effort to sound clever?
“What are you doing here?” Verog says as soon as I step into the boys’ locker room. I notice his name stenciled on the adjoining office door and give him a big thumbs-up.
“Coach Hill. How professional,” I tease.
“Don’t change the subject, Jar. I asked you a question. And those glasses make you look like a predator.” He stops picking up the soggy towels from the locker room’s punishing concrete floor and plops his hands on his hips instead.
I can’t help but tease him by doing the same. At least with my good arm. “Speaking of predators, what kind of delinquents are you teaching here? They can’t pick up after themselves? I don’t remember our coach cleaning up after us back in the day.”
“Kids are different now. Plus I get paid more than Coach Dahmer,” he explains, then pauses as if a fresh thought has just occurred to him. “Which is not a name that’s aged well.”
“Tell me you’re looking for a co-coach because here I am.” My segue isn’t exactly casual, but I’m getting the sense that insulting his students won’t get him on board.
“No.” He looks at me flatly. “What I’m looking for is some help picking up.” He gestures to the locker room around him.
“And you let them all walk out as soon as the bell rang,” I reply, tossing my thumb over my shoulder before I realize the point he’s making. “I mean, let me help you out.”
“That’s better,” Verog says, his coach whistle dangling around his neck. He crosses his arms and watches me collect a few soggy towels into a pile on a nearby bench.
“What was the sport today, flood the locker room and swim your way out?” I complain. “And they say public schools have no budget.”
Verog smirks then gestures to the pile of collected towels. “Those go there.” He points to a laundry bin, and I take it for the test it no doubt is. I can clean up a little. I’m not a child.
“Seriously, why are these so wet?”
“Because kids play,” he replies. “They play hard, especially when they should be getting work done.”
“Then me and your new team have something in common!” I say. “Or should I sayournew team?”
He looks at me blankly, his light red eyes dull as if he were bored or something. I tell him about my public image predicament. “Why don’t you tell me why you came all the way here instead of just calling or texting me?”
Uh oh. I know that tone. He’s about to turn me down, the exact reason I didn’t do this over the phone. “Because I’m in town, and you’re the first person I want to see.”
