Page 1 of More, Daddy
CHAPTER
ONE
I fingerthe edge of the black suede Sequoia hat on my head and push through the double metal doors, my presence erupting into the full gym. All of the students fall into a hush, and the junior coaches and team captains warn them to stay quiet before stepping forward.
If I only give one talk per season, that singular talk bears more meaning, so the coaching staff and I decided the away game lecture needs to pack the most punch.
Typically, I have to warn them about behaving properly in the diner that is inevitably visited before the bus trek home, about trying to sneak alcohol onto said bus afterward,and to keep their hands to themselves on the drive—since it’s late and dark, and high school sports does not sponsor high school pregnancy.
This year, however, they’re getting adifferentspeech. A far more serious talk, because after this away game, they’re spending the night in a hotel.
It’s our first away game in years to have hotel accommodations—and it’s only because the Varsity Football Coach Dean McAllister, paid for them out of his own pocket. The district turned down the initial request, despite the fact the drive home requires a combination of terrible things—the most dangerous road in the county, the most terrifying time to drive, and, due to the time of year in which football takes place, the worst weather, too. Coach Dean couldn’t stand it and shelled out the money for the rooms—over three grand. For his sake, it’s more important than ever that every single football player and cheerleader be on their best damn behavior tonight.
Another impact of the district budget cuts was combining our Frosh and JV cheer teams in order for them to be properly staffed. This caused a slew of promotions to all coaches, not to mention, it urged us to bring on more junior coaching staff, and to give them more responsibility.
I make eye contact with the junior coaches first, because they hold more responsibility on their shoulders than the team captains. Junior coaches are former student athletes that either student teach or full-time teach while assisting the full-time coaches. The truth is, the district is using the junior coaching program to rope former athletes into teaching PE and coaching before they find a shinier, better job. The former students use the program to get their foot in the door so that one day, they will be shoe-ins for head coaching jobs.
Dallas Ray, the freshman football junior coach, is aching tobe the freshman coach. Absolutely aching. The kid emails me once a week to remind me his “hat is in the ring” whenever Markus Harrison, theactualfreshman coach, retires. I respect the junior coaches, because they came back to their alma mater just a year after graduating, not taking their college years to run off and forget their roots but to stay local and invest in the team that brought them so much pride and happiness the last four years. They get paid shit, too, but they show up, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. It’s hard not to respect it.
But with all that nice stuff said, they’re also young. Most of them are nineteen, with a few twenty year olds, and the junior women’s water polo coach, Sarah Vicks, is twenty-three. Still.Babieswho are thus far easily persuaded by peer pressure. They’re, more or less, also still a little dumb. Their brains are permeated with thoughts of looking cool, they’re liable to buy a beer for underage students for a ten second fist bump of self-worth boosting adoration. Seriously. Selfless and hardworking, but also moronic.
I just need them to beresponsiblemorons this weekend.
“A lot is riding on this first hotel stay… like whether we can do it again, for one,” I start, my head sweating under the band in my suede cowboy hat. Beneath my pressed white dress shirt and suit jacket, my chest sweats, a lone bead carving a hot path between my pecs as I pace the length of the shiny hardwood gymnasium floor.
It’s hot, but more than that, I want out of here.
I want to get home—to her.
And that anticipation is making me perspire.
“Junior coaches and captains, I’m looking to you guys for in-room behavior monitoring.” Swiping above my top lip with the back of my wrist, I tell them the truth. “You shouldn’t have to, because students should have respect forsomeone paying their way to stay safe in a hotel at night. But you will. They will test you, they will try to bargain with you. And let me tell you this now—I will hold each of you personally responsible for anything that goes wrong on your team.” I level a glare at the few faces willing to make eye contact. “Your job could very well be on the line if this singular night goes awry. It pays to remember that,” I say, deciding that less is more, and I’ll leave it there. They get it. I can see their understanding in the hushed sideways glances they level at one another, and the nervous toeing against the floor, the shoved hands in pockets, the slouched shoulders. I’m not a morale killer, but I also don’t want the headache that comes with teens having alcohol in a hotel at an away game.
I can hear the phone ringing from pissed off parents now.
“Understood?” I ask, and they murmur back in unison, “Understood.”
“I’m passing my phone to Denae. Denae is going to have each team captain and junior coach put their phone number in my phone. And if I get a call from anyone, everyone is getting a call and everyone is going down.” I pass my phone to Denae, who begins the process of collecting numbers, starting with Dallas Ray, moving onto Austin Reeves, the other junior coach for the freshman team.
The final thing I do is go down the line and shake hands. Am I trying to bond with future full-time coaches? No. The hand shake is personal and grown up. It makes them feel important and mature, especially to shake hands with me in front of the players. And it adds a nice layer of guilt—they’ll remember this handshake when the first little asshole asks if he can step out in the hallway for “just a minute.”
Briar, the JV cheer junior coach slips her hand into mine, intimidated and nervous, letting me do the work. “Understood,” she says with a single nod of her head. Her eyes dropto her feet, and I feel her compliance in her body language, in the way her words slope to silence as she waits for me to move on.
Maven is next, and while she shakes my hand and parrots back to me that she understands, there’s a flare of something in her eyes. Excitement? Power? Like maybe she could be bought by a student with something to offer, and she thinks she’s in control enough to get away with it. That she’ll be the cool coach that breaks the rules to prove her coolness to her team. Sure, it’s just a flash of her eyes and the way she chews at the corner of her mouth, but IknowMaven. Just two years ago she was a student.
“If you say yes to them, you lose power. And once it’s gone, it’s very hard to get back,” I tell her quietly, watching in silence as her eyes snap up to mine, sharp and full of concern.
“I–” she starts, ready to lie, ready to say she wasn’t going to do anything. Her thin lips press together as she nods. “I know.”
I shake Ryan Cavenaugh’s hand next, then Colin Trebble, and lastly, make my way through the team captains, shaking their hands, too.
I hope they come through and have a great first hotel stay away as the Bluebell Bruisers, and Ialmostfeel guilty at how guilt-free I am for not being there for it.
“Wish you’d be there, Mr. Dupont,” Ryan says, shoving his hands into his track pants. He’s in his third year of junior coaching, and if all goes to plan, I should be able to offer him a full-time teaching and coaching position in the next year or so. He’s a good kid, and I trust him on the road. I truly don’t believe he’d do a thing to jeopardize his status with me.
I bob my head, putting on an air of unfortunate dismay. “I know, I know. But the electrician only had room in his schedule tonight.”Lies, lies, lies.Thank god I bought an old,fixer upper when I moved here six years ago. That house is my greatest excuse maker ever.
“I told you my dad does electrician work on the side, you know, for Porty’s AC,” Ryan says, hope lingering in his expression.
