Page 5 of Between Love and War
“Yes, you, Kate,” she reiterates. “You volunteered to spearhead the Little League.” Well, thatdoessound like me. “And initially we were supposed to be joined by one of the coaches of the national team, but after that… incident, they decided to send Michael Lee.”
“Okay…” I say. I’m still having trouble thinking about how to do all this. I stare at her, then at the ceiling, then at the framed quote on the wall that says ‘Be the change you wish to see in the world.’Easy for you to say, Gandhi.I doubt he ever got ambushed into heading a basketball program with a bunch of five-year-olds and a hotheaded athlete.
Mrs. Ramos folds her hands on the desk, watching me expectantly. “I trust this won’t be a problem?”
I scramble for a response. Will it be a problem? Yes. Will I do something about it? Probably not.
Because, once again, my greatest weakness has come back to haunt me. Ivolunteered.Even though the only reason I did was because no one else raised their hands and I have the spine of an overcooked noodle.
“Nope, not a problem!”
“Great!” She shuffles some papers on her desk and hands me a folder. “Everything you need is in here—schedule, roster, guidelines. Make sure he gets settled and oriented before practice starts.”
I blink. “Wait.Ihave to orient him?”
“You’re the program lead, aren’t you?” she says, looking over her glasses.
Okay, technically, yes. But when I signed up, I was picturing friendly neighborhood dads teaching kids how to dribble, not national-level basketball stars with viral scandals.
“Right,” I manage to say, tucking the folder in my arm.
Everyone exits her office, but I stay, the folder feeling heavier with every step.
“Good luck, Kate,” Farrah, my co-teacher and friend says. “I heard he has an attitude. I hope his pretty face can make up for it.”
I roll my eyes and smile. When everyone is outside, Mrs. Ramos returns and says, “Michael is here. I’ll take over the greeting activities for the children outside, while you orient him in your classroom.”
She doesn’t even spend a second to hear what I have to say before she gets out again. I run to my classroom, passing the row of colorful paintings my students made yesterday, and quickly skim through the contents of the folder handed to me. According to this, Michael will spend Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays here, assisting with the after-school sports program. He’s also encouraged to spend even the earlier parts of the day with the children. I scoff.Yeah, right.
I just finished reading when a giant figure enters my room.
To nobody’s surprise, Michael Lee is tall. So, so,sotall. Now, this is a preschool classroom, so everything is smaller than usual. But I, standing proudly at five foot two, can still sit on the kids’ chairs with full lumbar support. Michael, however, scans the room and doesn't find a seat his pinky can fit in, so he hovers in front of my desk.
He’s still wearing sunglasses. Indoors. While scrolling through his phone.
I clear my throat and stand up. “Hi. You must be Michael.”
He glances up, sliding his sunglasses down just enough to reveal sharp, disinterested eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m Kate Cruz,” I say cheerfully. “I’m in charge of the Little Sports League.” I extend my hand, because I’m aprofessional, even if he’s making it difficult to be polite.
Michael doesn’t even look at it. “Cool,” he says, going right back to his phone.
Cool?
I lower my hand slowly, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. “I need to go over some things before the program starts,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’ve got plenty,” he mutters, still staring at his phone.
I grit my teeth. “Okay,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “Let’s start with your role in the program. The kids are between five and seven, so we focus more on fun and movement rather than serious competition. It's less about strategy and more about—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, finally tucking his phone into his pocket. “I got it. Kids dribble, I smile, we all go home.”
I blink at him. “It’s a little more involved than that.”
Michael removes his sunglasses and tucks them on his shirt collar. He looks up slowly, and then I see his eyes. Dammit.Of coursehe has pretty eyes. Big, brown, and soft, like a doe. His hair is tousled but also perfect, like he got out of bed and gave it a good shake and then it just works. He also has a jawline that can probably cut glass. Overall, he looks like a Korean boy band member.
But then there’s the rest of him. At first I only noticed how tall he was, but now that I really look, it’s clear that Michael’s built like someone whose actual occupationisbeing built. He has broad shoulders, chiseled arms that look like they can carry three generations and a cat out of a burning building, and a chest that stretches his gray shirt.
