Page 113 of Make the Play
“I have something for you,” Arlo blurts, withdrawing his hand from behind his back. There, clutched in his right hand, is a long stemmed sunflower, some of the petals slightly crushed.
“Arlo, what?—”
“It’s not from me,” Arlo hurries, as if Emerson might mistakenly accuse him of trying to give him flowers. “It’s from Coach.”
“Mr. King gave you a flower for me?” Emerson queries, unsure what to make of it.
Since that first boutonniere, Jason has taken to bringing Emerson bouquets of sunflowers for special occasions—his birthday, their six month anniversary, and a house full of them the day Emerson officially moved in. Having one of his players bring Emerson flowers is entirely new and unexpected, however.
“Well uh, thank you,” Emerson says, taking the flower. Automatically, he lifts it to his face, unable to hide his smile behind its wide yellow petals. “Did he—” but Arlo has already retreated to his seat.
There’s very little time for Emerson to try and make sense of the flower before another one comes, this time from one of Jason’s junior players who Emerson knows by face but not name. Cash or Carter maybe. Emerson is woefully horrible with names for kids he doesn’t teach or speak to regularly.
“Here you go, Mr. Miller,” the kid grins, his crinkly-eyed smile offering no clues as to what on Earth is happening before he deposits a second sunflower on Emerson’s desk then disappears from the classroom without explanation or another word.
The kid's arrival and departure, especially since he’s in his football jersey, garners enough attention that Emerson has to stand up and remind them to keep it quiet for the students who are studying. By the time he’s settled down their chattering, someone else is at the door. A someone that Emerson knows very well—Sanchez, one of Jason’s senior players, standing in his study hall with another sunflower.
Over the next twenty minutes, six other players come and go, each of them leaving Emerson with another sunflower, a rising amount of confusion and a classroom full of gossiping students whose giggling and whispers can no longer be contained. Emerson almost gets his phone out of his desk to text Jason and ask what the heck is going on, regardless of what his students think of him for texting in class, when there's a loud knock on the door—despite it being open.
“Mr. Miller,” Matty yells, leaning against the door frame. With his charming smile and good looks, all eyes move to him.
“I don’t think you have a study hall this period, Matty.”
“I don’t?” Matty gasps, pretending to be entirely shocked. “Mr. Miller, that is brand new information.”
“I highly doubt that,” Emerson deadpans, earning him laughter.
“You’re hilarious, Mr. Miller. Really.”
Were it almost anyone else, Emerson might assume based on past experience that Matty is being sarcastic. The past few months watching Jason’s practices and games, and tutoring Matty on a regular basis as part of his new 504 plan, has shown him that, much like Jason, Matty pretty much always means what he says.
Matty pushes off the door frame while simultaneously holding out his left hand, which was previously hidden behind his back. In his hand is another sunflower, though unlike Arlo and the other players, he doesn’t drop it off and run. Rather he walks directly into the middle of Emerson’s study hall and dramatically bows while clearing his throat like some kind of medieval herald.
“This is for you.” Matty brandishes the sunflower at Emerson, clearly relishing the attention he’s garnering. “From Coach.”
The eyes of every student are on Emerson, well except for Arlo who is watching Matty with hunched shoulders and a blush. Emerson takes the flower, staring at it with a mix of confusion and something he doesn’t quite understand but that makes him feel warm.
“Uh—” Emerson stutters, staring at the flower. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Matty smiles, hopping into a standing position. “There’s something else for you, but you’re going to need to step outside to get it, Mr. Miller.”
“Outside,” Emerson echoes, the repetition offering no clarity to the situation.
“Yup, outside.” Matty claps his hands gleefully, stepping towards the open door. “Right now. Like right now, right now.”
Half the class stands, the sound of chairs scraping on linoleum paling in comparison to the students chatter as Emerson’s feet guide him towards the open door. He’s not even sure what he expects, but it’s certainly not what he comes face to face with.
“Hi,” Jason grins, standing on the lawn outside of Emerson’s classroom.
Though Emerson saw him just a few hours ago, his heart clenches in familiarity as he takes in Jason’s wide smile that he loves so much, his dark hair blowing in the wind since he’s due for a haircut and that handsome dimple in his chin on full display. He’s dressed in his usual uniform of gray sweats and his favorite coaching sweatshirt. Behind Jason stands what must surely be half the football team who just delivered flowers to Emerson. Matty runs to join them, dragging Arlo out of the classroom by the elbow towards the group, laughing good-naturedly before he drops Arlo’s arm and leaps onto Sanchez’s back.
Stepping into the yard, Emerson lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. “What’s going on?”
“I need to ask you something, Emmy.”
“Right now?” Emerson asks, glancing behind him, confirming his suspicions that all of the study hall students are eavesdropping.
It’s not unusual for Jason to stop by during one of his study halls if he’s free, but usually all that happens is Jason waving from the door or sneaking in with a snack if he thinks Emerson hasn’t remembered to eat. He’s never interrupted class before, which in and of itself would be enough for Emerson to hear him out, but given that it’s Jason, he trusts whatever it is will be alright even if his brain is going a million different directions struggling to guess where exactly that might be.
