Page 66 of Make the Play
“You haven’t done anything, Mr. Miller. The complaint is about Mr. King. Given the importance of the game tomorrow we’re eager to expedite the process of investigating the validity of claims.”
“What claims?” Emerson frowns, struggling to think of anything Jason might have done wrong.
“There are concerns that Mr. King has used his personal relationship with you in order to influence the grades for starting players on the team.”
“Jason would never. He’s an amazing teacher and coach,” Emerson argues, shocked at his outburst.
“I’m not here to debate Mr. King’s character,” Mrs. Hernandez says solemnly. “I wanted to make you aware of what we’ll be discussing at the mandatory meeting with HR this afternoon.”
Emerson says nothing, finding it impossible to focus on what the appropriate response might be with the emotions warring inside of him: a confusing mess of fear, indignance and anger that leave him feeling like he might be sick.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Hernandez placates, “we just want to clear up a few things.”
A weird haze takes over, and while Emerson knows he’s replying, he’s hardly aware of his own words. In fact, he’s not even sure what she said, the buzz of anxiety making it hard to absorb what’s going on around him. It’s almost like he’s outside his body, and while he knows he says something to Mrs. Hernandez and makes it through the next two hours, he’s hardly sure how.
When he walks into the front office, the only people there are Mabel, sitting at her desk typing and Jason in a chair behind her with his head in his hands. Both of them look up at his arrival, their smiles feeling entirely undeserved.
All he’s done is cause trouble. He has no idea why they’re both looking at him like his arrival is something to be happy about. Emerson’s heart lodges itself in his throat when Mabel stands up, walking around her desk to hug him. She’s so small Emerson has to hunch over to return the hug, hoping she doesn’t notice the wet patch of tears he leaves on the shoulder of her hot pink sweater.
“Everything is going to be fine, Mr. Miller.” She pats him on the back, her smile unwavering. “You’ll see.”
Emerson doesn’t share her confidence and can do nothing more than nod, making his way over to the row of chairs lined up behind Mabel’s desk where Jason sits. There are four, and though he wants to sit directly next to Jason he can’t help worrying how that will be perceived, lowering himself into the chair furthest from him.
One of the chairs squeaks loudly, then Jason’s bulk is suddenly seated beside him, their shoulders pressed together and Jason’s hand on his leg. Long fingers curl around his knee in a reassuring squeeze, and Emerson closes his eyes to keep from crying again.
Though he did nothing wrong, it somehow feels like his fault. He’d inserted himself into the situation. He’s the one who came to Santa Leon as an outsider and changed things. He’s the one who’s made things difficult for Jason.
“Breathe, Emmy.” Jason’s voice is calm and steady, holding none of the panic Emerson currently feels. “I already talked to them before you got here. Shitty as this all is, it’s straightforward too. They’re going to ask you some questions and all you need to do is tell them the truth. You can do that, I know you can.”
“What if?—”
“No,” Jason interrupts. “You’re going to be fine. Whatever they ask, you’re going to answer honestly because you did nothing wrong.”
The reassurance makes Emerson want to sob. He’s not worried abouthimself, he’s worried about Jason. What if Emerson gets him fired? Jason is one of the best teachers that Emerson has ever met; exactly the kind of person who should be working with teenagers because he loves it and the kids know it.
Jason makes his students feel safe and seen the same way he does Emerson. Alongside his teaching position is his coaching job, which Jason loves just as much. There’s no mistaking his passion for the game, or his dedication to his players and this school. The idea that Emerson’s presence here and his subsequent actions jeopardize everything Jason loves is enough to send him spiraling. He knows the accusations are that Jason is the one who manipulated Emerson. But aside from that being as far from the truth as humanly possible, Emerson can’t ignore the fact that Jason had no problems here before Emerson came.
The only reason Emerson isn’t laying facedown on the floor right now is because of the injustice of it all. The audacity of someone—Mr. Caldwell, no doubt—throwing Jason’s character into question because he’s pissed off is overriding Emerson’s nervous system, preventing it from going into full shutdown mode. Though, his anxiety is high enough he’s hardly functioning at full capacity.
“Everything will be okay, Emmy,” Jason whispers, affording him the kind of promise Emerson should be saying to Jason. He’s the one whose career and reputation is on the line, yet all Jason seems to care about is calming Emerson.
Sometimes Emerson hates his brain. He can think of words, can imagine telling Jason he’s sorry for causing trouble or maybe promising that he’ll make sure the school knows Jason didnothingwrong, yet despite the multitude of rehearsed sentences none of those words will come out.
“Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Hernandez calls, popping her head out of the conference room. “We’re ready for you.”
They might be ready but Emerson is not.
Walking into the conference room is like walking into war, or at least that’s how his brain perceives the situation. There’s an array of people ranging from the district superintendent to the principal and an unfamiliar man who he assumes is from HR, given the laptop and papers piled in front of him.
The man from human resources gives his name but Emerson has no idea what it is, the information pushed out of his brain by his rising anxiety. His eyes track everything from the way people breathe to their shifting facial expressions, hyper aware of everything except their actual words.
While Emerson knows he answers yes and no to their various questions, everything happens quickly. Before he knows it, they’re calling Jason back in. He moves without hesitation, settling himself in the chair beside Emerson. Though his hands remain folded in front of him, he presses his knee against Emerson’s beneath the table where no one can see, and that small bit of contact shatters Emerson’s wall of cognitive dissonance.
“Thank you gentlemen for being here,” Mrs. Hernandez says as if either he or Jason had a choice in the matter. “We have no desire to drag this out, especially given the upcoming homecoming events.”
Emerson can’t help but wonder if this process would’ve been quite so expedited if it didn’t involve their star football coach. He’s grateful, because the idea of this having been drawn out more than a day would’ve rendered him nearly catatonic, but he also finds their desire to not interrupt homecoming rather egregious.
“Taking in all of the facts, there is no evidence that Mr. Miller did anything outside of what the district would hope any of their teachers would do upon noticing a student struggling with their subject matter.”
