Page 47 of Make the Play
Emerson
We can agree you are wrong.
The warning bell rings, leaving Jason feeling much like one of his students as he keeps his eyes glued on his screen while walking towards the gym, unable to to stop texting Emerson until the very last second.
Jason
feisty Emmy coming out
I like it
speaking of pizza, im hungry
Emerson
You’re always hungry. Did you eat breakfast?
Jason
yes but that was hours ago
you still coming to my office for lunch
Emerson
I come every day. Except for Friday, obviously.
Jason
lucky me
you know the kids would love if you came
especially Arlo
Emerson
Maybe one day. I think one jock is enough for me at lunch time.
The late bell rings, and Jason knows he’s got to put his damn phone away or risk making a hypocrite of himself in front of his kids, many of whom he has to remind daily that they don’t need to be glued to their phones. Even as he sees familiar faces watching him, he can’t stop himself from sending one final text.
Jason
ill see you at lunch
Smiling to himself, he pockets his phone. Not even the good natured teasing from his seniors who catch him is enough to dim his good mood.
* * *
The second Emersonsteps into his office, Jason’s spidey senses go off. There’s a tightness to the clench of his jaw and a hunch in his shoulders, but the frantic way he spins his fidget ring is the final kicker.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.
Emerson breathes deeply, exhaling a heavy sigh. He doesn’t answer immediately, moving further into the office so he can shut the door behind him, the sounds of schoolyard activity that usually filter in through the open gym doors quieting.
Were it anyone else Jason might push but he’s learned better, understands the way Emerson’s brain processes questions and stress. Rather than push for answers he’s desperate for, he busies himself with getting them set up. He grabs a Dr. Pepper and a green apple Gatorade from the fridge, depositing them on the edge of his desk along with everything else he’s got in his fridge: sliced jicama with tajin, fruit salad and baby carrots. He has no intention of eating the latter, unsure what possessed him to even buy them or put them in his fridge. The only good carrot is the kind inalbondigas.
“So,” he starts, unwrapping his sandwich. “My kids were giving me hell today.”
