Page 63 of Make the Play
“You’re a kick-ass teacher, Mr. Miller. I wish you’d been here when I was a freshman. I might've liked English more.”
The shift in Emerson is subtle, but since Jason’s playing the watch-Emerson game, it’s easy to pick up on the slight straightening of his back and the flush of pink on his cheeks. He looks surprised, but also proud, and it makes Jason want to hug him so much he finds his hands curling around the edge of the desk to keep from reaching out.
Jason is so screwed. Whatever the hell he is, it’s definitely not straight.
* * *
Between the homecomingpreparations Jason volunteered to help oversee—something that takes over his lunch time and every spare second he’s not teaching or coaching—his classes and football practice, Jason’s week is going to be a shit show. He’s overly committed, something he normally takes with a grain of salt but finds is making him cranky this year. Because for the first time, there’s something he wants more than making everyone else happy—Emerson.
Sure he’s going to see him every day because they ride together, and yeah they text sporadically during the day and as much as they can at night before Jason passes out from exhaustion, but it’s not the same. They’ll have to forgo their midday lunch dates, and though they’ve only missed one before this week, he’s not sure he realized how integral to his day it’d become until he thought about not having it. It doesn’t even matter if one of them is venting about work or just shooting the shit about something random because talking to Emerson, just being with him, is always the best part of Jason’s day.
When Thursday rolls around, he's managed to miss lunch with Emerson the entire week in order to oversee the homecoming committee, leaving Jason in a sour mood. This mood is matched by the weather, the normal morning coastal fog never gives way to the expected sunshine and instead offers a smattering of rain. It’s not heavy, full rain; it's something annoying and misty like the sky can’t decide what it’s doing. It’s just enough that Jason would normally have to pull his kids into the gym, but with it entirely decked out for the dance tomorrow, there’s nowhere to send them except study hall, leaving him with a free period.
Rapping his knuckles on the side of his desk, he looks around for something to keep himself occupied. Deciding to catch up on stuff for the upcoming homecoming game, he goes over his player stats and finalizes some of the plays for the big game, praying the rain lets up enough for the kids to enjoy it. While he works, he makes his way through his afternoon snack and his entire lunch knowing he won’t be able to have his usual open door lunch with the kids because of the gym situation. By the time the bell rings signaling the official lunch break, Jason’s finished his work and his food. Rather than feel accomplished or satisfied, he is more restless than ever.
He pulls his phone out, intending to text Emerson, when he realizes he can just go see him. He knows now that Emerson eats lunch in his classroom when not with Jason. Pocketing his phone, he all but runs from his office, pulling his hoodie back on as he stalks through the gym and out into the elements. The rain is still going, but there are pockets of blue skies and sunshine far on the horizon signaling its end is near.
“Take that rain,” Jason grins, finding the drops that fall on his face refreshing after too many hours spent indoors. Jason is not meant to spend the entire day inside cooped up, and the walk across campus does him good, his muscles loosening and his mind clearing. Shaking water droplets from his hair, he ducks beneath the sloped roof that covers the doorway to Emerson’s classroom, ready to push it open further when the sound of a raised voice stops him in his tracks.
“You have no business interfering with my students or trying to usurp my place at the school, Mr. Miller. None.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were,” Caldwell snaps, the grating timber of his voice made worse by the tone he’s using. “There is no way Matthew would have passed without help, which I did not provide as he had ample time to do the work of his own volition.”
“Matty needs extra accommodations.”
“Matthew does not have any legal accommodations on file. I would know, as I’m his teacher, not you.” Jason doesn’t need to see Caldwell to imagine the sneer he’s probably got in place. “He should be sitting out from the game Friday on the sidelines where he belongs, reaping the consequences of his own ill organized time management and apathy. Putting sports above academics has left him bereft, and it shows.”
Jason’s teeth grind. How fucking dare Caldwell talk about his kid like that, a kid who works damn fucking hard at everything, academics included given his lack of supports. Worse, how dare he yell at Emerson for stepping up when so many others haven’t. Jason understands personally the limitations of helping kids without legal accommodations when there’s no official diagnosis, but Caldwell is a fucking dick who would probably ignore an IEP or 504 if there was no one there to force him to legally follow it.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Jason says, his wide smile at odds with the simmering anger burning a hole in his gut when he takes a look at Caldwell’s smug face and Emerson’s stricken one. He’s never wanted to punch anyone the way he does Caldwell, but getting fired or arrested won’t save anyone from Caldwell’s bigoted asshole behavior.
“Mr. King, we’re having a private conversation here. I understand you seem to think you’re welcome anywhere you desire but?—”
“I have a lunch appointment with Emerson,” Jason interrupts, striding across the room to position himself at a slight angle between Caldwell and Emerson as if he can block Caldwell’s negativity with his own body. On any given day, he lets a lot slide because there’s nothing he can do about how much Mr. Caldwell dislikes him or athletes, but if he thinks he can intimidate Emerson while Jason is here, he’s got another thing coming.
Over Jason’s dead fucking body will anyone make Emerson uncomfortable.
“I told you, we’re having a private conversation.” Mr. Caldwell’s eyes flare with annoyance. “This doesn’t concern you. You can wait outside until I’m done speaking with Mr. Miller here.”
“I’m fine right where I am,” Jason counters. “And for the record, anything involving my players concerns me. If you have anything to say about one of them, feel free to say it to my face, or better yet we can have a meeting with the principal if you’d prefer.”
“Whatever you heard was not a conversation for your ears, Mr. King.”
“And yet my ears heard perfectly. One of my players had a book report due, which was written and turned in by the assigned deadline, removing any threat of academic freeze and freeing him to play in the game this week regardless of your personal feelings.”
Mr. Caldwell bristles, clearly surprised. Jason is surprised, too. Usually he lets him get away with shit because it’s easier than fighting back, but something about seeing him direct his behavior at Emerson has Jason ready to do anything to get rid of him, well, barring physical violence. Putting him in his place though is something Jason’s wanted to do for years, and now seems as good of a time as any.
“Your personal feelings should have no bearing on how you teach.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying, Mr. King, but I don’t like your tone.”
“You don’t?” Jason muses. “Damn. How…unfortunate.”
If steam could come out of Mr. Caldwell’s head, it would, his bulbous eyes protruding with agitation and his pale cheeks flushed red. He turns his gaze away from Jason and focuses it on Emerson instead. “I’ll see that you don’t overstep in the future, Mr. Miller.”
Without waiting for a response he turns, his sneakers squeaking on the floor as he departs.
