I get to school an hour before practice on Monday and stop into the gym to check the conditioning log before heading to the pool. I count down the list and find two of my seniors, Corinne and Melanie, are missing. But the first name on the list is Addaline Grace. She checked in a full half hour before anyone else and was the last to sign out.
I stand here staring at her name, not sure if I can even face her at practice today. How did I not recognize her?
The answer is, I’ve got four new kids on the varsity team this year and I haven’t seen any of them except in the pool. One thing I’ve discovered in my year of coaching: teenage girls look totally different soaking wet with their hair tucked into a swim cap than they do in real life.
I take a deep breath and head to the pool. When I get there, it’s abandoned. Just how I want it. I need some time to myself to work out a game plan. I could just pretend the whole thing never happened, which is the scenario that’s winning in my head at the moment, or I could actually follow through with scheduling a team dinner. But if I do that at Sam Hill, I’m just as likely to get fired. Sam Hill Saloon is the only bar in town. They also happen to have the best burgers this side of Jupiter. Which is why I asked Addie out on a fucking date there.
Fuck fuck fuck. I am so fucking stupid.
I unlock the cage and head to the locker room to change. When I’m stressed, the water’s the only thing that keeps my head on straight. There’s not much question that right now I’m about as stressed as I’ve ever been.
And it’s not only because I accidentally hit on a totally hot student on Saturday. That’s just the nail in the coffin. My life was already down for the count. And it’s my own damn fault.
I put all my eggs in the wrong basket this spring. When I graduated from UCLA a year ago, I came home to finish my teaching credential at Sierra State. I knew Coach Williams was set to retire at the end of the school year and thought I was an automatic for the PE teacher opening. After all, I was an alum and was already coaching girls’ water polo.
I thought wrong.
They hired Deanna instead and left me on the substitute list. I was so sure the job was mine, I didn’t apply anywhere else. So, short of another gym teacher’s gall bladders acting up and requiring an extended leave from work, I’ve got nothing.
Except this coaching gig.
Let’s just say, high school coaching pays about enough to fill my gas tank to get back and forth to campus every day for practice. My parents downsized to a one bedroom condo two months after I got home from L.A., so I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch and chipping in what I can afford. His dad owns Mega Fitness, the gym in town, so he got me a job working there in the mornings. But every night after practice I’m scouring the internet for mid-year teaching openings.
So far, no luck.
I dive into the pool and put my head down, pulling through the water, keeping my stroke even. No need to rush it. Speed isn’t the key. Thrashing through the water won’t help. I just give myself over to it and let the water do the rest. Little by little, it melts away all my frustration.
An hour later, I’m just hauling myself out of the pool when the first of my team shows up. Corinne and her crew. I towel off quickly.
Back in high school I thought girls like Corinne were hot. Now I just find them a little sad. She and her friends are so wrapped up in their looks and their popularity quotient that it becomes their identity. The same way it did for me when I was here.
“You getting in the pool with us today?” she asks, sauntering over while her teammates flash each other knowing looks from the locker room door.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Addie pass through the pool cage gate. She’s dressed like some thrift store diva, in black leggings and flat, white ankle boots with silver buckles on the sides. A worn flannel shirt hangs loose over a white wife beater. My heart pounds as I brace myself for whatever is about to happen, but she tracks across the pool deck to the locker room without ever looking my direction.
I focus my attention back on Corinne and breathe away my nerves. “Just getting in a quick workout before practice,” I tell her, grabbing my T-shirt and tugging it over my head.
“You shouldn’t swim alone, Marcus.” She sort of purrs my name and I have to force the cringe off my face. “If you’re looking for a workout buddy, I’m free after practice. We could spot each other in the gym and maybe pound out some laps,” she says with a wave of her manicured hand at the pool.
I rub the towel over my hair. “Funny you’d mention that. What happened to conditioning this morning?”
Her eyes go momentarily wide, but then she covers with a disillusioned shake of her head. “I just forgot to sign in. I was the first one there this morning.”