2 Death Makes the Cut (6 page)

This was more or less true, at least about the coaching, but Ed didn’t know that, and I resented the assumption. “What do you want, Ed?” I asked.

“I should be tennis coach,” he said. “I’ve had my application in for two years.”

We stared at him. His thin knit shirt revealed all too clearly a meager expanse of chest set off by a pair of small yet perky man-boobs. He also had a flesh-colored nicotine patch peeking from under one sleeve.

I said, “I always thought of you as an athlete, Ed.”

Surprised and pleased, he preened a little, diverted for a moment from his righteous indignation.

Laura wasn’t distracted quite as easily. “Why weren’t you helping Fred, then?” she asked. “He was doing everything all by himself. I’m sure he could have used the help.”

Ed looked annoyed. “I tried,” he admitted sullenly. “He said he didn’t need an assistant.”

This only meant he hadn’t wanted Ed. Hardly surprising, since Ed managed to combine petulant officiousness with rampant ineffectuality in one scrawny package. Laura gave a discreet snort, and he glared at her.

I thought briefly about Ed as tennis coach and didn’t like the thought. Whether or not he knew anything about the sport, he was not a good teacher. He had a hard time maintaining discipline in his classes, and an even harder time teaching any but the brightest kids. I knew he consistently got complaints from both kids and parents each year because he whined about it fairly frequently. If Ed took over the tennis team, I suspected most of the players would quit and the school wouldn’t be able to continue sponsoring it. Tennis was the only sport at Bonham that accepted any kid, regardless of experience. Competition and winning had been almost a side issue as far as Fred was concerned. Sportsmanship, leadership, and fun had been higher on his list. The tennis team was a place where students could belong to an athletic group without having to devote their lives to it, something I supported completely. Which didn’t mean I wanted to be the coach, but definitely did mean I didn’t want Ed taking over. Besides, the temptation to mess with him was irresistible.

“I’m pretty excited to be coach,” I said. “I have tons of new ideas. I figure with a little work, we’ll be heading to State.”

A blatant lie. The Bonham Breakpoints were consistently in the lower third of the Austin high school league, and they’d be lucky to be that high with me in charge.

Ed almost ground his teeth. “You’ve never wanted that job,” he accused.

“It was always Fred’s,” I pointed out. Which wasn’t a denial.

He stood there, trying to think of something cutting to say. “I’m going to talk to Larry about this,” he said finally.

I nodded. “Good idea.”

He looked at me helplessly for a moment, then stormed out.

Laura turned to me. “I didn’t know you wanted to be tennis coach.”

I grinned. “I don’t. But I couldn’t give that little weasel the satisfaction. This way he’ll sweat about it. Besides, I think we owe it to women everywhere to prevent that man from appearing anywhere in tennis shorts.”

“True,” she said with a little shudder. She paused, then added, “I’m really sorry about Fred. I know he was your friend.”

“Thank you. Yeah, it was a shock this morning. You don’t think about someone you know dying like that.” I said. “It feels very weird to be going on with the day, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Laura shrugged. “There’s nothing else you can do.”

Except maybe protect Fred’s team, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.

Chapter 3

COACHING AND COERCION

I was exhausted by the time three thirty rolled around. It was always like that during the first few days of school. For me, the long summer break was not exactly a break. I filled my time by taking continuing education courses at Austin Community College, by reading, and by working on my teaching plans for each of the classes that I’d be teaching during the next year. Still, there was no doubt that my schedule was much more relaxed during the summer months, and getting back into the pace and demands of teaching could be a shock to the system. And here it was, eighth period, and by all rights, I should be gathering my purse and heading for the door. As it was, I made my way down the stairs and through the throngs of kids clattering through the un–air-conditioned halls. The smell and humidity were identical to that found inside a teenage boy’s sneaker, and the din was incredible. Lockers slamming, boys shouting good-natured insults at each other in a continual stream of obscenities that would have made June Cleaver go into convulsions, but meant no more to these kids than “gosh darn it” had meant to Barney Fife.

I hurried straight across the open courtyard where the heat reflecting up off the concrete turned my face red in seconds, crossed through Building A, which housed the gym, theater, and cafeteria, and then across the parking lot to the tennis courts. It probably wasn’t a good thing that I felt winded already, and practice hadn’t even started.

A group of kids clustered in front of the tennis shed. The door was shut, a strip of yellow tape and a sticker over the lock the only sign it had contained a dead man just a few hours earlier. The kids themselves were dressed in their tennis clothes, but they did not look ready to play.

I introduced myself and scanned their faces, recognizing McKenzie Mills, Eric Richards, and Brittany Smith from this morning. I did a quick roll call, checking off names.

“Where’s Dillon?” I asked.

Most of them looked around uncertainly, then Brittany answered, “He comes after eighth period. He’s not in the class, just on the team.”

“Ah. Okay, then.”

“Ms. Shore, our tennis rackets are in there,” said Brittany, pointing with one finger to the shed. “We didn’t know if we should go in.”

I didn’t know if they should go in either, but I was glad the tape had stopped them. I had no idea what state the little room was in after the police had finished their investigations, and I didn’t want the kids to be the ones to find out. I would go in later and take care of things.

“That’s okay,” I said. “In light of everything that’s happened, I wasn’t planning to have a real practice anyway. Come on, let’s go find some shade.”

I led the way to the sidewalk beside the building where the temperature was a good ten degrees cooler, although still by no means cool. While it might have been even more pleasant under the live oaks by the parking lot, we’d almost certainly have had to contend with fire ants, and I wasn’t in the mood. The kids flopped on the ground like wilted lettuce, only less ambitious, and stared at their own hands or feet glumly.

“There’s no way I can replace Coach Fred. No one could. We’re all going to miss him so much. I don’t know how many of you know this, but I teach history here, and Coach Fred was the lead teacher for my department. I worked with him very closely, and he was my friend.”

My voice cracked a little as I said this, and I struggled to push back tears. A few eyes turned toward me, and I could tell they were all listening. I went on.

“If tennis was just a team and not a regular class, I’d cancel practice for a week and let us all grieve for Fred in the way he deserved, but that’s just not an option. And maybe it’s not even something he would want. Of all the work he did at the school, he was the most proud of his tennis team. Of you. He thought the world of you. He talked about you all the time, of the progress you’ve made over the past couple of years, of the fun you have together, and the fun he had being your coach.”

By this time the boys were staring grimly at their shoes and the girls were all perilously close to tears, but these things had to be said. I looked away to give us all a little time. Overhead in the cloudless blue sky, a lone turkey vulture spiraled lazily on an updraft, wings motionless, outstretched feathers quivering. The steady thrum of traffic competed with the lazy summer sound of cicadas in the trees. I drew a deep breath of the sweltering air and felt a trickle of sweat run down my back.

“So, for today, any of you that have your own cars can go ahead and leave. Anyone who needs to wait for the bus or for a ride can either go to the library or you can come to my classroom and get a head start on filling out the bajillion first-day forms that I know you have. Then tomorrow, one way or another, we’ll have regular practice.”

This seemed to meet with general approval. A handful of the twenty took off, and the rest, mostly freshmen and sophomores, followed me up to my room, a subtle vote of confidence, which I appreciated. On the way, McKenzie Mills caught up with me.

“Ms. Shore,” she said hesitantly. “I … um, I have a problem, and Coach Fred was going to help me, but I don’t know if he had a chance before he … before he…,” she trailed off, not knowing how to say “before he died.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Well, it’s stupid, but…” Again, she had trouble finishing her sentence.

“Hang on. Let me open my room, and then we’ll talk.” We had arrived at the classroom, and I unlocked the door to let everyone else in, and then closed the door so McKenzie and I could talk in the hall. The blast of cold air from the room made the hall seem doubly stuffy, but it was a whole lot better than outside. Across the way, Coach Fred’s room was already dark and locked.

I turned to McKenzie, who was wearing a pink and white tennis outfit, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. I’d been right. Without the reddened eyes of this morning, she was very pretty. And right now either worried or embarrassed.

“Coach Fred was going to take care of something for you?” I prompted.

She nodded. “Uh-huh. See, I auditioned and got a part in the musical.” She looked at me with pleading eyes, as though this was a problem I could solve.

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

Not what she wanted to hear.

“Thanks, but see, Ms. Wales said I’d have to drop tennis, and I don’t want to. Rehearsal is right after school, but only until the performance in September.”

I thought about this. “I don’t see why you’d have to drop tennis. Just come to eighth period like a normal class, which is what it is, and then go on from there to rehearsal. You’ll miss the extra tennis practice and maybe a few tournaments, but that’s no big deal. Didn’t Coach Fred tell you that?”

“Yeah, he did. It’s Ms. Wales. She doesn’t want me showing up ten minutes late because I’ve taken a shower, but she also doesn’t want me coming on time but being sweaty. She says I’ll have to be putting on costumes.”

“But tennis is a class. You can’t just drop it.”

“I told her that, but she said I could take it in the spring or next year to get the gym credit. Or even better take something that practiced earlier.” McKenzie looked miserable.

I could feel my own temperature rising, and it had nothing to do with the heat in the hallways. That bitch, Nancy Wales. I could almost hear Laura’s voice in my head. Couldn’t wait to tell Laura this one.

Out loud, I said, “So what did Coach Fred tell you?”

“He said he’d talk to Ms. Wales and work it out. But now…” She trailed off.

The anxieties of a high school freshman. So intense, so painful, and in this case, so entirely justified. Nancy Wales was the worst teacher in the school, not because she didn’t know her subject but because she was a bully. Kids who had talent got parts, yes, but only if they were part of Nancy’s inner circle. And she only liked the kids she could control. Stand up to her or question her in any way, and you were out. Every year parents lined up outside Larry Gonzales office to complain, and every year he did absolutely nothing about it. From his point of view, the drama department was a well-oiled machine, consistently winning awards at the district competitions. And unlike other departments, they never had any infighting among the teachers, mostly because it was just Nancy and her toady Roland Wilding, who was a world-class ass-kisser.

I took another look at McKenzie. She must have an amazing voice to have been chosen for a role as a freshman. Even more unusual, she must also have her head on straight if she wanted to stay on the tennis team instead of just caving to Nancy’s ridiculous pressure. My respect for the girl rose a notch.

“I’ll go and talk with her,” I said. “She can’t expect you to give up tennis, especially since you won’t have to come to the after-school practices while you are rehearsing. I’ll work it out with her.”

She looked both relieved and anxious, and I could tell she didn’t entirely believe I could make good on that promise. Which was reasonable, because I didn’t entirely believe it myself. I’d never yet had a battle with Nancy, but I’d heard the war stories from the other teachers. Especially Laura, who butted heads with her every year over the use of the stage.

When the final bell rang, I returned to the tennis courts to meet the rest of the team and gave them a shortened version of the same speech, telling them that practice would begin for real the next day. They scattered like cockroaches, a few running to catch the buses, the rest rushing toward the student parking lot. I watched them go, wondering what I was getting myself into. If things had gone according to plan, I would already be home, stretched out on the couch in the air-conditioning, maybe going over the next day’s lesson plan, maybe just reading a good book. The tennis shed, with its closed door, was a grim reminder that I should be counting my blessings instead of my annoyances. I stared at it, wondering whom I should contact about the tape and seal. Detective Gallagher sprang to mind.

Like a salmon swimming up an exceptionally crowded stream, a big Crown Victoria inched its way up the school drive, braking every few seconds to avoid kids heedlessly streaming across its path. At last it turned into the side parking lot and rolled to a stop beside me. Detective Gallagher got out, reflective sunglasses hiding his eyes completely. The crisp pressed shirt of this morning had wilted only slightly, but he had loosened the tie around his neck in acknowledgement of the heat.

“I was just about to call you,” I said as he approached. “Is it okay to open up the tennis shed yet? The team is going to start practice again tomorrow and all the equipment is in there.”