Just to See You Smile (5 page)

“Jordan!” Britte called across the high school gymnasium. “Practice is over. Go home already!”

“Ten more free throws, Coach,” she hollered back, bouncing a basketball. Its staccato beat resounded off the court's hardwood floor. “Dad said I have to do 50 a day.”

Britte stifled a sigh. “Watch the elbows!” She turned back to Anne, sitting beside her on the second row of bleachers, and muttered, “Jordan Hughes' dad will be the death of me yet.”

The assistant coach looked up from the clipboard on her lap, eyeing her over horn-rimmed reading glasses. “Fifty free throws a day is not bad advice.”

“That isn't the point. The man has been telling me how to do things ever since I joined the coaching staff. In six and a half years Jordan hasn't missed one camp or league. Her dad hasn't missed an opportunity to point out my mistakes.” Britte shook her shoulders as if someone had just told her there was an ugly bug crawling up her back. “Sorry. Didn't mean to get off on that subject.”

“First-game jitters.” Anne pushed her glasses up along her nose. “Or
ego
.”

“Probably both. I mean, look at this lineup.” She pointed at the clipboard Anne held. “I feel like we're cheating! We've got five seniors who have played together since they were little tykes in rec leagues. Four of them are the fastest and smartest I've ever seen. And two of them are the tallest in the conference.”

“Supersectionals this year?”

Britte slapped her friend's raised palm. “For sure.”

“I see you're pulling Jordan out before the end of the first quarter.”

“Liz is more talented. Agreed?”

“Agreed, but Liz is a junior, less experienced.”

“She needs playing time, but I wanted to start all seniors this first game. It's their big night. For most of them, it's the beginning of the end of their career.”

Anne shook her head. “You do such a great job straddling that fine line.”

“What fine line?”

“That one between focusing on the win and focusing on giving
all
the girls a chance to play, junior, senior, experienced, or not.”

“Hey, we're in this together, Miss Assistant Coach.” She smiled. Five years ago Britte was sophomore and assistant varsity coach. Anne had just joined the staff, taking over Britte's former position coaching the freshman. Though the older woman's basketball skills were rusty, Britte would have been lost without her influence. “You're my anchor. I always count on you to make sure my head's on straight.”

Anne gave her a distant smile and set the clipboard on the bleacher. Propping her feet on the bleacher below, she leaned forward and crossed her arms over her knees. Dressed in warm-up pants and a T-shirt, hair tied back in its high, bouncy ponytail, she appeared her usual, relaxed self.

But Britte sensed she wasn't. “Annie, you're not all here today.”

She gazed away, a vacant look in her eyes. “Did you hear about Val and Kevin?”

“No. What—”

“Jordan!” Mr. Kingsley's strong voice interrupted their conversation. He strode across the gym toward the lone team member. “You can't stop on a miss!”

“I told Coach I'd leave after 50.”

“Throw another one.”

The girl walked back to the free-throw line. Her shot missed.

The principal hustled after the rebound, his yellow gold tie fluttering with the quick movement. His dress clothes—black slacks and royal blue shirt of some shiny fabric—added an elegance to his athletic movement. “Try it this way.” He passed the ball back to Jordan and went to her side.

Even with his back to her, Britte overheard his advice in that distinct voice of his. She watched him mime a throw and then position the girl's elbows. “Great,” she said under her breath, “another expert.”

Jordan made the shot, and Mr. Kingsley applauded. “That's it! One more time.”

Anne removed her glasses. “Britte,” she said in an undertone, “why don't you just admit it? You think he's attractive.”

She laughed quietly and murmured, “In your dreams,
Mom
.”

“You don't have to like him, but you've got to admit he is magnetic.”

Mr. Kingsley strode toward the bleachers, watching Jordan over his shoulder. “Good. Five more.” He turned and greeted them. “Afternoon, ladies. I got your note, Anne. Sorry, I wasn't available when you stopped by.”

“No problem, Joel. I just, um…” She glanced around the gym.

With a start, Britte realized her normally straightforward friend was at a loss for words. “Anne, should I leave?”

“No, it's what I was going to tell you.” She inhaled sharply. “Jason Massey's father moved out Sunday. His parents have officially separated.”

Britte groaned, “Oh, no.” She reached over and gave Anne's shoulder a squeeze. “I'm sorry.”

Mr. Kingsley echoed the sentiment. “I'll notify his teachers. We'll all keep a close eye on him.”

“Thanks. He and his mom told his coach last night, so he's aware of the situation.”

“Good. Miss O, you have Jason for geometry, right?”

The man's memory was astonishing. “Yes.”

“I'll schedule a session for him with the counselor. I can pull in the district's psychologist, too. She's better equipped to offer help in this type of situation.”

“Joel,” Anne said, “will you talk with him? He's going to connect better with a man, and he respects you. I know the counselor and the psychologist. They do a fine job, but, as my Drew said, guys sugarcoat things they say to their grandmothers. That's what the kids call those women. Grandma.”

Britte was glad to hear the usual punch underline Anne's words.

Mr. Kingsley's eyes narrowed as if he was deep in thought. Always the professional, he stood with his feet slightly apart, his arms crossed. His long sleeves were rolled up his forearms, but the shirt collar was still buttoned to the neck behind the firmly knotted tie. He gave a curt nod. “Understandable. I'll meet with him.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me. Anything else I can do for you? I'll pray for the family.”

“Now
that,
” Anne's voice quivered, “covers everything.”

“That's been my experience. Miss O, have we missed anything?”

She mentally conducted a split-second debate. His unexpected attention settled the issue. “On an unrelated matter.” She tilted her head toward the court where Jordan was still shooting. “There is the free-throw issue.”

He raised his brows, deepening the ever-present furrows lining his forehead.

Britte started. Eye contact! He stood a distance from the bleachers, and she noted only what she already knew. His eyes were not dark, nor were they a pale shade. “I mean, if
she gets to the line in tomorrow night's game, she'll need that elbow-tuck reminder. Coming from you, it seems to have worked. How about you sit on the bench with us?”

He laughed. “Oh, I'm sure you girls can take care of yourselves.” He walked away, still chuckling.

Britte and Anne sat quietly. He exited through the open gym doors. His footsteps echoed in the hallway and then faded.

Britte broke the silence. “Girls!”

Anne smiled. “You deserved it, Coach. I think he got your not-so-subtle message that you
know
Jordan's problem. That you don't need
his
help.”

“Hey, I was complimenting him on his ability to get through to her.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you could lighten up your tone a bit.”

“Mollycoddle a Marine?”

Jordan's free throw twanged off the basket's rim.

“Britte—”

“Notice he was wearing the school colors?” Adrenaline pumped straight to her jaw. She was on a roll. “You know why, don't you?”

“Of course I know why. There's a boys game in Orion tonight. I think it's great how he's caught on, wearing royal blue and gold like so many of the fans do.”

“Did he wear that shirt or even that tie to our games last week?” Their team schedules were identical. Anne's sophomore game always preceded her varsity's.

Anne paused. “He didn't come to our games.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, Britte, they were more like scrimmages. Preseason stuff. Two away games with nonchallenging, nonconference teams. Alec didn't even come to watch me coach, and he always comes. Amy had tests and Mandy was sick; I told him not to bother. Maybe Joel's not even going tonight.”

“Want to bet? I suspect he's like most of the male administrators in our school
history,
from 1909 on. Like the entire male coaching staff, Tanner Carlucci excepted.” She referred to the freshmen girls coach. “Just like my brothers. They believe there is not a shred of evidence to indicate that God endowed woman with the ability to play basketball.”

Anne howled with laughter.

“Brady actually said that to me when I was in high school.”

“Well,” she wiped her eyes, still giggling, “let's not forget anything your big brother ever teased you about!”

“He was serious! He denies it now, but I suspect it's what he truly believes deep down. You
know
girls sports are low on the totem pole around here.”

Anne stood and stretched. “Things are changing. We do have Tanner.”

“Tanner was raised correctly and in Rockville, which is not as backward as Valley Oaks. And besides, he's only a part-timer. He's not going to change the attitude here.”

“Hey, it's a start. I hesitate to ask, but are you coming to the game tonight?”

“Of course.
I
support
all
of our athletic events, whatever the gender, whatever the location.” She looked over Anne's shoulder and called out, “Good work, Jordan! See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Coach!” The girl waved from the gym door.

“Britte, did you hear what he said?”

She met Anne's gaze. “I heard.”

“He'll
pray
about it. When was the last time you heard a principal say that?”

“Never.”

“Me, neither. He's a good one, Britte. Mark my word. He is a good one.”

Yeah, well, I still don't feel much of a connection.

Alec stretched from the driver's seat and took hold of Anne's hand. “I think Jesus would sit next to Kevin.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Mandy and Amy sat in the far back seat of the minivan, the reading lights on, doing homework as they sped along the dark highway to their brother's game at another school. Amy's CD music played through the rear speakers. The girls were out of earshot.

She watched her husband for a moment, his face somber in the reflected console light. “I know.” Her stomach knotted. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I want to punch Kevin, not treat him with kindness. At the very least I want to ostracize the rat.”

“Jesus ate dinner with rats and healed their diseases. If I don't show Kevin that type of love, who will?”

“Haven't we shown him that all along, and didn't he just throw it back in our faces?”

“That doesn't mean we stop.”

“But I don't want to be nice.”

“Sweetheart, it's not being nice. It's being God's instrument.”

“Well, I don't want to be His instrument with Kevin.”

Alec squeezed her hand again. “I don't particularly want to either, but I know it's the right thing to do in this situation tonight.”

She leaned over and rested her forehead on his arm. “How'd you get to be so good?”

He laughed. “If you believe that, there's a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you.”

A short time later they entered the noisy gym where bleachers lined both sides. A pep band played. Dance and cheerleader squads ringed the floor, clapping to the music. Varsity teams warmed up at both ends of the court.

Anne spotted Drew. Taller than his dad already, he filled out his shiny blue and gold warm-up suit and from a distance looked like an older college player. His thick black hair and narrow face were Anne's, but his cinnamon eyes were Alec's. She smiled to herself. He was still her little boy, as evidenced that morning by him asking her to make pancakes.

The awkward moment came. Val was already sitting with the Viking fans, in the lower half of the bleachers, on the edge of the bunched group. Kevin was near the top, on the group's other side. Anne's throat constricted, and she felt a flush spread over her face.

Alec touched the small of her back as people wove around them. He spoke to the girls. “Mandy, you stick close to Amy.”

Amy, the big sister with plans of her own, wailed, “Dad!”

“Honey, if you leave the gym and go to the concession stand with your friends, bring Mandy to one of us first.”

Amy trudged off with a book-toting Mandy trailing behind.

“Anne, meet me at halftime at the concession stand?”

“Okay.”

Now Anne trudged off. For nearly 12 years they had sat side by side, watching their son play, delighting together in his successes, encouraging each other through his inevitable mistakes, sharing a deep contentment simply in his
being
. A product of their love.

She walked in front of the bleachers and then climbed to where her friend sat. “Val.”

“Hi, Anne. Saved you a seat.”

In reality, saving a seat hadn't been necessary. The entire section to her right was vacant. Anne sat. “Thanks.”

Val's eyes were red, but she smiled. “Where's Alec?”

Anne tilted her head toward the back. “With Kevin. He says Jesus would sit with him.”

“Jesus would say go and sin no more.”

“Well, yeah, you're right. I guess Alec feels he's got to be close enough to say that at the right time. How was your day, sweetie?”

“Yesterday was unbearable. I decided to take off the rest of the week from work. Try to get centered or something.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Celeste took me out to lunch, and then we tore apart my bedroom. I'm going to paint it.”

Anne nodded. “I can help on Thursday.”

“That'd be great.”

Joel Kingsley climbed the bleachers, heading toward them.

Anne said, “Val, I told Joel after practice tonight.”

“Good. Thanks.”

Joel reached them and sat sideways on the row below, looking back up at them. “Mrs. Massey, I'm so sorry about developments.”

Val bit her lip.

“I just want you to know that we'll do all we can to keep a close eye on Jason. Don't worry about a thing at school. Call me anytime if you need something. Have the secretary track me down if I'm not in the office.” He handed her a card. “And here's my home number.”

“Thank you.”

A group of students stopped at the bottom of the bleachers and called up to Joel. He turned around to talk to them.

Anne studied the back of him. His royal blue shirt fit snugly over shoulders that—though nowhere near as broad
as Alec's—leaned toward a trimly defined muscularity. He had nice hair. Thick but very short. In the garish gym lights she spotted a few early gray hairs among the black. There was a solid presence about him, thoroughly masculine, thoroughly take-charge. It was probably what scared Britte.

Britte had always tried to fill her big brother's shoes. She was athletically inclined and had thrown herself into competing against Brady's reputation for being the best, especially when it came to basketball. Given that their opportunities differed, she had succeeded as well as any young woman could by combining her love of teaching, her brain for math, and her passion for the game. But somewhere along the way Britte had eliminated suitors, intimidating them beyond what any reasonable young man was willing to face.

Reasonable young man.
Well, that left Joel out. He was about eight years older than Britte, and from what Anne had seen, not all that reasonable. Like a polite Marine assault, he had taken charge of Valley Oaks High School and, against the odds of parents and community and history, whipped it into better shape than it had seen in years. She doubted that anything intimidated him.

Which, under the right circumstances, might send Britte spinning. Hmm… Was there something to be done about promoting those circumstances?

The announcer began introducing the teams. All the Viking fans stood as their boys ran out.

Joel turned around. “Take care, ladies.” He climbed up the bleachers behind them. He wasn't headed in Kevin's direction, but Anne assumed he eventually would talk to the man, keep all the communication lines open.

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at her friend. Val's tears flowed freely as her Jason ran out just ahead of Drew.

A nauseating hollowness began to spread from the pit of Anne's stomach. She wanted to be brushing shoulders with Alec as they clapped for Drew, their junior starting a varsity game as forward.

Oh, why would she want to play Cupid to Britte and Joel? Why in the world had God even created love between a man and a woman? It was all so incredibly heartbreaking.

Britte considered the high school gym her home away from home. She calculated that by now she had spent almost one-half of her waking life in it.

Late Wednesday afternoon she was the lone occupant in this home away from home. The lights were low, the temperature cool. She sat on the top row of the bleachers, center court, on the side designated for home team fans. She stared at the lacquered hardwood floor with its impressive depiction of their mascot encircled in the middle: a Viking, his arms akimbo, wearing a gold helmet and flowing royal blue garments, gazing out over the helm of his boat.

She let her sight drift first toward the right, at the stage with its drawn blue curtains, at the unlit, black scoreboard high up the wall…then toward the left at the two sets of closed doors and another scoreboard. Alongside this one was a narrow announcement board with removable numbers and letters. At the moment it displayed the list of the jersey numbers and names of her girls… 10—Olson… 15—Taylor… 21—Hughes…

Britte forced herself to look straight ahead at the scorekeepers' table and then, to the left, to the bottom row of the bleachers that served as the team bench. In less than two hours she would be there…with her girls.

She doubled over.

A gym door rattled open, echoing loudly across the empty gym.

“Deep breaths, Britte!” It was Ethan Parkhurst's voice. Ethan was younger, just three years out of college, in his third year teaching English at Valley Oaks High.

Deep breaths?
It took all of her energy to manage a single shallow one through the nausea.

The bleachers clanked and shook as he ran up them. She felt him plunk down beside her. “Deeper.”

“I—” She gulped. “I can't!”

“Yes, you can.”

“Can't.”

“Can.”

She jerked her head up, leaned back against the wall, and squeezed her arms over her midsection. The gym spun. She shut her eyes. “I'm going to throw up.”

“No, you're not. You'll be fine.”

She peered at him beneath half-closed lids. “I should go home.”

He shook his head. His longish dark brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail. His eyes, a striking color of faded blue jeans, were laughing at her. “You're not a quitter.”

“Yes, I am. I shouldn't be a coach. I have no business being a coach. Why am I a coach?”

“You care about the girls. Cassie, Sunny, Whitney, Raine, Jordan, Janine…all of them, in a very personal way like no one else does.”

She let his words sink in. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He sighed loudly. “You're still pea green. Aren't we finished yet?”

“It's worse this year, Ethan,” she whispered, still in awe of the revelation that had struck her that afternoon in the
middle of calculus. “It's this winning-team business. Way, way too many expectations.”

“Your
only
expectation is threefold, the same as always: teach them something about basketball, about teamwork, about inner strength.”

She looked over at him. “You are good.”

“That's why you pay me the big bucks.”

“One home-cooked dinner?”

“My fee just went up to two.”

“Outrageous.” The smile she felt inside refused to reach her mouth. She groaned and lowered her head to her lap.

The scenario was familiar. In her first year as head varsity coach, Ethan had been walking down a hall when she emerged from the rest room. He correctly guessed from her white, panic-stricken face that she had just lost her lunch. He suggested she sit in the gym and get her bearings. Since that day, he had sat beside her like this, before home games. About a third of the way through the season, the terror lessened and the need for therapy vanished.

He gave her braid a playful yank. “You look nice. New jacket?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Perfect Valley Oaks Viking blue, as always. What's that called, that fuzzy material?”

“Boiled wool.” Her voice was muffled.

“Looks good with the long black skirt and white blouse.”

“Thanks.”

“Britte.”

She turned her head sideways and looked at him.

“I'll be sitting right here, praying you through four quarters.”

She sat up. “I'm counting on that, Ethan.”

“God has you right where He wants you. He's not going to let you down.”

She nodded.

The side door across the gym behind the bleachers burst open. A few girls entered, laughing and dribbling basketballs. The sophomores, Anne's team, were in uniform, coming in to warm up. Soon, varsity players would begin arriving. They would sit in the second row as the younger girls played the first game of the evening. During the third quarter, she and her team would enter the locker room…and it would begin.

Ethan kneaded her shoulder. “Show time, Coach. Go get 'em.”

Joel stood at one end of the bleachers, near the student section. The gym wasn't crowded, but the cheering group of boys raised enough ruckus to approach deafening at times. Across the gym Britte Olafsson crouched on the floor, surrounded by her team, talking pointedly to the inner circle of five during a time-out. It was the fourth quarter, two minutes to go, and the Vikings were up by six against the number-three-ranked Hawks.