“I think…” she begins, voice barely above a whisper. “Sweeney Todd. But make it gender-bent. Make Sweeney a woman.”
With a grin on my face, I write Sweeney Todd on the board. Turning around to see her looking at me. I am not sure what she could be thinking, but she quickly averts her eyes back to her drawing and picks up her pencils.
Heading back to my hard chair, I throw a quick glance at the ticking clock on the wall. I watch the thin hand moving through the numbers, ticking, ticking, ticking, and then the bell rings, announcing the end of the school day.
I quickly gather my things in my arms, juggling my bags to get them onto my shoulder as I move through the narrow doorframe. My laptop bag catches the door handle while my foot awkwardly hits the threshold of the door. I go tumbling out into the hallway, landing face-first on the floor.
Students walk around me, and I am almost positive one jock used me as a hurdle. I move onto my knees, fumbling for my bags, when a strong hand wraps gently around my elbow.
Looking up, I see his blue-gray eyes, the kind that remind me of a sky caught between rain and calm. A breath catches in my chest. I pull away, chest tight and vision blurring.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready to unseal what I have already buried.
Donovan
As the day inches toward its end, I look around the gym. A class full of freshman boys, none of them wanting to be in P.E.
It’s my first day teaching, and Lord knows I didn’t exactly go to college for it.
Principal Davenport somehow sweet-talked the school board into hiring me as the new P.E. teacher and assistant coach based on the classes I took at Huntsville University. I suppose that when the district can’t afford two salaries and you are desperate for someone to be the assistant coach, creativity kicks in.
It's surreal being back here, walking the same halls I once ruled. But becoming colleagues with the teachers who used to give me detention? That’s a whole different beast. I still call them “Mr.” or “Ms.” by habit, even though they’ve all insisted we’re on a first-name basis now.
Weird.
I circle the perimeter of the basketball court, eyes flicking to my watch. Twenty minutes left in the period. We have not checked off one damn item on today’s curriculum.
I pause when I overhear two kids talking about college football. I already know what this conversation will be about.
The taller one scrolls through his phone and turns the screen toward his friend. “Bro, look at this hit,” he says. “Tell me that helmet-to-helmet didn’t send him into next week.”
The shorter one winces. “Damn. Was that the career-ending hit? No wonder he’s teaching P.E. now.”
I freeze. My jaw clenches, stomach twisting as the memory flashes through my mind. The way it felt. The way itstillfeels.
But I shake it off. I’m not here to feel sorry for myself. I’m here to coach. And I’ll be damned if I let a bunch of fourteen-year-olds think I don’t know what I’m doing just because I’m not suiting up to go on the field anymore.
I gather the basketballs, stacking them neatly on the cart, and roll them into the storage closet. When I come back out, I head to center court.
“Alright, class. Great first day,” I say, clapping my hands once. “Be ready for tomorrow. We’re dressing out and running basketball drills.”
Groans ripple across the gym like I just announced a pop quiz.
One boy, the taller one of course, throws his backpack over his shoulder and smirks. “Mr. D’Angelo, why do we have to play basketball? The only ones here who know anything about sports are on the football team. The rest are, like, in debate.”
Laughter follows, fueling his pride and inflating his ego.
I smile.Cool it, I remind myself. Teach lessons when they arise.
“Thank you for that, Mr. Crawford,” I say, hands in my pockets. “Great reminder of how much work we’ve got ahead of us.”
His smirk falters.
“I get that football might come naturally to you,” I continue, “but this is physical education. You’ll be learning about morethan just one sport. Heck, even more than sports, we will learn about health and fitness. We have an amazing course on yoga and ballet.”
Dead silence. Everyone's eyes are shifting, looking at each other as their laughter fades.
“And remember, Mr. Crawford. Not only do I grade you in this classroom, I grade you on that football field as well,” I add, voice level but firm.
