Stella collected me from the office before I could turn myself into a real wreck. She kept up conversation as we walked down the corridor with the principal, who had been nothing but nice, but she was not the person I wanted to see right now.
At the other end of the hall, I spotted Emme walking with her class. She said something to them and they chorused backin response. Her dark hair was swept over one shoulder, and with her navy dress, she wore a cardigan in a deep shade of orange that was probably called something like persimmon or marmalade.
“Miss Ahlborg will get the students settled and then introduce you,” the principal said. Lauren was her name, though I’d lost track of her last name hours ago. It was Mrs. Something-Something, and if I hadn’t been preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse of Emme everywhere I went, I would’ve remembered. “This group is a bit more high energy than some others you’ve visited today, but Miss Ahlborg and I will be in the room the entire time to handle any issues.”
I nodded while flashing a glimpse toward the media crew waiting outside Emme’s classroom. It was a solid bunch. No surprise Stella had invited only the pros and none of those hacky assholes who thought they could get me to slip up and shit-talk the coach, the manager, the entire organization.
If the wear and tear on my body hadn’t been enough for me to make retirement plans, the media games and league politics would’ve been enough all on their own.
I straightened as Emme approached with her class. Most of the kids goggled at the camera equipment. Others didn’t give us the time of day and I respected that. If a media crew had shown up in my second-grade classroom, I probably would’ve glared at them too.
Emme leaned against the threshold, glancing at her students before grinning up at me. “Are we ready to do this?”
I kept telling myself this didn’t matter. That I could fumble the whole thing and bore these kids out of their skulls, and no one would care because I gave them a bunch of money today. But I wanted to be good for Emme.
“If you are,” I said, watching while one kid karate-kicked his way across the room.
“Then here we go.” She patted my arm and breezed inside. “All right, my friends. Raise your hand if you remember me talking about a very special guest coming to visit us today.” She raised her hand while pressing one finger to her lips as the kids started murmuring to each other. “Our visitor’s name is Ryan Ralston and I think some of my friends might’ve heard of him before because he is averyfamous New England football player.”
Shit.She didn’t even roll her eyes at that. Her teacher face could give my game face a run for its money.
“Give me two thumbs up if you’ve heard of Mr. Ralston before. Okay, I see so many thumbs! Now, wiggle your pinkies if you like football.”
Stella chuckled beside me as hands and fingers all waved in the air. “Oh my god, Ryan, she’s the cutest thing in the world. I want to gobble her up,” she whispered.
“Love it, love it,” Emme drawled. “Now, my friends, let’s make sure we show Mr. Ralston the best, shiniest versions of ourselves today. That means we listen by keeping our lips zipped and our listening ears open. We raise our hands if we have questions and we wait silently for Mr. Ralston to call on us. Even though we have lots of visitors in the back of the room”—every head swiveled toward the media crew assembled against the wall like a defensive line—“we are going to keep our eyes up here. Got it?”
“Good,” they chorused.
“Great,” she replied. “Let’s take twelve seconds to organize our spaces so we don’t have anything distracting us while Mr. Ralston is speaking. Go!”
“How do you know her again?” Stella asked.
I watched Emme help the karate-kicker tuck a disaster of papers in his desk. When she was finished, she gave me a nod. I felt my lips turning up into a smile. The obvious answer wasfrom back home, from high school, from ninth-grade biology, from listening to music in her car during lunch all of senior year so I didn’t have to talk to anyone.But I heard myself say, “She’s my favorite thing in the world.”
I stepped away from Stella and made my way through the tight clusters of desks as Emme said, “Friends, let’s give a big welcome to Mr. Ralston.”
I met Emme on the rainbow rug at the front of the room and dropped a hand on her shoulder as I greeted the students. I knew the cameras had followed my hand. That was the plan.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she said.
My gaze followed Emme as she retreated to a wooden desk overflowing with green plants and several mugs filled with pens in the back corner of the room. She tucked herself behind the desk, her arms crossed in that sweet persimmon sweater, her hair cascading over her shoulder, and she turned an expectant grin in my direction.
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to say. This time, she didn’t hesitate to roll her eyes at the ceiling.
My smile widened and it wasn’t theI’m working very hard at being neutral and not a snarly beastexpression I usually forced in front of the cameras. Emme smiled right back at me and all the nerves died down. It was like we were connected in a way that science and logic hadn’t figured out how to define, but I knew without a doubt was true.
I glanced at the obscenely small chair she’d set out for me and knew right away it wasn’t an option. Even if I didn’t break that little thing, I’d look like a jackass. Couldn’t have that.
I started off with the same introduction I’d given all the other classes and presented a condensed, child-friendly version of my journey through college and pro football. I mentioned growing up on the New Hampshire seacoast, studying economics at theUniversity of Arizona, and how I hadn’t originally intended to enter the NFL draft because I liked numbers more than football. That detail was met with a frenzy of “What!” and “Why not?” from the class and a pointed side-eye from my future wife.
“It was my grandmother who changed my mind on that,” I said. “She’s a very smart woman. I always listen to her advice.” I waited out the rumble of murmurs about grandmothers. General consensus: everyone listened to their grannies. “My grandmother reminded me that, as long as I had my education, I could always use it. No one could ever take that away from me. But football? Not the same. Most players have five, maybe ten good years in the game. So, she told me to play while I could and then go back to numbers, math, and business.”
I watched as Emme dropped her gaze to her desk. She rolled her lips together and started organizing some of the papers there. She remembered those conversations—all the doubt and uncertainty I’d felt about skipping out on grad school, all the times I’d told her she was the only person I really trusted, all the times she’d gently asked, “Who are you really doing this for?”
Since that wasn’t a mirror I’d been ready to face, I’d let Gramma CeCe’s common sense guide the way. Play for a few years, earn big and take care of my mother and sisters, and then do whatever the hell I wanted.
It’d seemed like the right choice and it probably was, but almost eight years later, I still couldn’t take the field without hearing Emme in my head, saying, “You’re going to be one of the great ones. I just hope that’s good enough for you.”
