She thinks that’s why I’m upset. That I’m unhappy with my own performance in today’s scrimmage.
I’m about to open my mouth and tell her exactly what I’m upset about, but logic overwhelms emotion. Despite him being completely disinterested in helping me or my teammates, he is still a coach. One that Coach Maver hired. And he seems pretty damn comfortable in that position.
I can’t complain about him. Not yet at least. It’s still too early in the season. I’ll just have to let her see it for herself. There’s no way she doesn’t see the way he sits on his phone during practice or still shows up late half the time.
“Just a little rusty,” I manage to say. “But I’ll be ready.”
She smiles. “Get back in there and finish out the practice strong.”
I nod and take one final look at Coach Holloway. I don’t know what I expect to see on his face. Maybe smugness that I didn’t get a rise out of him? Maybe satisfaction that I didn’t throw him under the bus? But I get nothing. His face is completely blank under the brim of his hat.
Shaking the entire interaction off, I finish out the scrimmage not letting any more goals in and file off the ice with the rest of the team shortly after. As I step off, Coach Maver pats myshoulder, and I stop as the rest of my teammates file to the locker rooms.
“Give it time,” Coach says with a knowing look and the patience of a saint. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, showing your potential, and I promise things are going to work out.”
I choke downhow the hell do you know that?out of respect for her. It’s a promise I’m not sure she can keep or should even be making on behalf of him. I know she mentioned knowing him since he was a kid when she introduced him on that first day, but I think she’s giving him more credit than he deserves.
“Will do,” I choke out and head into the locker room.
I’m mentally and physically exhausted by the time I quickly rinse off and get dressed, and my day isn’t even over yet. In twenty minutes, I’m supposed to be holding my first tutoring session for the 200 level calculus class. It’s a job I’ve had for the last year, and as the semester goes on, the turnout usually grows to about fifteen students. Even though we’re still in the first couple weeks of the year, there will likely be at least a handful of students to get started.
It pays decently, but I’d love nothing more than to be able to head home and crash for the night. I already worked an opening shift at the café this morning before the day of classes, and then practice.
But the paycheck has me lacing up my sneakers and quickly shoving my equipment in my locker in order to make it back across campus.
On the way, the need for a pick-me-up becomes overwhelming, and I pull out my phone. It only rings twice before my mom’s comforting voice chirps through the line.
“Hey, honey, how are you doing?”
There should be a scientific study done on the instantly calming effect talking to your mom after a long day has on the brain.
“I’m alright,” I say on a heavy exhale. “It’s been a long week.”
“It’s only Tuesday.”
I groan. “Fully aware.”
She chuckles, and I can hear her pausing the television in the background. Likely one of her favorite true crime shows. “Tell me about what’s making it such a long week for you.”
Where do I even start? I want to say that I’m already feeling burnt out working both jobs, going to classes, and hockey. It’s a lot to juggle, and while I enjoy aspects of each of those things, it’s still a lot on one person. But I also want to protect my parents from feeling any guilt that they can’t financially help me make my way through school.
So I skim my reality. “We were short staffed at the café this morning, and I don’t know who decided that blended coffees were the new thing on campus, but everyone is ordering them, and they take forever to make…” I allow myself to whine without fear of judgment from her, and she listens patiently to each petty thing that’s stacked up to grate on my nerves so early on in the week.
“And to top it off, the new coach sucks.” I glance around, realizing I said that last part a little louder than I probably should’ve. But campus is quiet as the sun sets, and the few students walking on the sidewalks aren’t paying attention.
“Lennon, that’s not nice,” she scolds.
I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “No, Mom, trust me, he does.”
“Well then, why does hesuck?”
I stifle a laugh at hearing her say the word with such disdain. My mom is one of the sweetest women you’ll ever meet. She’s a third grade teacher, and anyone who meets her can totally tell. Her voice always maintains the kind, even tone, and like Coach Maver, her patience has no limits.
“He sucks because he is totally uninterested in doing his actual job. Coach asked him to work with me and Grace, and besides our introduction the first day, he hasn’t bothered to talk to either of us.”
“Hmm.”
“And I already know what you’re going to say. ‘Well, have you tried talking to him, Lennon?’And no, I haven’t put in as much effort as I could, but I mean, he’s my coach. Shouldn’t he be the one trying to engage with me?”
