I put thoughts of Mel, my parents, and my old life aside and grab my heavy coat.
Winter in Connecticut is much less kind than in California. Something else that’s changed.
What made you think this was a good idea, Riley?I ask myself for the millionth time as I walk past the team in the locker room. We still practice most days, even though there are no official games until the new year, apart from the Thanksgiving Day friendly, of course.
It keeps the kids focused and out of trouble. Or maybe it’s just good for my sanity to focus on something else rather than the fuck-up that is my life.
“Hey, Coach, have you seen this?” one kid calls as I reach the other end of the locker room.
“Seen what?” Even as I ask, I see what they’re talking about. All over the walls are sheets of paper covered in googly eyes, and right above them, it saysEarthquake Detection Kit.
The kids are all jumping around, trying to make the eyes move.
“Get back to your showers and get dressed. It stinks like a locker room in here,” I say to get them moving.
“Thisisa locker room, Coach,” another kid points out.
“It doesn’t need to smell like one. Now stop messing around before I get those things taken down.”
They all scramble, and I smile as I walk out the door. I miss the Marinos’ locker-room antics, but these kids can give the twenty-something-year-olds a run for their money.
They are more focused and hardworking than my generation ever was. One good reason I am happy to have made this move.
There’s only one person who could be responsible for the posters. The same person I try to avoid like the plague. A fruitless exercise since he seems to have taken it upon himself to be up in my business any time he wants.
Case in point, right now…
Even though there’s a fresh layer of snow on the ground, the coach of the cheerleading team, Bubble—whose real name I don’t know—leans against my car.
He looks like a human burrito, wrapped to his eyeballs in layers of coats, multiple scarves, and two knitted beanies, one of which has Christmas trees all over it.
“How may I help you…?” I say, just like I do every time I speak to him.
“Bubble. Just Bubble,” he says, giving theBa more pronounced sound and scanning me from head to toe.
His green eyes are so big and deep. They’re the color of the rainforest. Weirdly, I’ve never before given anyone’s eye color a second thought.
“I’m sorry. I can’t call you that.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
I see the challenge in his eyes, but I refuse to take the bait.
“I’m not everyone else, and I prefer to call people by their names.”
He narrows his eyes. “Anyway, did you like it?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Like what?”
“The present I left for you, of course.” He frowns and crosses his arms as if he’s annoyed that I don’t immediately know what he’s talking about. Which, of course, is bullshit.
“It’s hard to say which one because two weeks ago, the wall behind my desk was bare, and now I’m hard-pressed to remember the color of the paint beneath all those posters.”
“If we can’t find our own inspiration, it’s okay to find it in others.”
I chuckle. “What makes you think I need inspiration?”
“We all need a little inspiration every once in a while.” I don’t know what to make of the way he smiles at me. He seems to genuinely want me to believe all the words he’s stuck on the wall behind my desk. He takes a box out of his gym bag. “Here. I made this for you.”
