I reply with a quickthanks!and exit out of the conversation even though it’s still going. I’m desperate when I pull up social media thinking I can send him a DM, but my searches come up empty. So I open up the browser, puttingEllerbe Hills Country Clubinto the search engine, and scan the results. The club name, address, and phone number pop up right above an article about when the land was purchased and what the timeline for construction would be from a few years ago. Coach Cantu is moving up in the world if he’s the golf pro at the newest golf course in this area.
I call them and cross my fingers I can get him on the phone.
“Ellerbe Hills Country Club,” a woman says.
“Hi, yes, um, I’m looking for Coach Cantu?”
Before I can ask anything else, she says, “This line is for the clubhouse. If you’re looking for a player or coach, you need to call them directly.” And then the line goes dead.
I shake my phone in the air as if that will do any good. “But I don’t know how to contact him directly,” I bite out.
I pull up the club’s website to check their hours and realize that by the time I could get there, they would be closing for the day.
Tomorrow.
I’ll drive out there tomorrow.
An e-mail notification pops up and it’s a response from Coach. Thankfully, I’m alone in the house, so no one comes running when I let out a massive squeal.
I open it up.
Thank you for your e-mail. After May 5th, I will be unavailable for the summer. If you have an immediate concern, please contact Vice Principal Spencer.
Thanks!
Coach Cantu
It’s a flipping automatic out-of-office reply. Directing me to the one person I don’t want to talk to right now.
This is great. Just great.
I’ll just have to go there tomorrow. Once I find him, he’ll sign my form. Then I’ll hand-deliver it to Mr. Spencer to ensure it doesn’t get lost a second time. There is no alternative.
And then I get another text from Mom.
MOM:Can’t wait to hear about Bailey’s party tomorrow. Rhonda bumped into Tiffany at the florist this morning and Kyle from Colony House did the flowers. She said they are OVER THE TOP so you know I’m going to need pictures. Lots of pics!
I glance at the wall across from me. There is a line of graduation party invitations hanging by clothespins to a piece of twine that Mom stretched out between the fridge and the pantry door.
How could I forget it’s Senior Party Week? I’ve literally been waiting for this week for the past four years.
Senior Party Week is the week between the end of finals and graduation. We’re done with school, but not officially, so this dead week is filled with parties to help pass the time. I’m not sure when or how the tradition started, but it’s out of control. Just like the questionnaire, these parties areA Thing. They’re given by friends and family of graduating seniors to honor them—all with a theme. And each year the themes get more and more extravagant. Not every senior is thrown a party, but there’s a good chance every senior is invited to at least one per day. Sometimes two.
I don’t think it’s normal to have so many graduation parties and I’m not sure anywhere else does it like we do, but if we’re going to be weird about something, I’m glad this is it.
My family is throwing a big crawfish boil Friday night honoring the six of us who are graduating, so we’re part of the madness. I can remember looking at posts on social media over the last three years from the seniors ahead of me and feeling like I could not wait for my turn.
I pluck the invitation for Bailey’s party from the twine. It’s pink and purple and in big letters across the top it saysPJs and Pancakes!It starts at nine thirty a.m. and we’re supposed to show up in our pajamas. Bailey is a good friend, and for about thirty seconds, I consider waiting to find Coach until after the party, but I’m not sure how I’ll even get through the night with this hanging over me, much less be able to push it off until after lunch. So I think through how I can take care of this golf business before the party. I’ll need to get to the country club first thing in the morning, handle this with Coach, then get back here to change into my pj’s before going to the party. I can drop the form off to Mr. Spencer after that.
No biggie. I got this.
My phone buzzes again.
MOM:Don’t forget to pick up Bailey’s gift. I’ll send you the address. It should be wrapped and ready, you’ll just need to sign the card. Just make sure you leave with enough time to be there when the store opens since the party is so early. You don’t want to be late!
Great. For one second I forgot about Mom tracking me. There will be questions. So many questions as to why I’m driving way out to Ellerbe Hills, since I know she’ll be on the lookout for me making the party on time.
The side door bangs open and I hear Charlie holler, “I know you’re faking. You just didn’t want to fill out that form.”
