CHAPTER 1
LEMON “LEM” FROST
Istand in the doorway with a frown and a hand on my hip. “Someone is going to get fired,” I mutter. The equipment room should be filled with boxes of the purchases I made two months ago. I’d deal with one or two running late, but the only thing here is a small package the size of a shoe box.
“Maybe they were misplaced?” Winston suggests. I can feel him peeking in over my shoulder.
This time of year is always the same. Practice begins next week, which means I come in this week with a few of my favorites from last season and we get ready. First thing on the agenda is putting away the new equipment, then making sure the practice jerseys are distributed, and finally running new play ideas for a couple hours.
I’m not even sure what I ordered that might be shipped within a shoe box!
Spinning on my heel, my three students break apart quickly as I stomp between them and down the hall toward my office to see who I’m going to be yelling at. My students trail me, keeping a healthy distance.
“Go make sure the locker room is in order,” I bark as I turn down the hallway with the six rainbow stripes on the wall.
A chorus of “Yes, Coach” echoes through the hallway before I hear their footsteps fade down a different hall.
Shoving open the door, I nearly trip over the bag I dropped in here earlier. Cursing to myself, I kick it out of the way, and an undignified yelp leaves my mouth as I stumble backwards. I must have added a couple cement blocks to my bag considering the way my foot aches now.
Glaring at my entire office, I make my way to my big, teal desk and sit behind it to turn on my teal laptop. While it boots, I look around.
I have the best office. It overlooks the football field in the distance; I can just barely see the green over the stands from the height of my office windows and the distance I’m at. The second set of windows is perpendicular and faces a green area for the students. During the school year, there will almost always be kids outside—lounging on the grass, against trees, at picnic tables. There’s always laughter and textbooks. Kids throwing a ball or a frisbee or just wrestling around.
I have a lovely pink couch with two matching chairs in the corner, a gourmet coffee station against the wall next to my desk, and a large display shelf with awards and shit. There are also two additional doors that hide my personal bathroom and closet. I’m lucky to have one of the few offices with both.
But it’s because I earned this shit. My athletes are damn good. More football players from Rainbow Dorset get drafted each year than every other California university combined! I deserve the praise. Some of those students were a pain in the ass!!
By the time my computer turns on, I decide that I’m ready for a new one. Laptops only last a couple years before they slow down so much that watching pee wee football is more entertaining than the blue screen and spinning circle under the welcome message.
My email says I have 362 unread messages. I can’t wait to get a work-study student back in here to deal with all my emails. Losing them at the end of the year is the absolute worst.
There are a handful of people that an email concerning my orders could have come from and it takes me scanning through over 200 emails to find the one concerning my order. Scowling, I see it’s from Zarek Weaver. I really fucking hate that man. I’d love to discover he dropped the ball, and I could get him fired.
Harsh maybe, but that fucker stole my man!
My frown deepens as I read Zarek’s message, telling me I’ve overspent by more than $10,000 and I need to prioritize what I’d like to order before it’s placed.
That doesn’t make sense. Maybe I ordered 1,300 of something instead of 130. Adding an extra zero could definitely fuck with my numbers. I’ve done that before, but usually the email from Zarek says as much and they’ve modified my order.
He’s reattached my order and with it, a letter from the Administration office notifying me of my budget. It’s dated January 19, but somehow I’m just now seeing it. But it’s not the date that’s concerning. It’s that my budget was reduced by almost $20,000!
This seems like an easy enough remedy. Someone messed up my budget and I just need to get it fixed. Hitting print on the letter, the email from Zarek, and my order, I shut my laptop with an unnecessary snap and get up.
I love this campus. It’s like living in a different world. One that’s completely inclusive of every diversity imaginable—race, gender, orientation.—Everyone has a home here. It’s bright with a whole rainbow of flags lining the quad as if we’re the U.N.; though these flags aren’t representing different countries but different people.
I’m not a very sentimental person, but the warmth and pride that fills my chest whenever I look at them is immense. FindingRainbow Dorset was like coming home. It’s an amazing feeling knowing that you’re in a place without judgment based on your looks, how you dress, your orientation, or anything else.
My very first year, I met a football player who, on the very first day, broke down entirely because he finally found himself in a safe place. The home he’d come from had been abusive in all ways and here he was allowed, encouraged, and praised for being himself. Authentically himself.
I’ll never understand how there are people in the world who strive to bring others to the breaking point like they did that man. Every single year, there are hundreds of students who experience the same liberating feeling that brings them to tears.
Not that I share my experience, but I understand that feeling first hand. I’ve been told I’m excessive and high maintenance, as some of the nicer insults I’ve faced over the years. The mountain of people in front of me that laughed and said a ‘pocket fag’ would never make it in professional football or professional coaching was astounding.
Not everyone would agree that coaching at the college level is considered professional. Many refer to it as academic, which is ridiculous because I don’t teach anything. My only focus is coaching football.
Two years ago, I had an offer from an NFL team to coach for them. It felt like I’d won the lottery. I could finally tell all those assholes who said my queer little heart couldn’t do this. Yet look what I received—a multimillion-dollar coaching offer from one of the best teams in the league!
But I turned it down.
