BREVAN
The window in Coach Lemon Frost’s door is painted with a whole lot of pretty flowers. All pinks and purples and yellows. It looks like a sea of wildflowers. It’s a very loud contrast to the colors of the wall, which are painted with the male-male gay pride flag blues, greens, and white.
One of my favorite things about RDU is that everyone is represented. All the walls in the buildings are painted with different flags representing different sexualities, orientations, and lifestyles. When a new flag is embraced by the community, it’s like a scavenger hunt to find the hall first.
I touch one of the flowers and smile before knocking on Coach’s door.
“Come in,” Coach calls.
Coach’s office doesn’t really look like an office at all. He has a big teal desk with a teal laptop open on it. There’s a large pink couch with two matching chairs in the corner, a coffee station beside Coach’s desk against the wall, and a big display case with awards, trophies, and honors. Rumor has it that the two additional doors in his office hide a personal bathroom and a closet!
The windows—yes, he has multiple—overlook the football field in the distance and a green area where kids often gather to study, hang out, toss a ball, or something. It’s bright and sunny, and aside from the really loud colors, it’s comfortable.
“Hello, Brevan,” Coach greets as he sits back.
Coach Lemon Frost is like no one I’ve ever seen before. He’s petite, wears loud, classically feminine clothing, and is flamboyantly gay. Nothing that you’d ever imagine in a football coach. While I can’t see what’s on his legs right now, he’s usually in leggings and has been known to wear a tutu as well. His shirt doesn’t disappoint—a leather vest, exposing his arms and dipping down his chest.
Appropriate for school? I imagine it doesn’t actually go against the dress code, but it’s not something you’d imagine someone wearing to school. Except somewhere like RDU, where we’re encouraged to be comfortable as long as it’s notoffensive. The word is in italics in the handbook because ‘offensive’ is subjective to the onlooker. But like, don’t intentionally try to hurt someone or piss them off, right? Common courtesy.
“Hi, Coach,” I say as I step inside and shut the door. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“Of course. Is everything all right? Your ankle?”
I smile and glance at my foot. Last season, my ankle was bothering me, and while the athletic trainer, Declan Whitaker, took a lot of time to work with me to prevent further injury, I’m not sure we really came up with the issue.
Wearing the brace during games and practice helped, and then over the summer, when not involved with football camps, I had time to rest it, and my ankle is all healed now. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks.”
He inclines his head, and I admire the glitter framing his eyes, darker in the corners and smoky above. He’s wearing pink lipstick that matches some of the flowers on his door.
Coach can be… what’s the word people use? Crass? I’ve never seen it, but as I understand it, he treats his team differently from everyone else. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.
“Good to hear,” Coach says, leaning back in his chair. “You’re heading to Iceland for break, right?”
“Yes, Coach. That’s what I want to talk about.”
“I’ve already cleared you to leave. Everything is set.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that, but thank you. No, I just… I didn’t apply to the program.” Coach’s smile changes to something almost… amused. I watch him as I continue. “I saw the application, and it’s all my information, but I didn’t fill it out, and I’ve been worried these last few months that I’m going to make a fool of myself because… I’m just not… I don’t think I’m going to be a good ambassador.”
“Why? And if you tell me you’re not smart enough, I’m going to make you do laps for the next three hours, Brevan.”
I chew my lip. That’s exactly what I was going to say. I’ve spent my entire life being the sweet, talented football player, but, as my dad so often said, an entire offensive line short of a football team. That’s okay, though. I’ve accepted that. It’s important to know your strengths and weaknesses.
Coach leans forward, placing his folded hands on his desk. His nails are super pretty and match his windows, manicured and painted with flowers. They shine prettily as they catch the sun through the window.
“I submitted your application, Brevan,” he says, and I must stare like I’ve seen a ghost. His smile spreads wide. “You don’t lack intelligence. You lack confidence in your intelligence. You’ve heard enough people tell you that you’re not smart that you’ve begun believing it, and yet, that doesn’t stop you from striving to do well in your courses—which you do.”
I chew my lip as I stare at Coach. I’m still dumbfounded that he’s the one who submitted the application. Then again,he’s the only one who makes sense. Who else would be able to get my transcript? Who else knows enough about me to fill my application out as if I did?
“But… why?” I ask.
He sighs and sits back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “I heard mycolleaguestalking about the kind of person who would be chosen to represent athletics, and hated all the suggestions they’d come up with, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I have the perfect athletes to represent this school and our department. When I encouraged the team to apply, I watched you specifically and knew without a doubt that you didn’t consider yourself a contender. Meanwhile, I knew you were exactly the person for the job.”
“But I’m… not.”
“You are,” he insists. “You know what? I’m giving you an assignment over break.”
My eyes shoot wide. “Coach, I’m going to be in Iceland. I don’t know if I’ll have time for an assignment. The schedule looks really busy.”
