Blinking a million times a minute, I respond with, “Yes . . . Yep . . . The job is posted and we are waiting for applicants.” I feel myself glancing back at Ellie every few seconds. She’s sitting there giggling at me as I stumble on my words.
“Good, find someone . . . fast,” Malcolm snaps at me.
“What if I help coach so it’s not all on you? We can split the games too?” This was good, it would keep me busy after school so I wouldn’t be tempted by Ellie. I needed time to figure things out, set healthy boundaries, and there was no way that was happening with her around me.
Malcolm seemed pleased with my offer because he nodded in his “I approve”way, which doesn’t happen often.
“On an unrelated note, I would like to invite everyone to our Halloween party this year! Details have been sent to your emails, and sign-ups for food are attached . . .” Emma trailed off into party planning mode and I went to the back of the room to collect myself.
“Mr. B?” I look up from my coffee to see Garrett standing in the doorway, leaning against his crutches.
“Mr. Connors, what can I do for you?” I walk over to him.
“I was, umm . . .” He looks around the room. “Wondering if I could meet with Ms. Bailey now?” He nods in Ellie’s direction.
As if Ellie could sense Garrett’s need to interrupt and demand a room’s attention in any scenario, she quickly gets up and meets him in the doorway.
“I’m Ms. Bailey.” She reaches out to shake his hand.
“Sup, Ms. B!” He high fived her hand instead of shaking it and I’m immediately embarrassed for him. “I’m Garrett!”
And then, for some reason, Ellie stares daggers at me.
Chapter ten
Ellie
“Whycan’tIseethe inside of my eyelids?”
Garrett asks me as he lounges in my office, feet propped up like he was on his own couch. We had somehow entered into twenty questions territory instead ofactualcounseling territory.
I don’t know how this happened, but I was doing exactly what I had hoped I wouldn’t have to do . . . waste time, humoring a teenage football player instead of helping the world’s mental health crisis. As he continues spouting off answers to his own questions, I squeeze my pencil under my desk so tight it snaps. It’s very hard for me to play along with these ridiculous posings when I have students who genuinely need help.
Maybe Garrett has actual issues he needs to work through, but for the last thirty minutes, we haven’t even come close to them in conversation. Instead, he has talked about his haircut, the new cafeteria lunch options, and has shared with me his senior-year prank ideas.
I realize I have zoned-out when Garrett asks me, “What do you think I should do?”
Staring blankly at him, afraid to admit I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore, I ask, “What doyouthink you should do?”
“Well, I obviously can’t fix my knee any faster, and I for sure can’t not graduate. None of the colleges will even look at a gap year student, and my family can’t pay for me to go to school. It has to be a scholarship.” He was sitting up now, looking down at his leg nestled in a knee-high walking boot, and a large bandage wrapped around his knee.
He’s sharing arealproblem. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I could sense the sadness in his voice and the fear of the unknown, a side of Garrett he has been trying to hide with jokes. Using humor as a coping mechanism is something I can relate to.
“Those are all very real concerns. Have you discussed this with your family?”
“Nah . . . I think they just think I won’t go to college now because of the leg.”
Suddenly, the happy, goofy, six-foot-two football player looks half his size. My heart softens for him a little.
“Have you shared these feelings with anyone?”
He shakes his head.
“Would you like to share with me?”
“I don’t know what to say.” He shrugs.
