Page 34 of Gone Tonight
James said it was too long to wait.
I laughed. I did that a lot when I was with James. I always felt slightly tipsy around him.
By the time I finally got down to the field, practice had begun. I tossed my backpack and water bottle onto the bleachers—I’d learned to keep my stuff far away from the sidelines—and ran to join the others. The song “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It” by Will Smith was playing from Coach’s tape deck, and the eleven other girls were in formation.
But Coach held up his palm to me and told me to take a seat.
At first I thought they were creating a new routine, one that left me out. I wouldn’t put it past Coach or Brittany.
Then Coach told me I was being benched because I’d been late three times in the past two weeks.
I started to protest, then fell silent. I didn’t think it was true, but James had been surprising me at the end of the school day fairly often lately. But I was only five minutes late, if that. And this was the first I’d heard of Coach tallying up my tardiness—or anyone’s, for that matter.
Instead of going to sit on the bleachers, I remained on the sidelines a few feet down from him. Coach was trying to separate me from the team. I couldn’t let him.
I expected him to motion me to go in during the first break. But he just told the girls to do it again, this time with more energy.
After another ten minutes, I approached Coach and asked if I could go in.
He didn’t even look at me when he replied that I’d go in when he was good and ready.
I swallowed my pride and apologized, promising I wouldn’t be late again.
His voice was clipped when he told me that we were not going to have this conversation now.
So I waited. Coach resumed acting like I wasn’t there.
When practice was half over, I walked up to Coach again and asked if he was going to make me stand there the whole practice.
He finally turned to me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his shiny aviator sunglasses. I’d disrespected everyone else’s time, he sneered, so why did I suddenly think mine was so important?
I’d already apologized. I wasn’t going to do it again, not to him. Besides, it wasn’t like a football play where no one could practice if I wasn’t on the field.
I repeated that I’d only been five minutes late.
Then Coach said I’d had two warnings, and today was my third.
He was bald-faced lying. He’d never given me a single warning. When I tried to say that, he held up his palm again and turned his back on me.
Anger flashed into me.
Before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out something I shouldn’t have. I said I’d appreciate it if he could let me know when I’d be able to join practice—or maybe he needed Brittany and Mrs. Davis to tell him how long my punishment should be.
That was a mistake. Something shifted in his body language.
Coach had been a guy with big dreams once. Those rock star T-shirts, the Eric Clapton guitar behind glass in his office. He probably imagined girls screaming his name while he stood in the spotlight. Maybe he thought he still had power and prestige, even if it was only over a dozen high school girls. My words—loud enough for the whole team to hear—had just torn it away from him.
He shouted that practice was over and ordered me into his office.
Then Coach turned and strode off the field, throwing his clipboard to the grass.
When he was safely out of earshot, Brittany hooted and clapped her hands together. I shot her the finger and followed Coach.
Coach’s office was a tiny room off the indoor basketball court. It was windowless and barely big enough to hold a desk, a file cabinet, and two chairs. Next door was the football coach’s office, which was four times the size. That probably stung, too.
As I stepped inside, Coach ordered me to close the door.
I obeyed.
