Learning Curve

He turned in time to catch Mitch Dornley’s admiring glance at Emily’s legs, and he shifted position to block the athletic director’s view. “Fine. It’s going just fine.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

Mitch hesitated, waiting for a response, but Joe let him sweat. He knew what was coming. It was the same routine every year.

“We’ve got another vacancy on the coaching staff, Wiz.”

“That’s tough.”

Mitch hesitated. “It’s a tough one to fill, all right.”

Foreign languages like Innuendo lost a lot in the translation for Mitch. He scratched his bald spot and stuck to his game plan. “It’s the JV girls’ basketball team. They’re a little low on talent this year, since we had to promote a few to fill in the gaps on Varsity. And those girls’ JV teams are always kind of touchy. All those hormones and stuff.”

“Nasty things, hormones.”

Mitch nodded, obviously relieved to have escaped the ravages of estrogen. “I was just thinking…well, you did play hoops in college.”

“I played, Mitch. I didn’t coach.”

“You coached track. The first year you were here.”

“The post-traumatic stress episodes are finally tapering off,” said Joe. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Good morning, Wiz.” Emily breezed into the conversation. “Hi, Mitch.”

“Hey there, Emily.” Mitch arched back and sucked in his gut. “I was just trying to talk The Wiz here into coaching JV girls’ hoops.”

“Really?” Emily seemed surprised. “Why?”

“He played hoops in college.”

“Playing isn’t the same thing as coaching, Mitch,” Emily pointed out. “Coaching takes special skills. Not everyone has them.”

Mitch puffed up again. “That’s right.”

“I coached track once.” Joe couldn’t explain why that had popped out. Maybe the puffing was contagious.

“You did?” She stared up at him. “Imagine that.”

“Can’t you?”

She smiled politely. “Not really, no.”

Sheesh, where was a little chirpiness when a fellow needed it? “Well, I did. My first year here.”

“Oh.” Emily brightened. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

The day’s first bell set off slamming locker doors and last-minute pamphlet grabbing.

“Sorry,” Emily said as she turned to go. “Can’t be late taking first period attendance.”

“Catch you later, Wiz.” Mitch jogged up behind Emily, catching her by one arm. He leaned down close to her ear and whatever he said had her laughing and shaking her curls against his shoulder.

Joe stood in the hall, students and staff churning around him like salmon headed upstream to spawn, and watched Emily disappear up the stairs. What in the hell was all that about? What did she mean, she couldn’t imagine him coaching? Didn’t she think he was patient enough? Sensitive enough? Inspirational enough? Did she think he was too lazy? Too irresponsible? Too out of shape?

Okay, so he probably was—or wasn’t—a lot of those things. But just because he thought so didn’t give her the right to entertain the same opinions. She certainly didn’t know him well enough yet to catalog or appreciate the impressive list of his negative qualities. The fascinating backstories, the intriguing layers, the varied nuances—the mud-splattered tapestry of his soul.

He stalked into the office, snatched his mail out of his box and dumped it all into the nearest trash container. He stood there for a moment, visualizing himself kicking the can, imagining the whump of the metal, feeling the thwack against his sandal. Ahh, that was better. Slightly less violent, definitely more mature, and the next best thing to actually putting a dent in the can. Or picking it up and heaving it at the nearest window—or Dornley’s head. Whichever got in the way first.

“Well, if it isn’t another wonderful, wonderful day,” Linda practically purred from behind her counter. “Good morning, Wiz. And how are you doing?”

“Can it, Linda.”

“You’ve already handled that little chore.” She held up a note. “I managed to rescue this before you went through your daily filing routine. You might want to answer it before Blob Dixon threatens to cut off the funding for whatever he’s promising to fund this week.”

He grinned at Linda’s pet name for Bob, part owner of Dixon’s Hardware and full-blown parental plague on Caldwell High. Bob also happened to be Joe’s landlord, a fact he repeated every couple of weeks or so, just in case the concept hadn’t yet lodged in the one short-term memory cell of Joe’s brain. “What does he want this time?”

“A parent-teacher conference.”

“It’s only the second week of school.”

“He has some concerns about your student teacher.”

There was another reason he didn’t want a student teacher. Now he was going to have to deal with all the parental concern issues Emily dragged to his classroom door. “He just wants to check her out,” he said. “Up close and personal.”

“Blob and every other red-blooded single male in the school community. Some of the married ones, too.” Linda shot a slitted glance at Kyle’s door, and then rested an elbow on the counter, waving the message. “Tell me, what’s it like mentoring the Student Teacher Most Likely to Cause a Traffic Pileup?”

Joe took the memo and crammed it into his pocket. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She laced her fingers beneath her chin. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, for your information—and for Blob Hardware’s, and for anyone else who asks—she’s doing fine. Just fine.” The second bell rang. “She’s up there right now, taking roll. She’ll probably march the troops through maneuvers and drill them on essay responses before I arrive.”

“I’ve heard she’s a take-charge gal. I also hear she’s got a date for every dance-chaperoning duty this fall.”

“Yeah, well, things’ll quiet down once everyone gets used to everyone else.”

“Hmm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What was that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“That ‘hmm.’ I know that ‘hmm.’”

“Oh, nothing.” Linda rubbed at a speck on the counter. “Better get up there, Wiz. High school students have been known to eat student teachers and subs for breakfast, especially since most of them don’t eat anything before they get here.”