“I don’t have a good answer for that. I guess I forgot how all-consuming football is.”
THE IRONY WAS that after resigning, Dean’s life got even busier. The boys were in school, which made life easier, but he was back in school, too, with new students to meet and names to memorize. In addition, he had to help the principal find a replacement for Garrett, who couldn’t be athletic director anymore, and he also had to pinch-hit as A.D. for a few weeknights until the replacement took over. As he attended to one logistical concern after another, he found himself thinking of Laura, of how much more interesting everything would be if she were still working at the high school.
Dean also had to train Garrett. Although his former assistant was well prepared for his new job, there were certain details and scheduling concerns that Dean had to enumerate, a whole slew of keys, contacts, and equipment to hand over. Dean gave him everything except his office.
Now it was the first football Friday of the season and there was a game-day feeling in the air, with a warm September breeze blowing through Dean’s office window. The freshly limed field was like an empty stage in the distance. Dean could make out someone walking along the perimeter, near the clubhouse. Probably Garrett — or possibly the assistant Garrett had recently hired. Dean was planning to attend tonight’s game with the boys, but when he mentioned it to Stephanie, she seemed surprised, and a little annoyed, as if she’d expected him to renounce football altogether.
She was coming home for the weekend. He had no idea why. She had assured him that nothing was wrong, that she was coming because Joelle said she should, that the boys missed her. That bothered Dean, but when he called Joelle, she said Stephanie was the one who had contacted her and it wasn’t any of her business but she thought Stephanie sounded homesick and didn’t Dean want to see her, in any case? Of course he did, but what he really wanted was for her to start her life. He wanted someone in the family to feel free of obligation. He was also grumpy that Stephanie had invited herself over to Joelle’s for dinner, and now they all had to go.
“What’s five times seven?” Bry asked from the corner of Dean’s desk, where he sat doing his homework. The elementary school started and finished an hour earlier than the middle and high schools, so Dean had been letting him hang out in his office during the last period of the day, which happened to be his planning period. It was a convenient arrangement, if not strictly allowed, but Dean knew no one would give him a hard time.
“Is it thirty-seven?” Bryan asked.
“I think that’s a prime number.”
“Come on, just tell me. I hate sevens.”
“Here, it’s easier this way.” Dean grabbed a handful of paper clips from an unused ashtray on his desk and began to arrange them into seven groups of five.
“I get it, I get it.” Bryan began to manipulate the piles himself and Dean wondered if his teacher had shown him this method. She was an older woman who insisted on memorization. Dean found her to be a little harsh, but Bryan seemed to like the strict rules; they satisfied his innate desire to please.
Robbie had not adjusted to the school year as well as his younger brother. Yesterday Dean had gotten a call from the vice principal, who informed Dean that Robbie had been sneaking out — he had actually used the word sneaking.
“He’s been going out for lunch instead of eating in the cafeteria,” the vice principal said, “which, as you know, is not allowed even at the high school level.”
“Does he get back in time for class?” Dean asked.
“Yes, but he’s not allowed to go out in the first place.”
“I was just trying to find out if he’s skipping lunch or class. Maybe he hasn’t made new friends yet and he doesn’t like going to lunch.”
“That’s exactly it, Mr. Renner. According to his teachers, he’s a bit of a loner, and we think it may be because of some of the difficulties he’s facing at home.”
“Difficulties?” Dean repeated. The vagueness of the word disturbed him. He recalled one of Robbie’s former teachers describing Robbie as “sensitive”—a good thing, at the time, or at least Dean had heard it as good. But it was also the word that Nicole’s family used to describe her. He was grateful to be on the phone, so the vice principal could not see his shaking hands.
He said yes to the vice principal’s recommendation that Robbie start seeing the school counselor a couple of times a week. When he hung up the phone, it occurred to him that Robbie wasn’t even being punished for breaking the rules. That he was considered too fragile to punish.
The bell rang, which meant Robbie was getting out of school and would be heading their way soon. Dean didn’t know what he would say to him, but he put the worry out of his mind, because he was supposed to meet with the girls’ cross-country team. The girls had a race the next day, but no coach. Their coach had taken a new job over the summer and no one had thought to replace her. It was something Garrett should have attended to, as A.D., but Dean felt guilty about it, since he was the one who’d thrown everything into chaos at the last minute. The principal said he had a new coach in mind, but he wouldn’t share the name with Dean. Which meant he was scrambling. Probably he’d bribe one of the young teachers with the promise of a better schedule — honor students and electives.
“I have to go talk to some students,” Dean said to Bry. “You okay hanging out here for a while?”
“Yeah, okay.” Bryan was still moving the paper clips.
Dean headed to the big gym, where he’d told the girls to wait. But it was too big a meeting place. Dean realized his error as soon as he saw the four narrow-shouldered girls sitting on the bottom row of bleachers with their backpacks balanced on their laps. When he gathered the football team here, they would sprawl across several rows of bleachers, shedding coats and backpacks. Dean would always have to wait a few minutes for them to settle down; it was as if they needed the space of the gym to absorb their energy. But the girls seemed dwarfed by the room’s expanse. With the exception of one very tall girl with long legs and square, sturdy knees, none of them looked like runners — or even athletes. In addition to the tall one, there was a blond girl whose skinny arms and pudgy middle seemed to come from two different bodies; a serious-seeming redhead with a skim-milk complexion; and finally, a small, wiry girl whose short, bleached hair made her look like a baby chick — not the look she was going for, Dean guessed, with her dark clothes and triply pierced ears. All were dressed casually for the warm day in shorts, T-shirts, and sandals.
“You girls don’t have the tradition of dressing up on game day?” Dean asked.
“Why would we dress up for the football game?” asked the tall one with the runner’s legs.
“No, I mean for your team. Because you have a race tomorrow.”
“No one really cares that we have a meet tomorrow,” the pierced girl said.
“How can they care if they don’t know?” Dean said.
“Even if they knew. .” The pierced girl didn’t bother finishing her sentence.
Dean scanned the ten names on his roster. A small team. But you didn’t need a lot for cross-country. It only took five to score.
“I guess we should wait until everyone gets here to get started,” he said.
“I think this is everyone,” said the serious-looking redhead. Her hair was pulled back into a tight French braid that clung to her skull and went straight down her back, as if keeping her posture in check.
“Not according to this.” Dean held up his list.
“Let me see,” the red-haired girl said. “You must have last year’s team. Those girls graduated.” She pointed to the first three names. “I don’t know about the others.”