Rebel at Spruce High

I don’t make it inside. “Toby?”

I peer over my shoulder. Coach Strong stands across the hall from the auditorium by the door to Ms. Joy’s office. He’s a sturdy, muscular man in a pair of gym shorts that look glued to his thick thighs, and a polo shirt that stretches across his shapely pecs, sleeves filled to the max with his biceps. He lives up to his name. The flimsy clipboard he clutches in comparison looks like it might snap in half if the man accidentally sneezes.

I grip my backpack strap tighter. “Coach Strong,” I greet him.

“Hey there.” He lets on a smile, appearing relieved somehow. “I was just checkin’ in here with Ms. Joy to see if I could steal you. I hope you don’t have anything pressing or urgent you’re planning to study or do during your seventh period. I was hopin’ …” He tilts his head toward me. “I was hopin’ we could chat.”

Despite being friends with his little brother, Coach Strong and I haven’t interacted that much directly. “Chat …?”

“It’s nothing bad,” he assures me, “and won’t take long. Just a few minutes of your time. I just wanted to talk.”

“What about?”

“Can you come with me to my office real quick, bud? Ms. Joy already said it’s okay. It won’t take long, promise.” He beckons me with his clipboard-carrying hand. He holds a bottle of Gatorade in the other. “It’s just down the hall, near the gym.”

Ugh. Yippy. My favorite place. I reluctantly follow him. He leads the way, his sneakers making tiny squeaky sounds with each step. It’s just a couple of minutes later that we’re in a narrow side-hall near the gym where all the offices are. I pass a storage room full of wrestling gear and custodial supplies before he stops at a door and lets me in first. I take a seat in front of his desk and, channeling Vann’s signature move, drop my backpack heavily by my feet.

He sets down his Gatorade after shoving aside a pile of papers, then sits. “How’s senior year been? I saw you got cast in a play!”

Did Carl tell Lee to say something after I flipped him off? Did Lee go and tell Coach Strong a bunch of crap? What’s this about? “Yep. I did.”

“And it seems like you’re helpin’ the new guy fit in,” he adds, which only further confuses my suspicions. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Jimmy talks about you all the dang time, how great a guy you are. Did you know he asked me to look after you? My brother really cares about you.”

I reluctantly nod. “Yes, he does.”

“And that’s part of the reason why I wanted to chat with you.” He takes a breath. “It’s been brought to my attention that a few of my boys have been givin’ you a hard time. Is that true?”

My mind is racing. “Well, I mean …” I’m so conflicted about what to say. Doesn’t everyone already know what happened during lunch that first day? Doesn’t everyone know the hell I’ve been enduring for years at the hands of Hoyt and his buddies?

Then suddenly I remember something Vann said to me the other day: Don’t play the victim with these pricks. Don’t let them decide for another moment how you get to feel about yourself.

My back straightens. A new attitude hardens my eyes. “I don’t let them give me a hard time. Not anymore.”

Coach Strong studies my face for a moment. “Hmm.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “But some boys have been giving you a hard time? Or they used to? Look, I care very much how my boys are behavin’ off the field, too.” He points at a couple of plaques on the wall. “I expect them to uphold the reputation of the proud Spruce Tigers. Fast and fierce, but friendly. Brotherhood and sisterhood. Inclusive. If just one of my boys is actin’ up, I want to know. You can be totally open with me, Toby. Don’t hold back.”

I catch sight of a picture on the wall directly behind him. It’s the football team from last year. Right at the front, kneeling in his uniform, helmet tucked under an arm, is Hoyt Nowak. I stare at his proud, smirking, model-boy face. He thinks he’s so invincible. The way he struts in the halls. How he uses me like a damned footrest in English. That day he grabbed me in the locker room and tried to force me into a social situation with him at G-Man’s, where I’m certain any number of horrible things could be done to me. Hoyt and his privilege. Hoyt and his charm. Hoyt and his invincibility.

I don’t need Coach Strong’s help. I don’t need anyone’s help. Not anymore. “I don’t hold back,” I tell him. “No one’s causing me any trouble. I’m a big boy. I take care of myself.”