Chapter 1
Sebastian 1
Dinggg.
The final bell sounds, alerting the students of the end of the school day. “Don’t forget to study chapter two on fractions. We’ll have a test at the end of the week,” I tell my final class as they start to shuffle for freedom.
“Umm, Mr. Hall?”
I turn to see Kallie Tucker, one of my algebra students, lingering in front of my desk.
“How can I help you, Kallie?”
She pops her gum and twists her long blonde hair the way girls seem to do when they flirt. “Sooo, I was just wondering,” she says, leaning a little too far over my desk for my comfort level. “Do you tutor after school? I’m still having trouble with multiplying those fractions, and well, I thought if you’re able to help me after cheerleading practice, it might help me, you know, get a better grade.”
I swallow and inwardly groan.
Not the first time a student has asked for a little extra help in math. I’m not completely oblivious to what they all say about me. They call me The Fox. I’m a thirty-two-year-old high school teacher, the youngest male professional in the school. I’m surrounded by raging hormones all day long, but I’ve perfected the ability to ignore them all.
“Yeah, sorry, Kallie, I’m not available for tutoring. If you meet with Mrs. Holstein in the front office, she can help partner you up with after school help,” I tell her as I slide the papers I have to grade tonight into my bag.
“Awww,” she singsongs, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Really?”
I give her a small smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. I have football after school every day,” I remind her. It’s not like she doesn’t remember I’m the head football coach for Hope High School, home of the Tigers and pride of Southern Idaho. We have four straight playoff visits but are still looking for our first state title in school history.
“But what about after that?” she asks.
Sliding my laptop into the bag, I reply, “I’m unavailable after practice, Kallie. I take care of my daughter.”
She coos and makes the kind of face you’d make to a baby. “Oh, that’s right. Well, maybe another time,” she replies before throwing a wink and a wave over her shoulder and leaving my room.
With a deep sigh, I flop back in my chair and relax. The door is still open, the chaos in the hallways spilling through my doorway. I’ve taught at Hope High since graduating from college a decade ago, back when I was young and thirsty to help change the world. I still very much want to do my part, but it’s more taxing than ever before. The state is changing its guidelines for classroom work, putting more and more paperwork on the teachers.
If only the pencil-pushers at the Capitol understood what it really took to teach.
And for a shitty salary, at that.
“Ready, Coach?” Dallas, one of my cornerbacks, hollers from the doorway.
“I’m ready, Dallas. See you on the field,” I reply as I get up, verifying I have everything before locking my classroom for the night.
Only a few students linger in the halls as I make my way down the longest corridor to the locker rooms. I have a small office in the back that smells like gym socks and mildew on a good day and as bad as rotten cheese on a bad one. Today, it’s the latter.
I drop my stuff on the desk, grab my whistle and playbook, and head through the locker room. The players are there, hooting and hollering as they get ready for practice. Mondays are always film day. We’ll start with a good warm-up and run some sprint conditioning, followed by a return to the locker room to watch Friday night’s game.
We’ve only had two games, but we’re sitting at a two and zero record. The first real challenge of the season is going to be this Friday. We’ll play a damn tough Raiders team from neighboring Gleason, and while we went to the second round of playoffs last year, the Gleason Raiders went four games deep.
“Hey, Coach,” James, my defensive line coach, says as I step outside and head out back to the practice field.
“Hey, James. How was your day?”
“Not too bad,” he says, placing a line of cones at the fifty-yard line. James is a banker who played college ball two decades ago. He could have gone pro, too, if not for a knee injury his senior year of college.
The rest of my coaching team arrives as the players start to file out of the locker room. In a small town like Hope, you have to look outside the school for coaching help. My team consists of two teachers, a county deputy, the highway road commissioner, a retired judge, and a banker, all with their own deep insight and love for the game of football. When I took over as head coach five years ago, I inherited the rest of the team, but I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.