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TWENTY-FIVE

The second time we got arrested, I called Coach Phillips instead of my father.

Logically, I went to him because my dad was in the middle of a work shift, and the factory where he worked had notoriously bad cell phone reception. There’s no telling when he would have seen my message.

Really, though, it was because the bruise my father had left on my arm after the first arrest remained there for over a week; I knew he’d find out about my latest mishap eventually, but I wanted to space out the time between beatings as much as possible.

Coach Phillips was able to get me out of the station quickly. He knew the arresting officer and the police chief. Coach Phillips always had friends in important places, it seemed. Being athletic in a small town makes you a celebrity of sorts, and he used that to his advantage.

When we got in the car, his smiley facade fell away, and he looked at me with disappointment.

“You’re only sixteen years old and I’m having to pick you up from the police department,” he said. “This isn’t a good path to go down.”

“It was a mistake,” I said, my eyes fixed on the windshield.

“A mistake you’ve made before, according to the police. They said you got caught shoplifting six months ago.” He shakes his head. “Why are you stealing a bunch of clothes in the first place? All I ever see you in is basketball shorts and T-shirts.”

“It’s not about the clothes,” I say. “Outside of basketball, I don’t have anything. I just like feeling like I’m getting back a little bit of what’s been taken from me.”

Coach Phillips exhaled and stared into his lap. “You can’t have that mentality, Cass. It will get you nowhere.”

The station doors opened and Nadia walked outside. One of her brothers had agreed to pick her up, and he walked a few steps behind her. Her head moved from left to right, like she was searching for someone, probably me, but she wouldn’t have recognized me in the front seat of Coach Phillips’ car.

“Besides, you have something going for you. You’re a talented player. That’s more than some kids in your situation have.” He nodded toward Nadia. “Like your buddy.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“Friends don’t pressure you to make bad choices.”

How could I explain to him that I had just as much fun stealing as Nadia did? Sure, she was the one who first pressured me to complete a dash and go, but since then, I’d cooperated willingly. It was my fault we got arrested the first time, not hers, but I feared explaining that to Coach Phillips would make him think less of me. He was already doing me a tremendous favor.

“I’ll try to stay out of trouble. I promise,” I told him. “Are you going to kick me off the team?”

“Part of me thinks I should,” he said. “But another part of me realizes taking the one good thing in your life away from you will only hurt you in the long run. I am making you run extra drills though.”

I laughed. “Sounds fair to me.”

Really, it didn’t. As Coach Phillips pointed out, I still got to do what I loved. Maybe I was luckier than most.

“Did your kids ever get into trouble like this?” I asked him.

He pulled back on the gear shift, preparing to merge onto the road. “They had their moments. Never got arrested, that I know of, but they weren’t always saints.”

“It’s probably easier to behave when you have normal parents at home.” The words came out unintentionally. It’s a thought I had often, but had never voiced before. Many times, I’d looked at my father and blamed him for the way my life turned out. I blamed my mother and her death, too. How different would my life be if I had a responsible parent like Coach Phillips?

“You’re right about that, but if I’m being honest, I owe all the praise to my ex-wife. They lived with their mother most of the time. I tried my best to be there for them, but I still worry it wasn’t enough.” He went quiet, staring at the road ahead. I wondered what he was thinking about. Coach Phillips only talked about his family in passing, usually looped them into some sports speech about integrity and follow-through. “That’s why I pour so much of myself into the team. This is my second chance to make a difference.”

For some reason, I felt like crying. Coach Phillips had given more of himself into this single conversation than my father had my entire life. I longed for unconditional support and guidance; two things my father was incapable of giving.

Before he took me home, we grabbed burgers and fries from a drive-through. Afterwards, he took me back to my house and waited with me for my father to return from work. Coach Phillips thought if he was there when I told my father about the second arrest, it might lessen the blow.

He was right. My father was angry, but at least this time he didn’t put his hands on me. Now that he knew Coach Phillips was aware of the arrest, I think he was afraid to do anything. I did receive a punishment, though. For two weeks, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house unless it was for school or basketball practice.

Nadia’s punishment only lasted half that long. By the following week, she was back on my doorstep, wanting to know if I’d join her at the mall.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” my father spat at her, all but slamming the door in her face. The only thing worse than hearing that anger in my father’s voice directed at me was having it directed at my best friend.

Nadia circled around the house, meeting me at my bedroom window. She slithered through the narrow space and sat on my bed. Even back then, she refused to take no for an answer.

“Want to sneak out?” she asked me.

“Dad’s handling this better than the last time,” I said. “I don’t want to give him another reason to be angry.”

“He’s acting like you murdered someone or something.”

“He just wants me to learn a lesson,” I said.

“No, he’s just mad he has to pay a fine. Your dad doesn’t care about you,” she said. Even if it was true, her words stung. “He’s trying to control you.”

“Isn’t that what parents do?”

“He’s not a good parent. He’s not even a good person,” she said. “I know he hits you.”

It was the first time she’d said it out loud after her insinuation a few months back. Even though there were no fresh bruises to cover, I pulled at my sleeves, trying to hide myself.

I could hear stomping coming down the hall. My father, who I’d thought would be asleep in his recliner by now, was coming into my room. “Cass?”

“Hide,” I hissed at Nadia, even though my room was so small, there weren’t many places.

Nadia jumped off the bed, searching for a place to go. She only had time to stand behind my bedroom door. As she got into position, she grabbed one of my basketball trophies from my dresser. I couldn’t figure out why.

Dad opened the door, and I could almost feel Nadia holding her breath, trying to be quiet.

“Are you talking to someone in here?” Dad asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Only studying,” I said, lifting some of the papers on my bed. “I have a test this week.”

I tried to keep my voice as calm and level as possible. My eyes watched Nadia. She was still behind the door, the trophy tight in her hands. She watched my father as closely as I did, ready to pounce if her location was found out.

Dad’s eyes surveyed the room, lingering on the open bedroom window, before looking back at me. Finally, he said, “Keep it down, okay? I’m trying to take a nap.”

“Sure thing,” I said, still holding my breath until he shut the door completely.

Nadia waited another beat before climbing back on the bed, the trophy still in her hands. “That was a close one.”

“What were you planning on doing with that thing?”

Nadia looked down at the sculpture and shrugged. “I don’t know. I was ready to defend myself.”

“You can’t hit my dad over the head with a trophy!”

“Why not?” she asked, plainly. “He hits you.”

“Yeah, but… he’s my dad,” I said, unsure what else to say. “And you better get out of here before things get worse. My punishment is almost over, then things can go back to normal.”

Nadia stood and slammed the trophy on my nightstand. She was angry. Before she climbed out of the window, she said, “Sooner or later you’re going to have to stand up for yourself.”

By the end of the week, Nadia and I had made up. We always worked that way, our moods ebbing and flowing, but sometimes I’d think back to the way she held that trophy in her hands, and shiver. Nadia was a good friend to have, but only when she remained on my good side.