Page 5

FOUR

I lean back in my chair, propping my feet on the wooden desk. In my hands is a copy of this morning’s local newspaper. I’m admiring the photo on the front page of the sports section. It’s a great shot of the girls gathered around me mere seconds after Evie sunk that final buzzer beater. The headline reads: manning academy secures another district title .

Pride swells inside my chest as I read. The article dives into more detail, describing the ups and downs of the game and the eventual victory.

“I was going to bring you a copy.” The school’s athletic director, Mr. Lake, stands in the doorway to my office. “Looks like you beat me to it.”

“I picked one up on my way into work,” I say. “I couldn’t resist.”

“That was a helluva game last night.” He rattles his copy of the paper in his hands.

“They had me worried for a moment,” I say. “But only a moment.”

“This is good news for you.” He sits in the leather armchair across from my desk, smoothing the fabric of his pants around his knees. “Solidifies you as a member of the coaching team.”

That statement provides more reassurance than any trophy or article ever could. It’s no secret that not everyone is keen on me being a head coach, which makes every move I make all the more important, every win another conquest. Mr. Lake runs the sports program at Manning Academy with transparency. He let me know early on there were whispers about my efficiency as a team leader. I hadn’t even held the job for an entire season before some of the parents started campaigning for my removal. Sometimes I think he only told me this to put pressure on me, pushing me to succeed under fire. Three championships in four years have helped cement my position at the school, but being a woman in a male-lead realm means I must continue to work twice as hard to keep my spot, especially when I’ll never be viewed as “the right type of person” in the eyes of the parents.

Beside my computer sits a framed photograph of me during my own basketball days. Coach Phillips stands beside me. He became my mentor in middle school, even allowed me to live with him during my last two years of high school. If it weren’t for him, I never would have secured a full sports scholarship to a small university several states away. I wouldn’t have my degree or my job, this entire life I’ve built. He’d be proud to see me where I am today, of everything I’ve accomplished against all odds, even if he was never aware of the worst things I’ve done.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. Coach Reynolds steps into sight, addressing Mr. Lake. “I was looking for you.”

Mr. Lake nods in my direction. “I was just congratulating Cassandra on last night’s victory.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Although Mr. Lake never told me exactly who was questioning my abilities, I’ve always assumed Coach Reynolds tops the list of people out for my job. Right now, he serves as the head girls’ soccer coach and assistant basketball coach for the boys’ team, but he wants my title. As a Manning Academy graduate, it’s no secret he would have it, too, if it weren’t for my impressive winning streak. It must irk him to have to congratulate me in front of our boss.

“Missed you at the game last night,” I say to him.

“Oh, I was there. It was quite the atmosphere,” Reynolds says. “I hear it carried over to the local Waffle Shack.”

I smile politely. “It’s a tradition.”

“One I’m sure the parents love.”

As Melinda Terry pointed out last night, the students and parents of Manning Academy have loftier expectations than the local diner, but it was an opportunity for the girls to connect with one another in the wake of victory. That should be more important than anything else.

“I’ll catch you on my planning,” Reynolds says to Mr. Lake, making a swift exit. I wonder if he picks up on the tension between us. You don’t get to be athletic director without being an expert in politics.

“Speaking of parents,” Mr. Lake says, “I’ve already received a slew of phone calls this morning.”

“Bragging on their daughters,” I tease.

“Not quite. They want to make sure the school is planning something special to reward the girls for the district win.”

“Some of them talked to me about it last night. I told them I’d have to run any ideas by you.”

“And?”

I spin from left to right in my chair, weighing my options. Two years ago, we celebrated by renting inflatables for the entire school to enjoy during a field day. Last year, the girls were pulled out of school to visit the Women’s Basketball Hall of Fame in Knoxville. Since many of the girls from last year are still on the team, it’s understandable they’d want to try something different, and at Manning Academy, each celebration must be bigger and better than the year before.

Even though I think planning any type of overnight is a waste of funds, I’m betting the mothers I spoke with last night have already floated their ideas.

“The parents mentioned an overnight at the new indoor waterpark.”

Mr. Lake rests fingers on his chin. “What are your thoughts?”

“Sounds like the seventh ring of hell, in my book.”

He laughs. “I imagine the school board will feel the same way. An overnight anywhere, let alone a waterpark, would be a huge liability. And they’re even more paranoid as of late.”

“Why is that?” Experience has taught me teachers and administrators tend to ease up by the end of the year, not tighten the bolts.

“All the break-ins. We’ve spent more than half our budget on new tech, and if it happens to us, we’ll take a huge financial hit, regardless of the insurance payout.”

He’s talking about the recent string of burglaries at other local schools. I’m sure if I kept flipping through the newspaper, I’d find an article covering the most recent sting. Still, Manning Academy is top-notch in every way, security included. The board can’t be that concerned.

“They really think someone would target the school?”

“They’re just being cautious. But I don’t think we should be offering up anything that will make them anxious.”

“Noted.” I slide a finger across the top of my desk, thinking. “So, what do you suggest? It has to be something that will please the board and the parents.”

“It’s a little bit old school, but I was thinking of a lock-in.” He brings his hands together in front of his chest. “Did you ever have one?”

“No,” I say, but I remember hearing about them.

Growing up, my elementary school wasn’t the type of place you’d want to be stuck in overnight, but some of the area churches would host lock-ins during the summer. Basically, it’s an adult-supervised sleepover in a central location. “I thought you said the board wanted to stay away from overnights?”

“They won’t want to send the team away, but if we hosted it on school grounds, it would be easy. Order some pizzas, buy some drinks and snacks. We could base it in the gymnasium and set up a movie on the projector.”

“You’ve really put some thought into this.”

“I’m the father of four girls,” he says, smiling. “You don’t even want to know how many parties my wife and I have hosted over the years. Anyway, I thought it would be an easy enough idea. Something different for the kids and easy for the adults.”

“Works for me.” I stand, grabbing my water bottle and cell phone. The morning bell will ring any minute, signaling the beginning of my first PE class. “I’ll talk to Joanna about it.”

“Great. I’ll get it on the agenda for tonight’s school board meeting, and we’ll go from there.” He takes a few steps away before turning back. “Good season, Coach.”

“Thanks.”

I look down again at the newspaper on my desk, the full-colored photo of the team and me. Their achievements really should be celebrated, and I’m happy we’ll be able to do so on our own turf, in the same place where they devoted their blood, sweat and tears this entire season.