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SIX

The plans for the lock-in come together faster than I would have expected.

When the school day ends on Wednesday, we call for a meeting with the girls in the gymnasium. Joanna has trouble making it to campus this early, so Mr. Lake joins me as I address the team. Some of their parents—the ones who are always first to arrive for school pickup—stand along the periphery, listening.

“I know you’ve all been eager to celebrate Monday night’s win,” I begin.

The girls break out in a little round of applause, still riding the wave of victory. I hold out my hands, trying to settle them down.

“The school has decided,” I say, nodding to Mr. Lake, “we’ll host a lock-in this Friday night.”

“What’s a lock-in?” Colleen asks.

“Well, it’s like a slumber party at the school. Doors will open at eight o’clock. You’ll bring your sleeping bags and anything else you might need for the night. We’ll be sleeping here, inside the gymnasium,” I say, craning my head to look around the space. “There will be pizza and snacks. And Coach Reynolds has offered to set up the big screen so we can watch movies.”

“Does this mean we’re not going to the water park?” Beatrice asks.

“That’s not the best option at this time,” Mr. Lake says. “We thought this would be a fun alternative.”

“Will the rest of the school be here?” Evie asks. She’s sitting on the front row of the bleachers, in the same hoodie she wore on Monday night.

“Just the team,” I answer. “Coach Joanna and I will be the chaperones.”

“Wait,” Beth asks with a heavy dose of dramatics. “Does that mean no parents?”

“No parents,” I say, watching for reactions from the adults standing by the bleachers. “You’ll spend the night here, and your parents can pick you up Saturday morning by nine.”

“I think it sounds fun,” Tara says. “Are we allowed to bring our phones?”

I glance at Mr. Lake.

“It’s after school hours, so yes,” he answers.

“Sweet,” Beatrice says, her enthusiasm renewed.

“We have some permission slips that you’ll need to get signed. It’s important you bring these back tomorrow morning, so we have an accurate headcount. If your parent is already here, they can go ahead and sign.”

Most of the parents come near, taking out pens to sign the forms and hand them off to Mr. Lake. Melinda Terry saunters over, walking past me to address the girls.

“Just one thing,” she says.

My first instinct is to cut her off. I’m not used to parents hijacking my meetings, but with Mr. Lake so close, it’s best to keep quiet. The Terrys are big sponsors of the sports program.

“I wanted to ask while I had all of you in one place,” she says, pressing her palms together. “Have any of you seen an iPhone? I haven’t been able to find mine, and the last place I remember having it was the Waffle Shack after the game.”

Her tone changes as she speaks the diner’s name, as though it’s a sticky mess she wants to avoid. Soon enough, her piety returns, her gaze falling on each girl, searching for a reaction.

“It’s a brand-new phone,” she says, plainly, after none of the girls respond. “I’d be willing to offer a reward for its safe return.”

Beth raises a hand slowly, as though she’s wanting to be chosen to speak in class.

“Have you tried checking the location?” she asks. “If you share locations with Amber, you should be able to see where it is from her phone.”

Melinda has a strained smile. “Yes, Beth. The last location it shows is the diner.”

“Looks like that would be the best place to check, then,” I say, stepping forward. I’m careful to avoid Melinda’s gaze as I address the girls. “Make sure you get these forms signed and returned tomorrow. Hope to see you all on Friday.”

The huddle breaks, the girls banding off into their individual cliques. I can hear Melinda Terry sighing behind me.

“I wanted to keep talking to them?—”

“With all due respect,” I say, using every ounce of professionalism at my disposal, “if you wanted to address the team, you should have come to me first.”

“It was a chaotic night,” she says. “I only thought one of them might have taken the phone by accident.”

That’s not what she was implying at all, and I know it. Ms. Terry is the type of woman who thinks she’s better than everyone around her, especially outsiders. There’s no doubt in my mind that her impromptu address is nothing more than a public accusation.

“None of the girls on the team would steal someone’s phone,” I say. My eyes are locked on hers.

She holds my gaze for several seconds, then, “All right. I’ll check with the diner. Again.”

I nod, just as Mr. Lake wanders over. “Melinda, I hope we’ll be seeing Amber this Friday,” he says.

“She’ll be there.” Her tone with him is far more pleasant.

After she walks away, Mr. Lake pats my shoulder. “Take it easy, Coach.”

“She practically accused the girls of stealing her phone.”

“I’ve known Melinda since she was a kid. Her dad and I were good friends,” he says. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“They’re good girls,” I say. “I don’t like people implying otherwise.”

“They are good,” he agrees, “which is why they’re being rewarded. Try to have some fun.”

I remain at the school until all the girls’ parents have arrived to pick them up. As usual, Evie’s ride is the last to arrive.

“You don’t have to wait on me, Coach,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest, hiding into herself.

“Trust me. I have all the time in the world.”

I never want Evie to feel like she’s being a burden. I remember that feeling from my childhood, it’s a heavy weight to carry at a young age.

My phone dings with a message from Nadia.

Free for coffee?

My stomach drops suddenly. I’ve not stopped thinking of Nadia since our run-in yesterday. As an adult, I don’t have many friends. Everyone I associate with is either connected to the team, the school or Connor. Nadia is probably the closest friend I’ve ever had, and memories of the two of us have been flashing through my mind all day. The good and the bad.

Of course, our happy experiences together outweigh the regrettable ones. Munching on popcorn as we watched scary movies in my living room. Getting into trouble after school. The way she’d sit on the bleachers while I was at basketball practice, waiting for me to take off with her as soon as Coach blew his whistle.

Sure. Can’t wait to catch up.

As I’m returning my phone to my pocket, an old Toyota swerves into the parking lot. Evie’s mother is behind the wheel. When I wave, she doesn’t acknowledge me, simply flicks her cigarette butt onto the ground.

“Remember to get your form signed,” I tell Evie.

“Sure thing, Coach,” she says, loading her backpack into the back before climbing into the passenger seat.

I watch as the car zips out of the parking lot, wondering just how much of Evie’s childhood mirrors my own.

As I drive away from the school, I roll down my window and toss Melinda Terry’s phone on the side of the road, my hand dipping and gliding in the spring breeze.