Page 1 of Doink (Rainbow Dorset University)

PEYTON brADY

T he tent is crowded, especially on the auction floor. I’m slightly baffled by it. There are so many faces I can’t determine who goes to school here, who works here, and who’s from town.

“Good turnout,” Eli says as he stands beside me.

We’re ‘ backstage, ’ though it’s not much of a backstage.

This is one of those enormous party tents.

One end is set up with a platform stage, half of which is walled off by a tall, rainbow curtain.

We’re standing to the side in the wings, where more rainbow curtains are bunched up in a way you’d see them hanging at the sides of windows.

I don’t know the girl currently on stage.

The big screen that alternates between showing the front of her card with her picture and personal information on it and the reverse, which has the date, is at the other end of the stage from where we’re standing to watch.

Her name is Samantha. It looks like she plays soccer.

There’s a bar above the card with the current bid. She’s up to $342.

“Do you think we’re allowed to bid on the date?” Winston asks as he comes up beside us.

“I think the point is to raise money, so I don’t think they care who bids,” Eli says. “You want this Samantha girl?”

Winston looks at her. “Dude, that’s my sister.”

We both look at him, and Eli’s eyes are wide. For a solid thirty seconds, Winston looks disgusted before he bursts into laughter. Eli shoves him.

“Fucker.”

I roll my eyes and turn back as the auction is rounding up just shy of $400.

“Nah,” Winston says. “Sammi’s cool. I was thinking of someone else on her team, though.”

“I don’t think it’s against the rules as long as you pay what you bid,” I say.

“Though you’re literally putting money into the soccer team’s pockets. Put it into ours!” Eli argues.

“No offense, but I don’t want to date any of you bitches. I see enough of you.”

They shove at each other a few times. Samantha walks towards us, a smile on her face. “Hey, dudebros,” she greets, patting Winston’s chest on the way by. “Good luck on your auctions.”

“Dudebros?” I ask.

Winston shrugs, laughing. “The soccer team calls our team dudebros. The kind that burps loudly and laughs about it.”

I scrunch my face. “How nice.”

He laughs as he’s called onto the stage and takes his position. He spends the entire time he’s on stage posing. Showing off his biceps. Hiking the leg of his shorts up to show off his thighs. He turns and clenches his ass cheeks.

The cheering and whistling are so loud that they’re having a hard time seeing the bid paddles and hearing the bids called.

“Wow,” Eli says. “I think everyone else is doing it wrong. He’s already up to $600.”

“What a bitch,” I say, laughing. My eyes scan the audience again, looking for one person in particular.

If he’s here, I can’t see him. I know he’s short, so he could very well be here, and I’d not see him mixed into the masses.

But he also always wears bright colors. He sparkles like the angel he is.

“Beat that,” Winston says, slapping us both as he joins us again. When the bidding stopped, he’d raised nearly $900.

“Did they actually pay or continue to bid because they got lost in the starry shine of your muscles?” Eli asks.

He shrugs. “Not my problem. I still banked. Coach will be proud.”

My stomach flips when he mentions Coach. My heart lodges in my throat as Coach walks in the door just as I glance that way. Right before it’s my turn.

With a grin, I take my spot on the stage and stare directly at Coach Lemon. He shakes his head, but I nod. Encouraging him to bid. He holds my stare, and I continue nodding at him. He doesn’t have a bidding paddle and stuffs his hands in his pockets, but I don’t give up hope.

I’ve imagined this moment since he gave the team permission to participate. I imagined him bidding, winning. I imagined picking him up with a giant bouquet of flowers. I imagined the way he’ll look at me.

“Sold,” the announcer says, and all those imaginings fade away until I’m staring at Coach in present time.

I don’t walk to the side, but jump off the front of the stage to make my way through the crowd. I stop in front of him and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not sure I was clear, Coach.”

“You’ve been crystal clear, Peyton. Maybe I haven’t been clear. I don’t date my students,” he answers.

That’s a lame excuse. If Coach Alka can date one of his students, there’s no reason my coach can’t. Maybe I need to try a different tactic. Take the word dating right off the table. Let’s try?—

“Nor do I have any other kind of relationship with my students outside of coach/athlete.”

I huff. “I’m not going to be a student for much longer.”

I’m shocked when Coach pulls me down and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. My mouth opens, eyes shoot wide. My entire body jumped with surprise. For a second, I just stand there, unsure how to respond. Eventually, my brain turns back online, and I hug him.

I hug him tightly, pressing my face to his shoulder and taking a deep breath.

It’s not filled with the sexual tension I always thought touching Coach Lemon would be.

I thought I could definitely find a way to urge him to be attracted to me.

I just needed some time. I needed to get close enough to… seduce him.

Not the disgusting kind of seduction. I just want him to open his mind to giving me a chance.

There’s nothing of that tone in this hug, though, and… it makes my chest warm. It chokes me up in a way I wasn’t at all expecting. It’s filled with affection. Genuine care. Not all the things I wanted from Coach Lemon, but definitely things I think I’ve needed.

“Thanks,” I say after a while and force myself to take a step back. There’s noise around us, but it barely penetrates the little bubble surrounding me and Coach.

“I’m happy to be your friend,” Coach says, and I feel myself wince. “We can talk about whatever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with football, but Peyton, this isn’t going to happen. Okay?”

I sigh to cover the way it feels like I was just gut-punched. When that doesn’t feel like it hides enough, I ask a stupid question instead. “Am I too tall?”

Coach stares at me blankly for several seconds.

“Too loud? I have too many muscles, don’t I?”

Coach’s sudden laughter is loud. He shoves me, and I smile reflexively.

“Stop. You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

I can give you a whole bunch of reasons that are all going to sound like lines and excuses, but I don’t want you to walk away with that heavy feeling.

So I’m not going to. We’re just going to say that this isn’t going to happen. Not now and not ever.”

I sigh again and nod. “Okay. Thanks for being gentle.”

Coach pats my cheek. “Go have fun.”

I nod but can’t walk away. This conversation is only for today, right? I search his eyes, hoping to see even a smidgeon of attraction or interest. Anything at all.

There’s nothing. He turns and walks out of the tent, his narrow hips in those tight leggings sashaying as he goes. I watch until he’s out of sight before turning and meandering back to the stage.

This sucks. This didn’t turn out how I wanted it to at all. And I was so focused on Coach that I not only didn’t see who won me, but I didn’t see what the winning bid was.

Eli is just coming from the stage. His ending balance is $601.

“Nice,” I tell him. “Not as good as Winston, but nice.”

“Better than yours, Pey,” he says, smirking.

“What was mine? Who won me?”

Eli and Winston give me the same dubious smiles they often do. They’ve known all along that I got it bad for our coach. I haven’t hidden it, and I’ve made it even more obvious this year.

“Just over $400, but I didn’t see who,” Eli says, looking at Winston.

Winston shakes his head. “There are a lot of people out there. Even when a bidding paddle is in the air, I can’t see who’s holding it.”

“I know Coach isn’t going to want to hear this, but this was a good idea.

There are so many people bidding!” Eli says.

He shifts to look around me. One of the hockey players is on the stage now.

He’s taken notes from Winston’s performance to encourage bids, but instead of just posing with his muscles hanging out, he’s dancing like he’s on a fucking pole, using his hockey stick.

“It’s all about showmanship,” Winston says, shaking his head. “Hockey players have built-in dance props. I think that’s unfair.”

I laugh. “His bid is going to be higher than yours,” I warn as the bid crests $900.

Winston scowls. “I need a do-over.”

“Here you are,” a different hockey player says and hands us each a card. “Peyton. Eli. Winston. Thanks for participating.”

Cards are handed to us with our names at the top. Below is the winner of our date auction and their phone number.

Dana Richards

561-369-4369

Hm. I don’t know a Dana. “Who’d you get?” Eli asks, leaning over to look at my card. I turn it around so he can read it. “Do you know them?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “I can’t think of anyone named Dana, but I suppose that doesn’t mean I don’t know them. You?”

“Aram Pendley,” he answers, frowning. “I think that’s someone from my math class. I’ll report back once I set up our date.”

“Mine is Lex Davis,” Winston says, also frowning.

“If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s a biker from the bar I was at a couple of weeks ago.

His buddies called him Rex. Like T-Rex. A damn dinosaur.

He’s covered in tats, he’s like a damn foot taller than me, is all kinds of bear. ” He shakes his head, still frowning.

“How did he know about the auction?” I ask.

Eli rolls his eyes. “There are flyers plastered all over town. There was probably one in the bar.”

“Did you talk to him about it?” I ask. “Are you uncomfortable with this?”

Winston shrugs. “I might have said something about it. I went to the bar to get drunk, and I ramble when I’m drunk, so there’s a very good possibility that I told everyone about it and encouraged them all to be here.”

“Did you see him?” I turn to look at the crowd, letting my eyes scan the faces. Oh. Yep. I definitely see some bikers.

“Yep,” Winston says. “I definitely see him.”

“Do you think he actually wants the date or is he, like, supporting the cute college boy who drunkenly word vomited about fuck knows what?” Eli asks.

Winston snorts. “Dunno. Guess I’ll text and find out.”

I watch the group of bikers as Winston pulls out his cell and starts texting. Maybe I can figure out which one this Lex T-Rex guy is. That guy pulls out his phone just as I hear the whhhp sound that signifies Winston sent the text message.

“That’s him,” I say.

Winston sighs. “Yep.”

Smirking, I pull my phone out too and send this Dana Richards a text message as well. Since I have no idea who this is, I don’t bother to examine the crowd for clues.

Me

Thank you for participating in the auction! Your winning bid means a lot to our team. As the date you bid on explains, this will be a kayaking and picnic trip to take place in two weeks, on Friday, the first day of the four-day weekend. I hope you’re as excited as I am.

There. That sounds convincing, right? Not like I’m going to be nursing disappointment for the next month because Coach Lemon isn’t interested?