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6 JASON

Leaning back in his chair, Jason watches Emerson carefully unzip his lunch bag. There’s something mesmerizing about the movement of his hands. As a coach and avid football fan, Jason spends a lot of time looking at other people’s hands, particularly men’s. He can tell from the shape of a guy’s fingers and the breadth of his palm what his grip might be like or how much strength it might possess. Looking at Emerson, it's obvious his hands are anything but those belonging to an athlete. His fingers are long and delicate, with pale skin and not a callous in sight. He has really nice hands, Jason decides, taking another bite of his sandwich to avoid saying that out loud. Usually he doesn’t filter himself too much, but he suspects Emerson might not be quite as comfortable with his unsolicited praise as Theo, and he’s definitely not about to tease him the way he does his brothers or other friends.

He might not know him well yet, but he knows enough to be certain that Emerson requires something different. Probably because Emerson is different. Maybe it’s the low hum of anxiety around him or his unexpected honesty. Or maybe it’s the fact that Jason very strongly suspects he’s neurodivergent and struggling, but everything about him calls to that part of Jason that needs to protect. Jason’s taught and coached long enough to know a lost boy when he sees one, even if he’s aware enough to know Emerson isn’t a boy and isn’t actually in need of rescuing. What it does seem like he could use is a friend, something Jason always likes more of. Especially because he likes Emerson and his no nonsense quirks.

“So what did you pack besides Ranch Doritos?” Jason asks, trying to make some casual conversation.

“It’s kind of boring.” Emerson answers in a monotone voice, carefully lining up his lunch on the edge of the desk beside him. There’s a hunch to his shoulders, as if boring might not be his own thoughts on his lunch but someone else’s. “I uh, I eat the same thing every day. Just a peanut butter sandwich, chips and, um, a banana.”

“Listen, peanut butter is one of the best foods ever invented,” Jason grins, hoping to put him at ease. “My favorite candy is mazapán . It’s so fucking good. It’s this little round disk of peanut butter perfection. Growing up it was harder to find, but I buy them by the box at the panaderia . Man, I could go for one of those right now. Have you ever had one?”

“I honestly have no idea what that even is,” Emerson admits, popping the lid off his Tupperware and removing his sandwich, which as far as Jason can tell is nothing but peanut butter on plain white bread. Not even jelly. Jason loves jelly. Then again there’s very little Jason doesn’t love.

“It’s a Mexican candy, my abuela loved them and got me and my brothers hooked when we were younger. Well, most of us. Charlie’s a weirdo and hates peanut butter.”

“ Abuela ?”

“Let me guess, I don’t look Mexican,” Jason says good-naturedly. “I get that a lot. My mom’s white and my dad’s mixed. His mom, my abuela , immigrated here when she was a teenager. Out of all my family, I definitely got my mom’s complexion.”

“I was actually going to ask what ‘abuela’ means,” Emerson says. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

It’s not often Jason gets embarrassed, but his ears heat, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. I guess I’ve got a little bit of a sore spot from growing up being told I don’t look Mexican like them, but I shouldn’t have assumed that’s what you were going to do, that wasn’t fair. I’ve gotten that kind of comment my entire life, especially since my brothers are darker than me. Although, Alec looks a lot more like our mom, and the twins look a lot like my dad.”

“I have my mom’s hair,” Emerson says so quietly Jason barely hears him speak.

“Yeah?” Jason says, unsure why that little tidbit feels like a treasure. He gets the feeling Emerson doesn’t share a lot about himself with people, so the fact that he is now makes Jason feel damn good. “Well for what it’s worth, it’s very nice hair.”

Automatically, Emerson’s hand flies up to touch his hair, untameable as always. When he catches Jason watching him, his cheeks flush pink. He drops his hand, grabbing his chips and shoving one in his mouth, averting his gaze. There’s something handsome about the way his blush colors his pale cheeks and Jason can’t help but stare.

“Thanks for telling me, Emerson.”

Green eyes fly up to meet his gaze. The peanut butter sandwich is halfway to his mouth, but he doesn’t take a bite, lowering his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

Jason decides here and now, he and Emerson are going to be great friends.

“Hey, you want a Coke?” Jason asks, suddenly realizing Emerson doesn’t have a drink. Without giving him time to answer, because really, who doesn't need a drink with lunch, Jason moves to the corner to open his mini fridge. The sight inside reminds him he needs to go shopping because it is woefully understocked. Inside is nothing but two cans of Coke and a water bottle. He doesn’t even have any green apple Gatorade or juice left. He’s really gonna have to get better at grocery shopping. Especially if Emerson is going to be joining him for lunch again.

“You don’t have to,” Emerson tries.

“If I offered it, then it means I want you to have some, if you want it that is. I think if I ate a peanut butter sandwich without a drink I might die, just saying.”

“That’s improbable.”

“But not impossible,” Jason grins, waggling his eyebrows.

Emerson blinks, staring at Jason with a blank expression for several seconds before the corners of his lips turn up in a smile that transforms his face, brightening his features and making him look even younger.

“How old are you?” Jason asks. “Uh, sorry, was that rude? You just look kind of young.”

A pinch forms between Emerson’s pale eyebrows, lips turning down in a frown. “I’m twenty-six.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Jason hurries to clarify, worried he’s said the wrong thing. Hopefully, a little honesty can smooth it over. “I turned thirty last year, and I possibly have a little bit of a complex about it.”

“If it helps, you don’t look old,” Emerson offers, taking a bite of his sandwich. He chews slowly before adding, “probably because you dress like a teenager.”

Jason looks down at his slightly wrinkled Santa Leon High t-shirt and basketball shorts, barking out a laugh. “Guess I better not wear grown up clothes then, huh?”

There’s no big smile from Emerson this time, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to and isn’t sure if he should. “You might end up looking thirty if you do.”

“That’s it,” Jason whistles, cheeks hurting from the breadth of his smile. “I’m throwing out all my adult clothes right now.”

“Is being thirty that bad?” Emerson asks. He criss crosses his legs in his chair, contorting himself into a position that Jason’s much larger body cannot comprehend. His eyes are on Jason, the eye contact suddenly intense.

“I mean in general, no?” Jason answers, aware he makes it more of a question than a statement. “I think it’s just like a combination of my baby brother getting engaged when I’ve been single forever and then, you know, being surrounded by teenagers all day. It’s silly.”

Jason reaches for the can of Coke and the water since Emerson never did answer, setting them on the desk beside him in a silent offering. “I never pegged myself as the kind of guy who would freak out at turning thirty but the last year was—weird.”

“Bad weird?”

“Some of it,” Jason admits, unsure why he can say that to Emerson but hasn’t been able to admit it to Theo or his brothers. Probably because they were all too deeply entangled in Alec’s recovery and the subsequent changing family dynamics with Alec and Theo’s relationship. His best friend and his brother needed him to be okay, like always. If occasionally he wasn’t, well it was easier for everyone, Jason included, to ignore that.

“Maybe I don’t want to be thirty then,” Emerson replies very seriously.

“It wasn’t all bad though,” Jason continues, as much for Emerson as himself. “But there were a lot of changes and I guess some of them got to me more than I want to admit. Getting back to teaching and coaching, back to my normal routine, has been good.”

“I’m not part of your routine,” Emerson points out.

“Not all change is bad,” Jason points out. “Besides, who says this isn’t going to be our new routine? Maybe you’ll be back Monday because you realize how winning my personality is, and if not that, you might be desperate for a soda from the mini fridge.”

“Pop.”

“Huh?”

“It’s called pop where I’m from.”

“Pop,” Jason echoes, emphasizing the p .

Emerson nods, reaching for the can of Coke. He cracks open the tab, waiting for the sizzle of carbonation to die down before he takes a sip. “Thanks. It’s not Dr. Pepper, but it’s good.”

Dr. Pepper. Jason mentally adds that to his shopping list, determined to start keeping some in his fridge. Just in case Emerson really does come back to have lunch with him again. It would only be polite.

When he looks up from his musings, he finds Emerson shaking his plastic container of Doritos before lowering two of his long fingers in. He pulls out a large, unbroken chip, but instead of eating it, he holds it out to Jason. “Want one?”

“Sure,” Jason grins, accepting the chip and popping it into his mouth.

Emerson taps his container of chips again but doesn’t eat anymore, opening and closing his mouth a few times like he’s not sure if he wants to say something. Jason’s seen it before in some of his players, or his students. He knows from experience pushing won’t make the question come out so he waits. Patience isn’t usually his strongest suit, but time and practice have made him a better listener.

His silence is rewarded a minute later when Emerson softly clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Jason sets his Coke can on the edge of his desk then leans forward, positing himself in Emerson’s direct line of sight. “What’s up?”

“Why do the kids from the LGBTQIA+ club come here?”

He’s not looking at Jason but rather at the flags on the wall making Jason’s chest constrict. There’s a reason he’s so vocal about his support, and it’s not just for his brothers and Theo, though that’s part of it. It’s for every person that has to look for a goddamn flag or a sticker because safe is not their default.

“You want the short or the long answer?” Jason asks.

“The honest one,” Emerson replies.

“I was in high school when my older brothers both came out. Well, came out might be the wrong word. Charlie’s never really come out because he doesn’t like labels, but he brought a boyfriend home for Thanksgiving that first year he came home from college and then a girlfriend home for Christmas. When our parents asked what was going on he told everyone to stop focusing on who he dated. We found out a few months later that Andrew is ace and well, there’s a story there but it’s not mine to tell.”

He glances up to find Emerson watching him with the same intense eye contact as before, the kind he never uses when speaking, almost as if every ounce of his being is focused on listening to Jason right now.

“Not long after that Theo came out to me as bisexual and then a few months later, my baby brother Alec came out as gay, very loudly and vocally in the fourth grade talent show.” Jason takes a deep breath, offering Emerson a smile. “They were all so brave in their own ways, and it fucking killed me that they had to be. Over the course of a few years, I watched the people I love most have to keep coming out, or worse hiding because they didn’t feel safe. It was so goddamn unfair that just because they didn’t fit into someone else’s box, they were more likely to get bullied or hurt. They needed me to be strong, so many people needed me, and I decided then and there to take all the heat you know? I was a jock, and I’m straight and stupid as it is, so people didn’t say shit to me. Not like they did to them.”

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, Jason sighs. He is in dire need of a good shave. “When I started teaching here, they had a different coach, and he was—more traditional. He retired my second year of teaching, which is when I took on the head coaching position. At that point, my suspicions were confirmed, and I realized there was some toxic shit going on and I could change it. The stupidest thing about all of it is why the fuck people care what I think? I’m just the football coach. But I realized my opinion held sway and—I wanted that to matter.”

“That’s brave,” Emerson says.

“I dunno, maybe.” Jason shrugs, never comfortable with receiving accolades for this kind of thing. “I think it’s basic human decency, you know?”

“You’re not like the jocks I knew back home,” Emerson says. “We didn’t have a club like this but if we had, well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have been welcome with the football team. By we, I mean, um, that is, um—I’m gay. I didn’t tell the principal when she hired me. I wasn’t sure…I mean I think it’s more liberal here than where I’m from, but I didn’t know how that might impact my job prospect. That is?—”

“I’m not going to out you to anyone, Emerson.” Jason reaches out, laying a hand on his knee to still the way it bounces rapidly. Emerson’s entire body shudders with the force of his exhale and he shakes his head from side to side.

“No it’s—I don’t want to be a secret anymore. I did that for…a long time. I just wasn’t sure if it was safe.”

“I wish I could say everyone here is accepting but the truth is there are a few teachers who, well, I wouldn’t invite to my place for a pizza. Let’s put it that way. But overall, it’s a good school, and we’ll have your back. I’ll have your back. I promise. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Emerson.”

Emerson retrieves the stress ball he’d borrowed from Jason’s truck out of his lunch bag, focusing on the compression while he speaks. “The other thing is uh, you know. I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not very good with people.”

“You seem to be doing just fine, and your students love you. You’ve got one of my freshmen—Arlo. He says your class is great. Coming from Arlo, that is high praise because he hates school.”

“Arlo…Rosales?” At Jason’s nod, some of the tension bleeds out of Emerson. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is,” Jason agrees.

“The thing is, um, there’s something else that you might want to know about me. You know if we’re going to be friends, which I thought we might be working towards.”

Aside from Theo, most of Jason’s friendships are more casual, but he can tell that isn’t going to be the case with Emerson. At least he hopes not. He’s already trying to figure out a way to make sure they can have lunch together again, to find a way to finagle himself into Emerson’s routine to get to know him better.

“No if about it, Emerson. We’re already friends. You shared your Ranch Doritos with me, that’s practically bestie shit right there.”

“I’m autistic,” Emerson says in a rush. “No one else knows that either, but it’s not a secret. Or I guess it is. I wasn’t sure about telling anyone here. I was a little nervous if I did, they might think I can’t handle the job, which I can. I’m a good teacher, it’s just sometimes people think if you need extra help or accommodations that you can’t do anything and—I don’t know. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’ve never had to tell anyone, not like this, but I thought if you were gonna be around me, you might want to know why I’m, you know, the way I am.” He slowly trails off, looking more unsure than when he started talking.

“Emerson.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for telling me.” Emerson exhales a shuddering breath, the tightness in his features loosening as he directs those wide, doe eyes at Jason. “For what it’s worth, I like you the way you are.”

The corners of Emerson’s lips turn up in a smile, and the breadth of it is a tangible thing that Jason feels right in the center of his chest. That smile right there, toothy and unmasked, makes Jason’s heart beat faster. Everyone should look that happy, especially Emerson.

It isn’t fair that the default even now is straight and neurotypical, to the point Emerson didn’t know if he would be safe just being who he was born to be. It makes Jason want to throw something when he thinks about it too hard. He hates that people have to hide or feel unsafe.

For whatever reason, Emerson chose Jason as the one person in his new life to trust with the pieces of himself no one else knows about yet, and it triggers Jason’s protective urges. He has to tamp down the impulse to tell Emerson he will literally fight anyone who hurts him, aware that’s probably too much, too soon, but Jason’s never pretended to be anything but what he is. He protects the people he cares about, and in a very short time it’s becoming clear to Jason that Emerson is now one of those people. He will be damned if he lets anyone or anything make Emerson feel like he has to shrink back into a closet or hide his needs.

Jason takes a steady breath, trying to will his overeager nature into submission. The last time he felt this protective over someone he was seven. He’d taken one look at Theo with his knobby knees and lack of school lunch and known he was going to keep him. Jason has that same feeling now. Emerson might not be a kid but neither is Jason. Maybe making friends isn’t the same as it was on the playground, but Jason wants to keep him all the same. The intensity with which his brain is screaming at him to take care of Emerson is too hard to ignore, so he doesn’t.

“Hey, Emerson.”

“Hmm?”

“Can I drive you to work?”

“You already did,” Emerson points out.

Jason can’t help but smile, charmed by how literal he is.

“That’s true, but I meant again.”

“Like if the bus is late?” Emerson asks, head cocked to the side. He’s studying Jason intently like he’s looking for something. Jason can only hope whatever it is, he finds.

“Not exactly,” Jason says, leaning forward. “I was just thinking that I could pick you up on Monday.”

“Why?”

“Well, I pass your place on the way to school anyway. It makes sense from a logical standpoint,” he says, offering something concrete and easy to understand but unable to hold back from being equally honest. “But also because we’re friends and I think it would be fun.”

“Fun,” Emerson echoes. “You want to pick me up because you like me?”

“Of course,” Jason says, unsure what to make of Emerson’s blank expression. It occurs to him that putting him on the spot might not have been the best option, but his eagerness to help had overruled everything else. Before he can say any of that the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch and causing Emerson’s expression to shutter further.

“I have to get back to class,” he says, carefully packing his trash and containers back into his lunch bag. “Thank you for um, everything.”

“Anytime,” Jason says, grabbing a Post-it note off the corner of his desk, scribbling down his phone number and offering it to Emerson, with what he hopes is a non-threatening smile. Jason knows he’s huge, between his massive stature and bulky body it would be so easy for him to be intimidating. He learned early on a smile and a laugh went a long way to making others more comfortable. It helps that Jason is genuinely in a good mood most of the time, but even when he’s not, he tries to pretend he is for other people's comfort. “Here’s my number. The offer for a ride is always there, no pressure or time limit on the offer. Just let me know.”

Emerson’s delicate fingers brush over his own as he takes the sticky note, curling his hand around it before shoving it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“You can call me anytime.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Emerson deadpans.

“Oh, uh?—”

“I don’t like talking on the phone,” Emerson explains. There’s a pinch between his eyebrows like admitting as much is stressing him out. “I know it’s stupid but?—”

“Texting then.” Jason offers, softening his smile. “I like texting too. You can text me about the ride if you want, or anything else, too.”

Emerson opens his mouth, but whatever it is he means to say is silenced by the loud ringing of the warning bell causing Emerson’s shoulders to hunch. He’s tall, but the way he shrinks in on himself makes Jason wonder how often he tries to take up less space.

Given that Emerson is more used to his own building than the gym, Jason isn’t confident that he can find his way back to his own classroom. He has his own class that will be coming through those gym doors soon, so he probably shouldn’t leave. Unfortunately, his brain doesn’t much care about logic where Emerson is concerned.

“You want me to walk you back to class?” Jason finds himself asking.

“No,” Emerson says with a shake of his head. Absent-mindedly, he tugs on his hair, making it look like he just walked through a windstorm. It’s endearing really, even if Jason wishes he could bring back the relaxed smile Emerson wore just a few minutes before. “I need to get back, and you have class too, but I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, you—” but before Jason can even think about doing anything spontaneous like inviting Emerson to the football game tonight, he’s gone, leaving behind his half finished can of Coke on the edge of Jason’s desk and a whole lot of unfamiliar emotions.

* * *

“How are you feeling, Jason?” Eddie walks over, clapping Jason on the back. Eddie’s been his assistant coach for two years, and in that time he’s rapidly become one of Jason’s favorite people. He’s dedicated, damn good at wrangling the team and, best of all, he loves football as much as Jason does.

“Feeling good, Eddie. Feeling really good.” Jason stands all that much taller, breathing in the familiar scent of freshly mowed grass and ocean air. There’s few things Jason loves more than the combination of a fresh field and a sea breeze. It settles something in Jason as he closes his eyes and lets the wind ruffle his hair.

“I’m feeling good too,” Eddie replies, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “The twins are with their grandparents tonight for a sleepover and Amy is having a girls’ night. I’ve been looking forward to this game all summer. You think we’re ready?”

“The boys are ready,” Jason nods, as they head down to the field together, unable to stop smiling. There’s something so damn exciting about the first game of the season.

Right now, the stands and field are empty aside from Jason and Eddie, but soon they’ll be full. In less than an hour and a half, everything around them will change—teachers and students will flood the stands, packing them tight and filling the night with the low hum of excited bystanders. And sure, a lot of the staff and students don’t care about football, but they show up for the school, for the team, and that energy fuels on his boys to play harder.

It’s not just the people in the stands either, it’s everyone else who plays a part in game nights. From the band to the cheerleaders to the student council volunteers running the snack bar. Games nights remind Jason of what working as a team and most importantly, working hard can get you. There’s nothing quite like the energy of a home game. And while sometimes lackluster in terms of playing intensity, the season opener’s energy can’t be beat. Jason can’t fucking wait.

Sure, a summer spent relaxing and hanging out with his brothers, Theo and his dogs was great, but the truth is he’s happier during the school year. He loves being busy, watching his kids succeed and feeling a part of something.

“Matty’s already in the locker room,” Eddie offers, nudging Jason in the side harder than is strictly necessary. In turn, Jason messes up his hair. Somehow the longer they work together, the more like siblings they behave, and though Eddie is a decade older than Jason, he definitely acts like his little brother sometimes.

“He doing his pregaming?” Jason asks, by now used to Matty’s pregame routine after coaching him the last few years.

“If by pregaming, you mean sitting in the corner with his headphones on blaring music while not moving, then yes.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his beard. “I remembered what you said last season, so I didn’t bother him.”

“Good man,” Jason says. Not all of his players have pregame rituals but Matty does, and messing with it will just fuck him up. He’s had the same routine since he was a freshman, long before he became starting quarterback. Somewhere along the lines, it became less of a routine and more of a superstition no one dares to interrupt. Not unless they want the game to be a total shit show because when Matty is off, the entire team is off.

The game isn’t for another hour, but Jason’s got a pregame ritual too. It’s the same one he had back when he played on this very field in high school. He used to come out to the field when it was empty just like he is now, staring at the wide open stands and freshly lined field, and soaking it all in. He’s always thought of it a bit like the calm before the storm, letting that peace settle over him and guide him when things get hectic. Back when they played together, Theo used to tease him, telling him the grass was going to look the same at game time as it did before, but something about seeing it all empty has always settled Jason. It reminds him that whatever happens come game time, there’s always another chance. Nothing is forever. There’s always another chance.

“Ah, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

“I forgot the playbook in your office. I know you specifically asked me to swing by and get it before I came down to the field. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go. I need my water anyway. Why don’t you stay here in case any of the newer guys show up early. Make sure they’re hydrated and stretched. They probably won’t see game time today, but they’re part of the team, and they need to learn how to be ready now, so that next year when they’re on that field starting they’ve already got good habits. Then there’s Arlo. He’s gonna show up any minute trying to use the weight room before the game. Don’t let him try to work out, he pushes himself too hard.”

All of that is probably unnecessary since Eddie knows what to do without being told, but sometimes it makes Jason feel better to repeat the obvious. Almost as if saying it out loud, fortifying a plan, can manifest it into happening exactly the way it needs to.

Eddie crosses his arms, eyes on the field. “You got it.”

“I’ll head over to my office and get that playbook then meet you back here.”

“Sounds good, Coach.”

Satisfied that everything is in good hands, Jason strides across the field, smiling to himself as he watches his sneakers leave their mark in the grass. It’s been over a decade since he and Theo played on this field, but the memory has never completely faded. His brothers have teased him about being a teacher and coach, saying he peaked in high school and would never leave. Maybe they’re not too far off. Jason loved high school, loved playing on a team with his best friend, loved everything about it which is why his decision to become a teacher while the rest of his family chose loftier, better paying careers had been easy. Sure Jason is never going to make the big money like Andrew or his parents do, and yeah he won’t ever become well-known like Charlie is in the art world, but he’s damn happy here. As far as Jason is concerned, watching his kids grow up, being a part of them finding their footing before they venture off into the real world, is the most satisfying job on the planet. It doesn’t hurt that he gets to play football or run around doing obstacle courses and have fun most of the time. Honestly, Jason has the best fucking job.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice someone approaching until they’re standing directly in front of him and it’s far too late to change course without being rude which, despite his internal desire to do so, Jason won’t indulge.

“Hello, Mr. Caldwell. Fancy seeing you here on a Friday evening. Are you coming to the game?”

“Of course I’m not,” Mr. Caldwell snaps, like the notion itself offends him. To Jason’s knowledge, he’s never been to a game. Not when Jason was a student and certainly not since he started working here. He’s never met anyone who seems to dislike high school sports, or high schoolers, as much as Mr. Caldwell. Why he is a teacher at all is something Jason has never been able to figure out. “I was looking for you.”

“Me? Why?”

Mr. Caldwell sighs. “I thought it pertinent to remind you that if any of your players fail they can’t play.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “I know the academic policy.”

“Then you might want to encourage your players to actually study rather than spending all their time worrying about a meaningless sport that won’t get them anywhere.”

It’s on the tip of Jason’s tongue to point out that football is a four billion dollar industry, and more importantly as far as Jason is concerned, that his kids happiness is worth more than money. There are invaluable skills taught through sports, but even if they weren’t applicable to a career, his players love the game, which is more than enough. He bites the words back though, not in the mood to argue with Mr. Caldwell. Not today.

Nothing, not even the world’s most cantankerous, unlikeable teacher, is going to ruin his mood. He refuses to give him the power.

“All my boys work hard, Mr. Caldwell. They’re also aware of the policy.” Jason smiles, though it’s forced to say the least. He absolutely hates this fucker. “They’re good kids, which you’d know if you gave them a fair chance.”

“Every student in my class gets the same chance. If they choose to squander that opportunity for success, it’s not my problem,” Mr. Caldwell snaps, straightening his tie. “Keep your players in check or there will be consequences.”

Not for the first time is Jason tempted to tell Mr. Caldwell exactly what he thinks of him. He doesn’t, not because he cares about the consequences for himself directly, but because if he did there’s a chance it would impact his ability to coach or teach, and he won’t do that to his kids.

“You have a great evening, Mr. Caldwell,” Jason tells him, widening his smile, knowing it’ll piss Mr. Caldwell off. “You live off Seaward, right? I’m sure you’ll hear us cheering when we win, and you can celebrate the Santa Leon Wildcats from home.”

The death glare Mr. Caldwell sends him makes Jason’s smile split his face in earnest. He watches Mr. Caldwell depart, ignoring his grumbled, under his breath complaint about noise levels and sporting events needing to be banned. Jason wouldn’t care so much about him hating football, some of the other staff do too, if he didn’t seem determined to make it his life’s mission to take that out on his players in the classroom.

He does a mental check of his players' schedules as he walks towards his classroom. He knows Matty and Ricardo both have Mr. Caldwell, but he’s got to double check on his other senior players, wanting to be aware of which of them might need a little extra support this semester. Mr. Caldwell’s class is no joke, and his desire to see football players fail is something Jason won’t tolerate, especially not when that could jeopardize any of his players’ futures. For all Mr. Caldwell thinks football is a joke, more than one of his senior players is on track to be scouted for college. Both Matty and Ricardo are looking at getting into D1 schools with full rides. Jason knows that neither of their families can afford to send them to college if they don’t get those scholarships—something they can’t do if Mr. Caldwell fails them.

Jason makes a mental note to go over his starting players’ course loads over the weekend to make sure he knows exactly what they might need. Especially Matty. Last year was rough for him academically, and while Jason did what he could, his hands were tied because Matty didn’t—still doesn’t—have an official diagnosis to get him the kind of support Jason strongly suspects he needs. Limited by stupid bureaucracy, the most Jason had been able to do for Matty last year was get him to attend a few extra tutoring lessons. Now that he thinks about it, he should make sure to remind all his players of this so none of them feel singled out.

Pausing in the middle of the walkway, he opens his notes apps to make an actual note to himself, well aware he will absolutely forget this thought by tomorrow if he doesn’t write it down. He’s about to click out of his notes app when Emerson’s face filters into his thoughts, and he finds himself making a new folder simply titled Emerson. There he types out the few things he’s learned about the other man, including his dislike of donuts and affinity for Ranch Doritos, peanut butter and Dr. Pepper. At the last second, he adds on ‘dislikes being late’ as well. It’s not much but it’s a start. He’s never made a folder like this for any of his other coworkers or friends but Emerson is different, his likes and dislikes more than simple preference. If Jason can remember things that might make him feel more at ease, regulated and happy, he wants to.

No sooner has he closed the app then a text message from an unfamiliar phone number pops up on his screen. Jason opens it, unable to stop the ridiculous smile that spreads across his face.

Arlo told me you guys have a game tonight. Every Friday he said. He was quite horrified I didn’t know this. Social etiquette makes me think I should wish you luck. Or am I supposed to tell you to break a leg? I can’t imagine you’d want that in football though.

Jason quickly adds Emerson's name to his contact list before shooting him a reply, a pep in his step as he pockets his phone.