Shades of Gray: Chapter Twenty-Three

Things get worse.

Twenty-Three

            It had been relatively warm that morning for early November, and Ted had walked to school.  On his way home after the hearing, however, the weather had changed dramatically.  It was maybe twenty degrees, with the first few snowflakes of the year dancing on the swirling gusts of arctic air.  Ted lifted the collar of his heavy coat against the wind and hunched forward, shivering.  He was almost to his apartment building when he passed the entrance to the Riverbank Tavern, the favorite watering hole for locals.  It was nearly ten, and light, warmth, and noise poured from the bar as the front door opened, and three figures stumbled out into the night.  One Ted recognized as Mitch Summer. 

            Mitch had graduated with Ted eleven years before, and had flunked off the football team their senior year.  A construction worker in town, Mitch was a heavyset man with a ruddy complexion made even more crimson by drink and now the cold.  With him were two locals with familiar faces Ted did not know by name.  They staggered suddenly out onto the sidewalk, and Mitch lumbered into Ted blindly, bumping him hard.  Ted took a couple of steps back and raised a hand by way of apology.  Not interested in a conversation with the drunks, he started to continue on the hundred feet or so to the front door of his building.

            “Hey!” bellowed Mitch.  “What the fuck, man?”  He shoved Ted with both hands in his back, sending him nearly sprawling against the concrete curb.  Ted caught himself and stood back up.  He glanced over his shoulder.

            “Sorry, Mitch.  Didn’t mean to get in your way.  See you around.”

            “It’s Gray!” Mitch Summer yelled in recognition.  Ted paused long enough to nod, then headed back down the sidewalk.  “What, too good to talk to us, you pansy-ass bitch?”  Ted heard a few quick footsteps behind him and turned just in time to catch a fist with his jaw.  He spun around from the ferocity of the blow, and tasted the warm blood in his mouth.  Turning around he felt another, connect on his temple, forcing him to the ground.  There was a ringing in his ears as Ted pushed against the ground to get up when he felt a punishing kick in his ribs, and then another.  He could hear the voices of the men he did not know, jeering at first, but then confused.  They sounded far away.

            “Mitch, man, what the fuck?” they asked in slurred tones. 

            “Knock it off, man, let’s go!”  The blows stopped, and Ted lay quietly on the sidewalk, blood dripping through his clenched teeth.  The voice that came from behind his right ear was guttural and angry, and stank of whiskey.  He tried to get up, to fight back, the rage and shame burning in his heart, but there was a knee in his back and a hand on the back of his neck holding him down.

            “Fuck you, Ted Gray, you stuck-up prick,” Mitch Summer rasped.  “So much goddamn better than everybody else.  I always hated your guts, you faggot.”  He spit on Ted’s cheek, hot and wet.  “But you’re just a loser like the rest of us, ain’tcha?”  Ted felt the fingers clench the hair on the back of his head and rap his forehead hard into the asphalt once.  The world swam as he fought to stay conscious.  The pressure on his back was gone and he rolled over, but his assailants had left.  He stared up at the night sky, shocked at the visceral frenzy of the attack.  He clambered to one knee, then unsteadily to his feet.  There was a sharp twinge in his side, and he sucked in his breath at the pain, wondering if the ribs were broken or just bruised.  He touched his head and felt a huge egg emerging there. 

            Staggering the last few yards to his apartment, Ted slowly climbed the stairs, gasping at the pain on each step.  Once inside, he gingerly took off his coat and found an icepack for his head.  Swallowing a handful of Advil, he sank gently into his couch.  He knew Mitch Summer was bad news, but the depth of his hate was a surprise to Ted.  He was just drunk, he thought.  Just bad timing.  It was a bad lie, but all he could manage at the moment.  Ted picked up the phone to call Jill, but somehow dialed Maria Varsalone’s number instead.  After few rings her voice mail picked up.

            “Maria,” he said.  “I’ll meet you Saturday night after the game.  We’ll go to Washington together.”  He hung up.

            I have to get out of this town.

Shades of Gray: Chapters Twenty-one and Twenty-two

Chapter 22 is long.  It is for all of the teachers and coaches I have had the privilege to know.

Twenty-One

            Thursday was a fuzzy blur to Ted.  He conducted exams for his students in his other classes, and tried to think about the game, but that only kept  bringing his mind back to the special meeting later that night.  As he sat at his desk during the last period of the day watching his freshmen plow through their World History test, he reviewed his handling of Bobby Craig.  He searched for mistakes, for things he could have done differently, but no matter how he looked at it he kept coming up empty.  The boy had failed, despite all the help Ted could give, and it would likely cost the player his future and both of them a state title.  More than that, he thought.  I’m probably finished here. 

            What if they restore his eligibility tonight? Ted mused.  His integrity would be intact and he’d have his star player back.  He rolled that around in his mouth for a few minutes, but the taste was repulsive.  It would be wrong, it would be dirty and unethical and he couldn’t do it.  Sanctioned cheating was still cheating.  No way out there.  At that moment he decided that if the School Board overruled him and reinstated Bobby, he would resign immediately and accept the Varsalones’ offer.  His heart ached with the realization that this could be his last day in Stockbridge, that after everything his family had done here, it could all end tonight.

            He gazed about the classroom, at the backs of the twenty-five young kids bent over their desks.  There was Meg Heather’s long blond hair, in a plaited braid this morning.  Mike and Lisa, he thought, knowing they’d understand but not sure if they’d agree with him or not.  There were several freshman football players in the class, including Jay Scarpinski, a hell-on-wheels linebacker that Ted had looked forward to having on his varsity.  Now he’d never see what kind of player he could become.

            The bell rang, and the students dashed off final answers and brought the completed exams to his desk before heading off to whatever waited for them after school.  More than a few regarded him with a mixed look of concern and disbelief, as if he were a zoo animal with a large sign hanging on his cage: North American Football Coach.  Endangered.

            Ted gathered his things into his shoulder satchel and moved down the hallway toward the locker room.  He was enveloped in a sort of fog, watching the usual post-school scene with a strange detachment, as if he were not there but rather watching from afar.  A couple of his players and students nodded at him in greeting, but most of the kids made no sign of recognition except to move out of his way, so that instead of dodging and weaving his way through, he had a clear path. 

            He noticed his footsteps had betrayed him, carrying him not down to the locker room, but into the math wing.  He stopped walking and stood quietly, watching Jill outside her classroom, talking animatedly with her department head, Clark Morgan.  Clark taught calculus, was a bright and able educator, and his son Al was a stalwart on Ted’s offensive line.  He was a large man, tall and ponderously fat, with thick glasses perched over a thick moustache that made him look like a nearsighted walrus.  He was popular with both students and staff, but as he noticed Ted standing a few feet away, he stopped talking to Jill and stared darkly at his colleague from the history department.  It looked briefly as though he might say something, but instead he turned and lumbered off down the hallway.

            Ted took a few steps toward Jill, but she raised a hand in a gesture of refusal.  He knew from the look on her face that she’d been defending him against Clark Morgan, and that this was tearing her apart as much as it was him.  She also knew as much as he did that the worse this got, the more any chance of him staying diminished.  She looked at him for a long moment, green eyes full of sadness and a little bit of pride, then backed into her room and closed the door.

            Ted leaned against the corridor wall and closed his eyes.  What else can they take from me? 

Twenty-Two

           

            Practice that afternoon was, oddly, a little better than the day before.  It seemed that the staff had decided to go about their business as if Bobby would be reinstated tonight.  They gave Ted a wide berth, as though he was in his final hours as the head coach.  Ted spent most of his time with Chris Stanley, doing everything he could to make the boy ready should he need to play Saturday.  The junior backup was nervous and jittery, and his passes were well off the mark.  It was still an awkward, uncomfortable exercise, and when seven o’clock came Ted was relieved.  It was not unusual for his assistants to address the team after practice, so he stood aside as Terry McAllister spoke to the players in a low, rumbling drawl.  It was dim and cold on the practice field, lit only by a few sparse light banks glowing high above the turf.  Ted watched his breath puff out in front of him, embracing the clean, crisp air that filled his lungs.  He tried not to think that it could be his last practice.  Finally the players broke their massive huddle, and shuffled off to change and head home. 

            Who am I kidding? Ted chuckled grimly to himself.  Nobody was going home. He headed for the auditorium, knowing it would be full.

            Full was an understatement.  As he walked through the corridor leading to the assembly hall, there was a low buzz like thousands of bees that grew louder as he approached.  As he moved into the huge room, the noise hit his ears like a physical blow, a thousand people crammed into the space, all talking at once.  Ted moved to the stage, where a long table was standing.  The nine members of the Stockbridge School Board milled about behind the table, engaged in their own conversations.  There was Tap Avery, tall and thin, in an immaculate gray suit, perfect brown hair shot through with silver.  He caught Ted’s eye, and smirked, a self-satisfied look that turned Ted’s stomach.  Something inside him snapped, and as he looked around the auditorium, Ted decided there was no way he was going to allow that smug bastard to have his way.

            His steps suddenly lighter than they had been in days, Ted mounted the stairs to the stage and sat down at a side table where a hastily-made paper tag displayed his name.  Next to him was Principal Beck, who smiled and patted him on the knee under the table.  Across from them, at a similar table, were both Robert Craigs, senior and junior.  Bobby was in a buttoned shirt with a loosely knotted tie, hair unkempt as usual, looking down at the microphone before him in terror and, Ted thought, more than a little shame.

            The board members broke off their conversations and made their way to their seats.  Tap stood behind his seat, fingering his gavel, savoring the moment.  He then rapped the small wooden mallet against its pad on the table, and the burgeoning crowd began to settle down.  Once the auditorium was silent, the chairman took his seat.  Ted wondered where Jill was in the audience, but the stage lights made it impossible to see much detail beyond the first few rows.  He put her from his mind and focused on the matter at hand.

            “This special emergency meeting of the Stockbridge School Board is now convened,” intoned Tap Avery in a smooth, confident baritone.  “We are meeting in public session to determine whether to accept or deny the petition of Mr. Robert Craig, appealing the academic suspension of his son and seeking to reinstate his athletic eligibility.”  There was a low murmur from the crowd, which quickly subsided as Tap continued.

            “First, we will hear from the petitioner, Mr. Robert Craig, Sr.  Sir, please present your petition.”  The elder Craig adjusted the table microphone in front of him, and cleared his throat.  He then began to read from the pages in front of him in a slow and deliberate voice.

            “Chairman Avery, members of the Board, first thank you for convening this special hearing on such short notice.  It is gratifying that you recognize the urgency of this matter.  Our request is simple.  We ask that Mr. Gray’s decision to render our son academically ineligible for athletic participation be overturned.  Bobby is willing to engage in whatever makeup exams or extra credit is needed to repair his grade average, but we feel this decision by Mr. Gray unfairly targets our son and deprives him of his future livelihood.  We respectfully request that Bobby’s eligibility be restored.  Thank you.”

            Mr. Gray, thought Ted wryly.  Not Coach.  He shook his head.    

            “Thank you Mr. Craig.  Will the members please note that before me is a petition signed by over a thousand registered voters in the school district, supporting Mr. Craig’s request.”  Tap indicated a pile of pages in front of him, then turned to face the other wing of the stage.  “Ms. Beck?”  Beth Beck pulled her microphone closer.

            “Thank you Mr. Chairman.  As Principal of Stockbridge High School I support Coach Gray’s decision and find that it is based on sound pedagogical standards and that the young Mr. Craig has been given every opportunity to fairly achieve the required marks.  I recommend that the Board reject Mr. Craig’s petition as irregular and without merit.”  She paused.  “Sir, I want to see Bobby play Saturday as much as anyone, but if we make an exception here, the message we send to our students is terrible.  The rules cannot be different for regular students and star football players, Mr. Chairman.  Coach Gray’s decision was the right one and you should support him.”

            God bless you, Beth Beck.

            “Thank you, Principal Beck,” Tap muttered.  “I will now open this matter for comment from the Board.”  After a brief pause, a number of hands went up along the table.  Here we go, Ted thought.  Tap pointed first at Eileen Thomas, an older woman who had been on the Board for years.

            “I don’t like it,” she snapped without prelude.  Tiny and topped by a shock of thick white hair, Eileen had once been a formidable Board member, but as she got older she became more unpredictable and ornery.  “The boy failed an exam?  In my day I don’t even know if the football players took damn exams.  Frankly I don’t know what the one has to do with the other.  Let the boy play, he’ll make up the work.”  She sat back, hands folded in her lap, as if that were the end of the discussion.

            “I’m sorry Mr. Chairman,” said Sally Bergeron coolly when she was called on next.  Sally was new on the Board, a homemaker with two kids in the junior high.  “It seems to me that Mr. Gray has done everything right here.  It also seems to me that he has every reason to make sure Bobby can play on Saturday, and no reason to suspend him except because it’s right.  He’s exactly the kind of teacher we should have in our schools, and I hope he stays long enough for my girls to be in his class.”  Ted had never met Sally before, but he was grateful that a rookie Board member would have that kind of courage.

            “Sally,” grinned Ron Nelson from down the table, shaking his head patronizingly.  “This isn’t some afterschool special.”  Ron was a housing contractor with a junior son who started at cornerback for the Wolves.  “You can’t really be that naïve, can you?  Look at him sitting over there.  He can’t stand to see this kid do what he couldn’t, so he’s going to hold him back.  It’s petty and small, and I wish it wasn’t true, but…”

            “Oh come on!” shouted another member of the Board Ted didn’t know, Isaac Bond, an older man.  “You can’t be serious!”

            And it went on like that for nearly an hour, as the nine people sitting behind the long table discussed right and wrong, high school sports, and a little too much psychoanalysis of Ted for his taste.  No consensus seemed to be emerging, and as far as Ted could tell, the Board was fairly well split, with four members on either side of the issue.  The ninth member had been quiet throughout the proceedings, and as the evident stalemate continued, she patiently raised her hand.  Surprised, Tap called on Marilyn Turner.  Her son Dave had graduated with Ted, though they hadn’t been teammates and Ted only vaguely remembered him.  A dignified retired secretary, Marilyn spoke in soft, precise tones when the room fell silent as she was recognized.

            “Mr. Chairman, I would like to hear from Mr. Gray.”  There was a hushed ripple of sound through the audience, a wave of audible anticipation, as Ted rose to speak.

            “Thank you, ma’am.  It’s certainly been interesting to sit here as the good members of the Board have been discussing my relative merits.  But really, this has nothing to do with me.  This is about Bobby Craig.”  He pointed at the young man.  “I love this kid.  The idea that I’d hold him back from some dusty record of mine is as ludicrous as it is insulting.  He’s a far better player than I was.  He’s a great high school quarterback.  He’s a no-doubt Division I college quarterback, scholarship material.  But he’s not pro football good.  And as much as I can teach him on the football field, my responsibility in the classroom is far more important.  In five years he’s going to be doing something other than playing football, and if we fail to prepare him for that, shame on us.”  Ted paused, looking down and rapping on the table with a knuckle.

            “But this is also about more than Bobby, it’s about the other students, many of whom are here.  None of them are going to be pro football players, either.  Most of them are going to have to get into college on their academic records, and I won’t cheapen their efforts by giving away for free what they’ve worked so hard to earn.  We prepare these kids in the classroom and on the practice field for life, trying to teach skills and knowledge but more importantly by trying to impart character and judgment.  How can I look these kids in the face ever again if I tell them to make good choices and then bend the rules because it would be convenient?”  He turned back to the Board.  “How can you?”

            “Finally, this is about more than these kids, this is about you, all of you.  It wasn’t so long ago, eleven short years, that I was a student,” he continued, lowering his voice to just above a whisper.  “It might as well have been a century.  When I screwed up, and a teacher or coach threatened to tell my father, I was scared to death.  I would have cleaned out all the school bathrooms with a toothbrush on my hands and knees if it meant my old man wouldn’t find out I’d talked back on the practice field or failed an exam.  Now, the kids are the ones threatening to tell their parents!  And somehow I’m still scared to death.  Scared that if I say the wrong thing to a girl whose skirt is too short or touch one of my players the wrong way on the shoulder, everything I have could be taken away from me.

            “Well,” he laughed.  “Go ahead.  Be agents for your kids.  Be their lawyers.  Be their friends.  Be anything but a damn parent.  And when you’ve driven out the educators and coaches who are actually trying to teach these kids the lessons you seem to have missed, when men and women of integrity and passion do something other than teach because it’s a lonely, losing battle, then there’ll be no one left to blame.  I’d say I look forward to that day, but I’ll be long gone, folks.  So will Beth Beck and Mike Heather, and…” he almost choked up, his voice catching, “…and Jill Ward.  Ask your kids who their favorite teacher is, and they’ll be gone.

            “I know the Board’s going to vote however it’s going to vote tonight, and whatever comes of that, so be it.  But I’ll tell you right now, if you’re in favor of changing the rules for one kid because he’s a helluva football player, then shame on you.  If you made one phone call asking for one of these members to vote that way, shame on you.  If you signed your name to that petition over there, shame on you.”  Ted’s voice had risen steadily through his comments, and he had almost shouted the last sentence.  He stood, the cavernous hall deathly silent, no one breathing, but he was finished.  Finding his seat, he looked straight ahead, his eyes on Bobby.  The senior returned his gaze with swimming eyes, eyes full of regret that Ted would give anything to make right.  Beth rubbed his shoulder as suddenly the silence was broken by a few solitary claps that became full-fledged applause.  Surprised, Ted glanced to the audience.  It seemed that more than half of them were on their feet, shouting encouragement.  Gratifying as that was, Ted noted that many appeared to still be sitting, some yelling the opposite view.  He knew there would be many who resented his words, but he was beyond politics now.  If this was to be his last night in Stockbridge, then he would leave with the truth on his lips.

            Tap Avery angrily pounded with the gavel, shouting into the microphone for order.  It took several minutes for the chaos in the seats to settle down, but eventually the tumult was reduced to a low rumble.  The chairman looked at the other members of the Board, who seemed disinclined to continue the debate.  Ted wondered if he had made any difference.  Sure, he thought.  You probably made it worse.

            “Very well then,” grumbled Tap.  “If there are no more comments, I will entertain a motion at this time.”

            “Mr. Chairman.”  It was Ron Nelson.  “I move that the Board accept Mr. Craig’s petition and reinstate Bobby Craig’s athletic eligibility.”  There was a pause, and then Eileen Thomas chirped, “Second.”

            “All those in favor?”  Three hands rose in the air, and slowly Tap Avery added his for four affirmative votes.  Some voices started to whoop with joy in the auditorium, others shouted in livid fury as the chairman asked for those against.  Five hands were raised, and bedlam exploded in the hall.  Ted heard little of Tap Avery’s final comments, his head in his hands.  His decision had been upheld.  It was all he could do not to throw up.

Shades of Gray: Chapters Nineteen and Twenty

Nineteen

            Jill had just finished getting Abby in bed, which had become a Herculean task in recent months.  At eight o’clock each night they would convene on Abby’s small bed, after teeth had been brushed and long red hair combed free of knots the day had managed to tangle.  The mother would tuck in the daughter, and as they’d done since the beginning they’d read together, usually a short story or book, though they’d been moving on to longer fare.  Usually Abby fell asleep quickly, but lately one book would be insufficient to close the bright eyes for good.  It had always been an important shared time for them, but it was becoming exhausting for Jill.

            It must be the first grade, she thought as she sat at the tiny kitchen table grading advanced algebra exams.  It was Jill’s favorite time of day, quiet and relaxed, a deep purple darkness outside the glassy windows, muffled sounds of the other tenants ending their day barely audible through the thin walls of the building.  She took a sip from the cup of peppermint tea she’d made and savored the sharp taste and the warmth in her throat.  Staring at the exam in front of her, the numbers swam as she tried to focus, tried not to think of Ted Gray.  Maybe he’ll call.  It was a half hope, since she wasn’t sure if she should speak to him if he did. 

            Jill had scarcely succeeded in concentrating on the task at hand when her phone rang.  Sighing, she put down her red pen and walked to the couch, rifling through her purse for her cell.  Upon finding it, she realized it wasn’t the cell but her home phone, on the wall in the kitchen.  I’m more out of it than I thought.  Her heart dipped a little as she realized it probably wasn’t Ted, since he usually called her cell phone.  Maybe her mom?  She picked it up after the fourth ring.

            “Hello?”  There was a long pause on the other end.

            “Hi…Jill?”  The voice was familiar.  It might have taken her some time to place it, had he not introduced himself.  “Jill, this is Ed Kendall.”         

            She almost dropped the phone.  Ed Kendall, Abby’s biological father, and the last real lover Jill had known until Ted.  She wanted to hang up, to tell him to go fuck himself, or to shout a thousand other obscenities she had saved up over the last seven years in the event she ever spoke to him again, but when she reached down they were all gone.  Over the years it had simply been too much effort to maintain the hate at a full boil, though the thought of him still turned her stomach and made her knees buckle with old hurts.  She had a hard time picturing his face clearly.

            “Jill?”  Jill realized she hadn’t spoken for a long time, and marshaled the strength to speak in more than a whisper.

            “Ed.”  She was pleased that her voice was flat, emotionless, failing to betray the churning mix of emotions in her belly.  “What do you want?  How did you get my number?”  Ed chuckled, and the gentleness was alien to Jill.  She remembered his laugh as cackling and cruel, usually directed at an unfortunate drunken fraternity pledge.  No, she thought, that’s revisionist memory on your part.  He always was charming, that’s how he got you in the sack in the first place.

            “Jill, you’re in the phone book,” he replied.  “And I want to see you.”

            “What happened?” Jill asked sharply, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice.  “Your girlfriend dump you, and now you’re calling all the women ever stupid enough to sleep with you before to see if you can get lucky again?”  Her contemptuous tone bothered her a little, but this was Ed Kendall.  She had once fantasized about running him over repeatedly with a dump truck until he was rolled out flat like a pie crust, not to mention other, more gruesome fates.  Harsh words were practically cordial in comparison.  

            “I deserve that,” Ed answered, his voice losing none of its easy contrition.  “But no, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time.  Jill, this is a conversation I’d really rather have in person.”  She snorted in response.

            “You don’t deserve my time.  In fact, I’ve already given you too much of that tonight.”

            “It’s about our daughter,” Ed stated, and something inside Jill snapped. 

            “Don’t you dare,” she snarled.  “Don’t you fucking dare call her that.  You haven’t the right.  You’re nothing to her, Ed, you’re just a check in the mail.  You’ve never even met her.”  There was another prolonged silence, and when he spoke again Ed’s voice sounded choked by tears.

            “I know,” he mumbled.  “I’ve been a fool, a dick, an asshole, all of it.  I was a kid, Jill, and I was scared.  But I know now that walking out on you, on both of you, was the stupidest thing I ever did.”  Jill thought she’d be crying by now, but she realized she’d already wept herself dry for Ted Gray, and she had none left for Ed-goddamn-Kendall.  With a laugh, she finally found the words she’d been groping for earlier.

            “Go fuck yourself, Ed.”

            And she hung up.   

Twenty

            Ted collapsed on the couch in his apartment, weary beyond measure.  Without question, the previous two hours had been the worst practice of his life.  He’d first told the coaches, most of whom had lobbied for some sort of second chance, which irked Ted.  It had been worse telling the players.  The reaction had been split, with some small fraction trying to rally behind Chris, another portion exploding into anger with Bobby, and the lion’s share falling into a sullen silence that Ted knew was resentment against the coach who they believed could spare them this disaster with the stroke of a pen.  The practice itself had been wooden and dispiriting, most of the players almost sleepwalking, and the obvious lack of offensive chemistry with Chris Stanley at the helm worse than could have been expected.

            As Ted lay there contemplating his prospects of fleeing the country, his phone rang.  God, I hope that’s Jill, he thought.

            “Coach.”  It was Robert Craig Sr., Bobby’s father.

            “Mr. Craig.”  Ted knew what was coming, and he wished he could find a fast-forward button to skip the next few minutes of his life.

            “Coach Gray, you know I respect you, and am grateful for everything you’ve done for Bobby.  I just can’t understand why you insist on failing him in your class.”  The words were polite, but Robert’s tone was clipped and tense.

            “Mr. Craig, sir, Bobby is academically ineligible.  I would move heaven and earth to change that if I could, believe me, but I’m afraid your son is responsible for keeping his grades up.  He knows that.”

            “I’ve already had that conversation with him.  I’m begging you, Ted, isn’t there something you can do?  A makeup exam?”  The pleading tone made Ted nauseous. 

            “No, I can’t.  It wouldn’t be fair to the other students, and frankly, sir, I’m a little surprised to hear this from you.  You know as well as I do this isn’t Bobby’s first problem in the classroom, and maybe if there was as much emphasis at home on schoolwork as there is on sports…”  He wasn’t sure why he said it, whether it was the fatigue or the bitter taste in his mouth or the years of meddling sports parents, but as soon as it was out he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. 

            “Now see here.”  The civility was gone from Robert Craig’s voice.  “How dare you talk about my family that way?  I know you used to be a big deal around here kiddo, but from what I hear you fell apart when you had your chance.  Now you’re going to stand in my son’s way?  What are you, afraid he’ll win where you couldn’t?  That he’ll break your record?  That someone else will be the best ever to play for the Wolves?”  The anger was mounting on the other end of the line, and Ted simply remained silent, letting the other man unload.  There was nothing he could say anyway, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

            “If you won’t help, I’m calling Tap Avery.  He’ll get this straightened out, and if you’re put out with the trash on Friday morning, so be it.”  The slam of the phone in the cradle was loud in Ted’s ear as Craig hung up.  Replacing the phone on its wall mount, Ted rubbed his eyes.  He could hear the lines humming now, knowing that in a small town like Stockbridge it would all be arranged by morning.  Robert Craig would call Tap Avery, a member of the School Board.  Tap would call Superintendent Peter Yancy, who would call Stockbridge High Principal Beth Beck.

            Wait for it, Ted thought.  At eleven o’clock his phone rang again.  It was Beth.

            “Ted,” her voice was almost as tired as he felt.  Ted liked Beth Beck.  She was a tough, friendly woman in her late forties, a fantastic administrator and a great English teacher before that, as well as a staunch supporter of Wolves football.  “There’s going to be a special meeting of the School Board, tomorrow night.  I guess you can figure out what’s on the agenda.”

            Why not sooner than that? Ted wanted to ask.  Instead he made a noncommittal grunt.

            “It’ll be at the High School auditorium, after practice to accommodate you,” she said.  “I stuck up for you, and I’ll support you tomorrow.  But Tap Avery can make this very difficult for both of us.”

            “Thanks, Beth.”  Tap Avery owned three car dealerships in town, had been President of the local Rotary Club, and was a longtime member of the School Board, currently chairman.  His son Marc was a sophomore receiver on Ted’s squad.  “I’ll be there.”  He hung up and began to wonder if he should just head to D.C. tonight.

Shades of Gray: Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen

Two short chapters for Sunday night!

Seventeen

            Ted dashed up the stairs to his apartment.  He knew Jill was there, he’d seen her car parked out front.  The door was open, so he pushed past it and into his living room.  Jill was seated there on the couch, an open backpack half-filled with possessions she’d left there on the carpet at her feet.  Her eyes were red and her cheeks wet.  When she saw him come into the room, she got up.

            “Who is she?” she asked, green eyes boring a hole in him. 

            “Jill, listen,” Ted replied evenly.  “Calm down.  There’s something I should have told you before.”

            “Damn it, Ted!  Why did you lie to me!”

            “I didn’t lie!” he shouted back, his voice quieting back down immediately.  “And I’m not going to lie now.  Sit back down, please.”  Reluctantly, she sank back down on the couch, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.  Ted knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his.  She tried to pull away, but he seized them again forcefully and held on.

            “First,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers, “you must trust me.  Nothing has changed, I still love you and want to be with you.  Do you believe me when I say that?”
            “ I want to,” she whispered.

            “Good.  Now, when I was at Columbia, I dated a woman named Maria.  She’s smart, beautiful, and we were engaged to be married.  I broke it off when I left five years ago, and I hadn’t seen or spoken to her since until this afternoon.”

            “What did she want?”  Jill worked hard to put aside the concept that Ted had been engaged.  For all they’d shared, his grief about his parents and his doubts about his future, he’d chosen to keep that secret.  “Did she come here to get you back, to start up again?”  Jill was close to dissolving back into tears.

            “More or less,” Ted told her about Maria’s father, the Congressional race, and the offer.  He also admitted that it appeared his reunion with Maria was part of the package.

            “You want to go,” Jill murmured hoarsely.  “I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice.”

            “Part of me does,” Ted admitted, getting to his feet and walking away.  “Part of me wonders what I could accomplish there.”  He turned back to face Jill.  She was staring at the floor, absently fingering a loose strand of yarn on the sleeve of her sweater.

            “Come with me,” he blurted suddenly.  He sat next to her, encircling her with his arms.  “If I go, it’s for the opportunity, not for Maria.  What we had is gone, and it was never like what I have with you.  Let’s do it together.”  Jill looked up at him, eyes bright and full of brief hope that flickered and quickly died.  She shook her head, stroking the side of his face, an unbearable sadness building between them like a physical wall.

            “No,” she said quietly.  “I can’t.  I won’t raise Abby down there, and I won’t be away from her.  My life is here, Ted, and while you were here I could…I could pretend that I’d have you forever.  But that was a daydream, I know that now.”

            “Then I won’t go.  I don’t want to lose you, Jill.”  Ted was the one near tears now, while Jill seemed to have found some inner strength.

            “You’ll go,” she said through a tight-lipped smile.  “It’s what you’ve wanted ever since you came back.  You’ve said it yourself, Stockbridge is too small for you.  You were put here to do more than coach football and teach history.  You’re made for bigger things, Ted Gray, and I would never get in the way of that.  I love you too much.”  She got up, shaking off his arms.  She gathered up her bag, stuffing the rest of her things into it.

            “Don’t I have some say in this?” demanded Ted.  He rose as well, blocking the door.  “What if I want to stay here?”

            “Then stay,” she stated.  “But not for me.  It would have to be what you want, what you choose.  I don’t want to wake up ten years from now next to a man bitter with regret.”  She moved close in to him, kissing him tenderly.  “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did earlier.  I do trust you, Ted, and love you.  And I’ll miss you.”  She slipped past him and out the door, leaving Ted alone with a terrible choice.

Eighteen

            Stockbridge High School was awash in white and gray banners on Monday, walls adorned with signs promoting the miracle Wolves football team.  Ted could swear that Matt Pakal had grown three inches since Saturday, and was suddenly thrust into that magical circle of teen royalty that Bobby Craig and his friends inhabited.  The palpable sense of excitement and anticipation of the coming title game rematch against Northport was tempered, however, by the major exams scheduled that week.  On Tuesday afternoon Mike Heather happily reported that Bobby Craig had managed a B- on his biology exam that morning.  That night after practice Ted spoke briefly to Bobby’s other teachers, who reported similar modest successes sufficient to sustain his barely-eligible grade average.  Even Jill, in a short and stiffly formal phone conversation, was able to share in the good news with Bobby’s C on her math test. 

            Ted wanted nothing more than to go to her, but they had mutually decided to spend the week apart, letting Ted focus on exams, game preparation, and wrestling with his decision.  It was hardly ideal, but even Ted had to admit he was busy and exhausted.  At home alone late Tuesday night, he watched on television as Michael Varsalone handily won his election in Manhattan.  Ted had half hoped he would lose, and events would remove the decision from his hands, but as the returns rolled in it became clear that he would not be reprieved.

    On Wednesday his senior US History class, including Paul Green and Bobby Craig, settled in for their exams.  For the last couple of weeks Bobby had been under the intensive tutoring of Ashley Hanson in preparation for the test, and as Ted handed out the stapled packets he silently prayed that his star pupil had done her work well. 

            He would be disappointed.

            “An F?”  He tossed the exam, unrecognizable under a thicket of red ink, on the desk in front of Bobby later that day.  Ted usually graded exams and papers at home, but following the morning test period he had been particularly anxious to review Bobby’s effort.  It was abysmal.  Far fewer than half of the answers were correct, and even with generous partial credit the grade was well south of 50%.  Ted had asked the main office to have Bobby report to his classroom immediately after school, and his player had complied.  Now the young quarterback sat, half sheepish and half penitent, before his teacher and coach.

            “Pretty, bad, huh?” he mumbled, his neck reddening above the collar.

            “Bad?  Bobby, Pearl Harbor was bad.  This is disastrous.  What the hell happened?  All that time with Ashley?”  The color crept up into Bobby’s face.

            “Well…Coach, we got together every night after practice like you asked, and she’s real smart, like you said.  And…well, she’s pretty, too, and I…” his voice trailed off, and he actually smiled.

            “You didn’t.”  Ted was aghast.  “Bobby, are you telling me that you and Ashley Hanson…”  The goofy smile was still there.  “You’re kidding.”  Ted plucked the exam back off the desk and sent it sailing across the room.  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly. 

            “Bobby…damn it…Bobby, you’re academically ineligible for Saturday’s game.”  There was a prolonged, stunned silence before the senior leapt up from his chair.

            “Coach, no.  I swear, give me another chance.  I can pass the test, I promise.”

            Never in his life had Ted ever wanted to bend the rules more.  He stared at Bobby Craig, knowing that the stakes were impossibly high for the young man.  Setting aside the chance to play in a state title game and the chance to set a career passing record, the scholarships would dry up, and his entire life would be changed from this moment on.

            “I’m sorry, I really am,” Ted murmured.  “But I won’t change the grade, Bobby, I won’t, and school academic policy prevents me from making available a makeup exam based on performance.  And before you ask, there’s no amount of extra credit you can do that wouldn’t be preferential treatment.” 

            Bobby stood stock still, as if he’d been paralyzed.  His face fell into a look of heartrending despair.  Without another word, the star quarterback turned and shuffled out of the room.  Now, thought Ted, all I have to do is go to practice and tell the team they get to go to Northport Saturday with Chris Stanley under center.

Shades of Gray: Chapter Sixteen

The plot proverbially thickens.

Sixteen

            The festivity in the Wolves’ locker room was raucous and wild.  The win over Warlick had catapulted Stockbridge into the state title game for the first time in eleven years, and set up a rematch with Northport, who had beaten Dunbar Academy the night before in the other semifinal.  Loud party music filled the room, and half-dressed teenagers high-fived and chest-bumped, yelling and cheering.  Once again Bobby Craig was the conquering hero, and he held court in his usual corner like a young Unitas.

            When the celebration grew unnaturally still it happened in a rolling wave, young men suddenly clutching towels to their groins in stunned silence.  They parted before the slight figure penetrating their midst, the clicking of her heels on the wet tile the only remaining sound.  She was young, perhaps twenty-eight, but light-years beyond the experience of the boys ogling her.  Compared to the girls they were used to coaxing to second base, this was a woman the likes of which they only knew from magazines or the wonders of the internet.  Adolescent eyes bulged from their sockets as she passed, tight gray pants clinging to her sculpted backside, jacket open over a white blouse that covered high, perfect breasts.  Her face was tanned and flawless, and her long, full hair cascaded behind her like a black waterfall.  She paused in the middle of a sea of teenage testosterone, already at peak arousal from their victory short minutes before.  Standing with her hips angled, she smiled, a bright flash of blinding white.

            “Where can I find Coach Gray?” she asked in a gravelly, nightclub jazz-singer voice.

            “Over here.”  Curious about the sudden silence in the locker room, Ted had emerged and was standing in the threshold of his office, Bill Pope and Terry McAllister behind him.  His assistants were only doing a marginally better job at hiding their ogling than were their players.

            “Hello, Maria,” Ted said, his own voice husky and strained from the efforts of the afternoon.  He looked around at his bewildered players, surrounding her in a half-naked leer, and almost smiled.

            “Teddy bear,” she beamed.  “Nice win.”

            “Thanks.”  He made a waving motion with his hands at his players to disperse, and turned to Terry.  “I thought we locked that door after games.  How the hell did she get in here?”  Gray-haired Terry shrugged.

            “Ah dunno.  But who all is gonna tell her she cain’t go somewheah?”

            Ted ignored that and moved across the floor to where the slim beauty stood.   

            “I never thought I’d see you here,” he murmured.

            “Long time no Maria,” she cooed, and leaned in to kiss him.  There was a hushed gasp from the boys, who hadn’t gone far in the cramped room, and a few hoots of approval.  Ted broke quickly away from the embrace and sighed, suddenly deeply tired.

            “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at the crowd of eyes behind him, and he could only imagine what rumors were being born.  He quickly strode over to his office, grabbing his coat.  On his way back out he glanced at Bill Pope.

            “Find Jill, dammit.  Tell her not to worry…or get pissed.  I’ll fill you in later, OK?”  The older man nodded, still drinking in the scenery that had wandered into their locker room on four-inch heels.  Ted hurried back to the intruder and escorted her back up the stairs and out into the small atrium at the back side of the school.

            “Jesus, Maria,” he hissed.  “What the hell was that back there?  No,” he raised a hand.  “Never mind.  It doesn’t matter.  What are you doing here, anyway?  Five years without a call, and then you just show up?”  She slid an arm around his waist, and for an instant it was achingly familiar.  Maria Theresa Varsalone was more than just an ideal physical female specimen.  She was also probably the smartest person Ted had ever met other than her father.  Dr. Michael Varsalone had been Ted’s professor of Constitutional Law at Columbia and his mentor.  Both Varsalones had made impassioned pleas for him to remain at law school when he decided to leave.  Dr. V because he had seen Ted as one of the most gifted minds he’d ever taught, and saw his departure as a colossal waste of academic and political potential.  Maria because Ted’s dropping out included the breaking of their engagement.

            “Teddy,” she began.  “Father is going to win his race.”  Ted nodded.

            “I know.”  Dr. Varsalone was running for Congress in the 15^th District in Manhattan as a progressive Democrat.  “I noticed it in the news.  Tell him good luck, will you?”

            Maria laughed, a throaty sound that brought an avalanche of memories crushing down on Ted. 

            “Silly man.  Father doesn’t want your luck.  He wants you.  For his DC office after he wins on Tuesday.  That’s why I’m here.  He told me not to come back without Ted Gray.”  It was Ted’s turn to chuckle.

            “Very funny, Maria.  What are you talking about?  With all the top-notch lawyers he’s taught over the years, with all that to choose from, why the hell would he want me?”

            Maria had never removed her arm from Ted’s waist, and now she looped the other one around him as well.

            “You’re the most talented mind he’s ever had at Columbia.  The most honest and insightful.  He wants you, Ted.  Come to DC.  Oh, and there are other…bonuses, too.”  She pressed her lips against his again, and it was painfully comfortable, her taste, her scent…

            “Maria.”  Ted pulled away, a very small part of him reluctantly.  “I – I can’t.  There’s a lot going on here, and…it’s very tempting, but…”  She interrupted him with a finger on his lips.

            “Of course.  It’s a big decision, I know.  I’ll be back next week and we’ll talk after you win that title game.  I’ll bring a ticket for DC for you.  While you’re thinking Teddy bear, remember that you’re one of those men made for Rome, not the provinces.  See you in a week.”

            And she was gone, the faint smell of her perfume lingering in the air and on his skin. 

            Christ, Ted thought.  Jill.