“Well, ladies, that’s a good sign. If she were dead, there would have been no sirens or lights when they left. Now I guess we wait to hear what’s wrong with her.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Substitute
By noon we’d gotten the news. Mrs. Camden would not be returning to school for the foreseeable future, if ever. She’d had an aneurysm, and the doctors were saying she was lucky to be alive. Since the new replacement coach wouldn’t be arriving for two more weeks, the volleyball team had a real problem on its hands. Without a coach, we wouldn’t be able to compete, let alone play. For once, Clarissa didn’t have any snide remarks as the volleyball team all huddled together in the gym, not knowing what to think, how to act, or what to feel. We were all scared and had our doubts on whether Coach would pull through and ever come back. It was made clear that Mrs. Camden was most of the way out of the woods, but not yet out of danger.
“Did anyone hear anything about who is stepping in as our sub coach until the new coach arrives? Does anyone know her name,” Clarissa asked the group.
There was an onslaught of confused murmuring, and then Jennifer spoke up.
“What’s the big deal? It doesn’t matter who she is. She won’t be here long anyway, only two weeks, who cares!”
“The big deal,” a booming masculine voice said, “is that I resent being referred to as she.”
I jumped clean out of my skin and felt Echo’s emotional equivalent do the same. I’d cut my dose of meds in half so that I could still feel and hear her, but it was not nearly as noticeable. It was like the difference between a shout and a whisper. I had to pay close attention to hear her. She would not be able to pull another stunt like what she’d tried with Drew in my room ever again. I turned to see who the voice belonged to but didn’t recognize him at first. He was a tall man with dark brown hair and a swimmer-like build, all long and lean. He was probably in his late thirties, early forties, and sported a thick dark mustache and goatee to match his hair. A few of the girls got giggly, and I heard his name being tossed around the group excitedly.
“Mr. Masson, oh my gawd, Mr. Masson is our temp coach!”
“Okay, okay, ladies, settle down. Simone Vermont.”
“Here”
“Clarissa Johnson”
“Here”
“Jennifer Lambert”
“Yup”
He looked up from his clipboard and pinned Jennifer with a look that said, “Nope, try again.”
She sighed, “Here.”
“Trisha Nelson”
The list went on, and then he suddenly stopped, but he hadn’t called my name. He was standing there still looking at the clipboard, and then just as I was about to tell him I should be on that list, he looked like he found whatever it was he was looking for and brought his gaze to the group again.
“Eden Garrows”
I raised my hand, and when he looked in my direction, it felt like his light brown eyes cut right through me. It made me uncomfortable. I’d never been in any of his classes, but everyone knew who he was. The goatee was new, he used to have a beard. No wonder he’d only looked familiar at first. It was mindboggling how much difference him trimming his beard down to a goatee had made.
Of course, he looked familiar, dummy, he works at your school, you’ve probably seen him a thousand times in the hall.
I could feel the effort and strain it had taken Eden to make sure I’d heard her thoughts. I also felt something else. I’d felt it a handful of times before. The first time was when I’d met officer Tony for the first time when dad still worked for the local PD. Then there was the time when the library had gotten a new assistant librarian who’d just finished his degree, when she’d seen Jennifer’s father for the first time and now, with Mr. Masson. She was physically attracted to Mr. Masson. I cringed inside with disgust.
Echo, what is it with you and older men. Please just shut it off, that’s beyond disgusting. It’s my body you are channeling sexual tension through—just stop.
What, I can’t help it if he’s hot!
It was barely a whisper in my mind, and I rolled my eyes as the lustful reactions tapered off.
Mr. Masson cleared his throat and got right down to it. To say that he was all business and no play would have missed the mark by a mile. He ran a disciplined practice with little tolerance for goofing off and no tolerance for talking back. He was honest but brutal and gave specific feedback on improvement when you did something wrong and generous praise when you did something right. It made me wonder why he didn’t coach one of the other sports at the school. Toward the end of practice, Drew walked into the gym and came over to sit down beside me.
“Why aren’t you at practice, Drew?”
He smiled, “I told you this morning. I’d rather spend the afternoon with you—remember? Besides, I needed to sit in for tutoring today anyway.”
I did remember but felt terrible, and figured the excursion to Porter’s Field could wait. It wasn’t like it would be going anywhere anytime soon. Skipping practice was something that my Drew would never do—normally. It would take something significant for him to miss practice. It made me feel good that he thought that highly of me.
“Graves, what are you doing in my practice,” Mr. Masson boomed. “Unless
