In a rare moment of clarity, I stopped my run and camped out by the drinking fountain pretending to hydrate and re-tie my shoelaces while the line of sweaty boys rushed up the steps to the weight room. The last thing I wanted was attention right now.
For some reason, I couldn’t quit staring at Reed, though. I pulled my hair out of my face and tilted my head sideways while I drank, just keeping him in my periphery. He had perfect boy hair; it was brown and somewhere between long and short with a little curl that stuck out of the sides and back of his hat. A dimple punctuated each cheek at the corner of his lips when he smiled and laughed. He was wearing a purple jersey that read Johnson on the back in big golden letters. Probably his brother’s old jersey, I thought. His brother, Jason Johnson, was the school’s all-star quarterback a few years back, leading Coolidge to their first state title in 34 years. He was recruited by the University of Arizona when he graduated, but spent most of his time as back-up quarterback. He lives in Tucson and runs one of the dealerships with his father now.
Reed was already being touted as the school’s next great hope. Sure, his name played into it for the most part. But everyone also knew Buck Johnson didn’t like to lose, and his sons were always the best. Since both Johnson boys were able to throw, Buck had them in football, basketball and conditioning camps. Their skills were expensive. And both Reed and Jason could have easily played for one of the big Division I schools in the city. But they wouldn’t have stood out as much, and maybe would have only started their senior years. By leading the Coolidge Bears, the Johnsons were sure to be a constant feature of local newspapers. Local heroes, leading a team back from the dead. College scouts love that kind of character. And Buck Johnson knew how to close a deal. And the sizeable donations he was willing to make never hurt.
I must have been in a deep trance, staring at the light freckles on his arms and the shaggy torn sweat pants that showed his muscular calves and Nikes with #13 written on the back, when I was jolted awake by the sound of my last name.
“Lennox! You ‘bout done with those laps, lady? Get a move on!”
Everyone turned to stare at me sitting in the stairwell. Reed’s eyes are green. I know this because I looked right into them. Then I watched them gaze down my body, taking in my worn-out, extra-large Lake Powell T-shirt, knee-length basketball shorts and tube socks pulled well over my calves to show off the red and blue stripes that this morning seemed so very cool. Not cool. Not cool, I thought. That’s when I saw the sides of his mouth curl into a half smile. His eyes made it back to mine and he turned around.
I was stunned. Did he approve? Was my style cool? Did I just make an impression on the boy who is clearly our future homecoming king?
I gulped down some water from the fountain and jogged back to the middle of the gym to start passing drills. The next two hours passed in a blur. I remember a lot of running between lines on the basketball court and jumping to reach our hands above the net. I know I aced the passing drills where we had to pass a ball perfectly into a series of large net baskets, and I finished my runs faster than most of the other girls trying out. Just a few hours ago, I would have been soaking up the competitive edge I seemed to be gaining with every challenge. But I couldn’t get Reed’s eyes out of my head. And that half-smile he left me with as he turned around and raced up the stairs. Every water break, I purposely placed myself at the end of the line so I could get a glimpse of the weight room upstairs. I saw him lying on a bench and lifting weights with another boy I knew, Sean. When they were done, they would bang fists and trade spots. I kept waiting for Reed to look down the stairs at me, clearly standing right in view. But he never did.
Practice was over at 5. I was sitting in the corner rolling down my socks and pulling them off to stuff inside my shoes when the head coach came over to me.
“Lennox, right?” she said, flipping through a few papers on her clipboard.
“Yes. Nolan Lennox,” I said, my heart racing now. Is my punishment not over? Or worse, is she going to cut me for being late? I hate that car. My dad had to pour water from a gallon into it just to get us moving. I’m mortified and angry.
“You did a nice job today, Lennox. You keep that up, and you’ll be playing junior varsity this year.” With a small nod of approval she turned and walked into the main coaching office.
I didn’t see that coming, but my lungs filled with air as the heavy weight of dread completely dissolved. I was almost proud. I sat there stuffing my shoes into my gym bag and putting on my flip flops for an extra long time. I knew my dad was in the parking lot, so I didn’t want to keep him waiting long. I had a feeling after the start of our day that the air conditioning probably wasn’t working very well.