That day in P.E. we were doing calisthenics-a fancy word for stretching, and fairly safe for those less coordinated, like myself. Ms. Swenson, my P.E. coach, had a student aid leading us in the stretches. Her aid was a high school cheerleader named Marla Painter, who was very beautiful and very…stretchy. Her kicks were so high she could hit herself in the side of the head with her kneecap. She was showing us all three splits as I unfolded myself and slunk over to where Ms. Swenson was sitting grading papers. I supposed they were from the health class she taught. I had never seen a single sheet of paper in P.E.
“Ms. Swenson?” I asked shyly. Ms. Swenson didn’t care much for me. She didn’t have a lot of patience for the Klutz club, of which I was president.
Ms. Swenson finished checking the paper she was on before lifting her eyes in exasperation from the page.
“Yes?” She answered impatiently.
“I have a friend who needs to learn how to swim...umm, how exactly could he go about doing that here at the school, preferably during school hours?” I finished in a rush, hoping she wouldn’t slap me down too quickly.
“What grade is he in?” She asked, her eyes back on her page, checking away.
“He’s a senior. He’s my neighbor in Levan, and transportation is a bit of a problem. He wants to join the Marines when he graduates, but he needs to learn to swim.” Again I rushed through my explanation, daring to hope, but not hoping too fervently.
“Why are you asking for him?” She said suspiciously.
“He’s new to the school, and a little shy - so I told his grandmother I would find out,” I lied, feeling my cheeks burn.
“Hmmmm. Go with Marla back up to the high school when she finishes. I’ll give you a note... you have lunch next right?”
All seventh graders had first lunch, and I nodded my head eagerly.
“Ask Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson about it. Maybe they can work something out for him. I have a brother who’s a Marine - gotta know how to swim.” She finished in an almost pleasant tone.
“Thank you very much, Ms. Swenson.” I waited while she scribbled me a note and signed it like she was in the medical profession.
Marla took me to the high school gym and snagged a boy who was heading into the locker room to see if either Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson was in his office inside. She bounced off after that, leaving me waiting outside the boy’s locker room for the messenger to return. I waited for a very long time. Either the coaches weren’t in there, or the boy had gotten distracted. I was about ready to give up in despair when the last person I wanted to see came walking through the gymnasium towards the boys locker room.
“Josie...what are you doing?” Samuel said, befuddled to see me lurking outside a place I had no business being.
“Ms. Swenson sent me up to speak with Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson. Marla Painter came with me, but she left and I can’t go in there!” My voice sounded a little like a wail, and I embarrassed myself with the sudden urge to cry. I wasn’t about to tell Samuel I was here for him.
“Just a minute,” he offered helpfully. “I’ll go see if there’s someone in there.”
At that moment, Coach Jasperson accompanied Marla’s messenger out of his inner sanctum. Coach Jasperson was eating a huge tuna sandwich with potato chips smashed in between the bread. Apparently he hadn’t wanted to give up any of his lunch break to chat with me. I breathed a sigh of relief and then shuddered in dread. This was going to embarrass me and embarrass Samuel. I knew he might never forgive me, but I did it anyway. As the messenger sauntered away I began to speak.
.“Coach Jasperson, Samuel here is my neighbor.” I gestured towards Samuel, not daring to look at him. “He wants to join the Marines when he graduates. The problem is he doesn’t know how to swim. He needs to be in a swim class or something here at the school, working with someone who can teach him.” I was talking so fast Coach Jasperson had stopped chewing in order to keep up. “He can’t come early to school, and he can’t stay late for transportation reasons so it would be a very good thing if you could make sure he gets the help he needs during school hours.” I sounded like one of those wind-up dolls, prattling along cheerfully.
I sneaked a look at Samuel. His face was like a cold, hard mask. I knew he would never speak to me again. My heart broke a little.
“I’m sure Samuel would be glad to speak to a guidance counselor to rearrange his schedule to make it work.” I’d done what I could do, and my voice trailed off nervously.
“The Marines, huh?” Coach Jasperson was chewing again. “I’m sure we could figure something out....it was Samuel, right? You speak English?”
I cringed. I could see why Coach Jasperson thought he might not. After all, I’d done all the talking for him.
“Yes I speak English.” Samuel’s reply was sharp, and I heard the outrage in his voice. He was furious with me. Still, I hoped Coach Jasperson didn’t hear it and misunderstand.
“Good, good!” Coach Jasperson was too busy enjoying his sandwich, and he missed the darts shooting from Samuel’s onyx eyes.
“Well, you and I will go see Mr. Whiting, the guidance counselor, and I will set you up with one of the guys from the swim team. I think Justin McPherson could help you during 2nd hour. He’s my aid, and I never have much for him to do. If we can free your schedule up during second hour, you should be set.”
Bless Coach Jasperson for being very helpful and a little oblivious at the same time. He put one arm around Samuel’s shoulders, pulling him along, talking to him while he licked the last of the tuna salad from his fingers. Samuel turned and looked at me over Coach Jasperson’s beefy shoulder. I bit my lip to keep from tearing up as he glared at me. He turned his head dismissively, and I left the gymnasium as quickly as I could.