Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I cracked up. “A real person?”
“You know what I mean, man! A real teacher. Not a couple of immature-ass NFL players! They threw us to the wolves.”
“For real.” I stopped laughing long enough to realize Mel and Casey had probably done this on purpose. “Hey, how much do you think they’re charging these kids to be here?”
“Nothing. I made sure or I wasn’t gonna do it. They got in on a lottery system, though.”
“Oh. That’s good.” Why hadn’t I double-checked the pricing? Simeon was consistently a better human than me, and it was irritating. “Anyways, we need a plan. There’s so much wrong with this program I’m starting to think it was created just to piss us off. We don’t even have a normal number of players!”
Simeon grimaced. “I had the same thought. Maybe we should talk to Yaritza.”
“No. You can talk to Yaritza, you kiss-ass.”
“Pansy.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He gave me a serious look before rolling his eyes and shoving me out of the way. We marched out of the rec room and into Yaritza’s office like we were about to go ask our commanding officer to release us from the Army. Or however the hell shit like that went down. Actually, doing that was probably illegal.
“Hey,” Yaritza said, waving from Sheila’s desk. “How’d it go? The kids looked happy.”
“Those kids are rude as all hell,” I complained. “They need my mother here to tell them how to act.”
“All kids are rude,” Sheila said, laughing. “You get used to it after a while and then you just laugh.”
“I will never find some thirteen-year-old talking mess funny.”
“You won’t, but I will,” she said.
Simeon snorted. “We had some questions about the camp. Namely, we don’t have enough kids.”
Sheila and Yaritza exchanged glances.
“All the summer camps I went to as a kid had at least twenty players. Anything less and it’s a real bitch to get in effective practice.”
“Yup,” I said. “We’re gonna have to cross-train them in every position, line drills are gonna be a nightmare, and if someone is out for a game—”
“Game? There aren’t any games.”
This time it was me and Simeon exchanging glances.
“Say what?” we chorused.
“It’s just a camp, guys. A primer to football. Noncompetitive practice and play.”
Horror overcame me and struck me silent. Luckily, Simeon was articulate enough for both of us.
“That’s dumb,” he said.
Annoyance flickered over Yaritza’s face, and Sheila pointedly turned away. She didn’t even pretend to do another task. She literally just stared at the doors as if picturing herself walking through them to escape the awkwardness of her supervisor reaming two famous NFL players.
“Look.”
It was never a good thing when someone started with “look.”
“The two of you are football players. It’s your thing—”
“Our thing,” Simeon repeated. It sounded like he was going for slow and sarcastic, but his accent wouldn’t allow anything but a rapid-fire blend of consonants and syllables. “What you mean thing?”
“Yeah, baby—”
Yaritza’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t start with the ‘baby.’”
“My bad.” I held my arms up in surrender. “For real, miss. That’s my bad. I say it all the time. I even say it to Boudreaux.”
“He does,” Simeon said.
She didn’t look convinced but went on. “I know you two take football seriously, but as I told you before, the purpose of this camp is to teach the kids teamwork and leadership skills. Not to teach them plays and line drills and how to get concussions.”
“That’s very nice,” I said. “Sweet actually. To reduce a lifetime of work to—”
“Oh, calm down. You’re both like twenty-seven.”
“Sweetheart—”
“If you call me one more condescending sexist pet name—”
“I’m sorry! Fuck.” I ran a hand over my hair before shooting Simeon a look. “Can you just do the fucking talking? Christ. I’m incapable.”
“Glad you finally realized it, Bravo.” Simeon shouldered me out of the way and leaned on the edge of Sheila’s desk, addressing Yaritza. “We’re sorry. There was obviously a misunderstanding, and we’re not teachers or licensed professionals who should be left alone with children—”
“Technically, you’re not left alone as long as me and the other camp counselors are here.”
Simeon ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. His smile strained. “Ms. Yaritza, we suck at this. Do you want small children to have a bad summer because we’re bad teachers? Is that what you want? No, it’s not what you want, because you’re an intelligent, kind professional. Children are our future, but our future will be bleak as fuck if you let me and this asshole guide them.”
By the time he finished his awful speech, Yaritza was shaking with silent laughter. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to contain it, and her eyes were tearing.
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” I said. “But it’s a tragedy. It’s a fucking tragedy. And you know what? Other people are going to find it equally tragic. Like the helicopter parents we were warned about and the media, when they come out and start filming the Bravo and Booty show.”