The Odd Ballerz

by Ruthie Robinson

  She had no idea what had transpired between her sister, and Z on the field today, but it had not gone unnoticed by those who knew him well and poor Aubrey. Alex smiled at that. The only thing she enjoyed about seeing Z standing too close and whispering to her sister had been Aubrey’s reaction, a nice bright spark in all of this. Not that she minded him together with her sister in that way, she just considered it a highly unlikely occurrence. She didn’t want to see M hurt. She knew that Memphis was interested in Z despite her denials, and having him and his private coaching, however helpful, had only made that interest grow.

  “Good job, Gabe,” Alex said. He was one of the first boys to pass her.

  “Thanks, Coach,” he said before he walked away. She liked to stand and talk to the campers on their way out. Encouragement and praise were two things anyone and everyone could use. It was another lesson she’d learned from Z on her never-ending mission to become a football coach. She enjoyed this aspect of coaching the most, this forming a bond with the players. It was the reason she’d selected it as a career, in spite of the difficulty she expected in what was historically men’s territory.

  A female football coach: a highly improbable proposition, yes, but there had been one just the same. Natalie Randolph was one such improbability, an African American woman, the first female coach of a men’s high school football team. She lived in Washington, D.C., and she, like Alex, had played women’s tackle football.

  “Good day’s work, Jones,” Alex said, smiling at her sister.

  “Thank you, Coach,” Memphis said, making a face as she peered into her sister’s reflective shades, worn by Alex in tribute to her mentor, Z. “I look a mess! You should have said something,” she said, moving closer to the lenses of Alex’s glasses, gazing at her reflection in horror. There was no way Z’s interest in her had been more than teacher to student, not with her looking like this. She removed her scrunchie, which clearly had lost the battle of holding her hair in its ponytail. She ran her hand over it, pulling it into a large puff, and securing it with the scrunchie again.

  “I didn’t know it mattered, and you look fine. This isn’t a beauty pageant out here, it’s work and sweat and… What was Z talking to you about earlier?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing,” Memphis said, not ready to share and possibly have her bubble burst at what she hoped his talking to her meant.

  “He thinks you have potential and that we shouldn’t give up on you, and maybe he’s right.”

  “He… I mean you were giving up on me?” Memphis asked.

  “No, I just didn’t know what to make of you with all the falling you do. But Z thinks you’re improving and who knows, you might make a good cornerback or a safety, a good something or other if we could somehow get your feet to cooperate.”

  “Is that what he said, that I’d make a good cornerback or safety?”

  “Ah… he said you were improving and you are. Your time in the forty today was excellent. Your best time yet. What did he say to you before your run exactly?” Alex said, watching as Memphis continued with her primping.

  “Nothing, really,” Memphis said.

  “Memphis as cornerback? A safety? You’re kidding, right?” Aubrey said, coming up from behind them. “Really, you think?” she added, really tired and bothered by all things Jones and Coach Z this evening, which hinted at more interest than she’d been prepared to accept. Clearly Memphis had the Z sympathetic, in-lust-with-her-body vote market cornered.

  “She could be whatever she wants to be,” Alex said in defense of her sister.

  “Sure she could. But is it in her best interest to do so? What if she gets hurt? This is a tough sport. Plus we all know that if the team didn’t need women this year… any woman with limbs, there’d be no way Memphis would be playing for them,” Aubrey said.

  “Excuse me?” Memphis said, turning to face her friend.

  “You don’t know that,” Alex said.

  “I do know. Tell her, Memphis.”

  “Tell her what?” Memphis asked.

  “You should be the one to tell them. I’ve always said that,” Aubrey said.

  “Tell me what?” Alex asked.

  “It’s not important,” Memphis said, giving a glare in warning to Aubrey.

  “It is too important,” Aubrey said, turning her gaze to Alex. “Memphis has this thing that keeps her from being athletic, and all this improving you think she’s doing can only take her so far. Your parents knew, even took her to see a few doctors when she was young although they weren’t very helpful. They’d said she would eventually grow out of it, but as you can see, she hasn’t. She’s been clumsy for as long as I’ve known her and there is an explanation for it. So if you think she’s going to now be this great athlete, then sorry to burst your bubble. What she will be is hurt, and unnecessarily.”

  “What? Is that true? Why didn’t you say anything?” Alex asked, her gaze moving away from Aubrey and over to her sister.

  “If I wanted you to know, I would have told you,” Memphis said, continuing to stare at Aubrey, hoping she’d get the message and shut the hell up.

  “Of course she wouldn’t tell you her problems. She doesn’t want to disappoint you or your sister. You two look up to her. That, and she feels responsible for you, even though you’re both grown women. I’ve told her that sometimes the most effective way for you all to learn is to fall and bust your ass. It’s no longer her job to pull you out of whatever scrapes you get into. But you and Charlotte are her life. So here she is, to the rescue again, thinking that you need her.”

  “I do need her. She and our bet saved my life.”

  “No, you taking responsibility for yourself is what saved your life,” Aubrey said.

  “Hello! I can speak for myself and what are you doing? I told you those things in private,” Memphis said.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt and somebody has to be the one to tell the truth around here,” Aubrey said.

  “Am I hurt? Have I been hurt?” Memphis asked, working to keep her irritation under control.

  “No, but it’s only a matter of time. You don’t belong here, M. I see you, dropping balls, falling all over the place. No way would Coach Z have you here if the circumstances were different, and you know it,” she said, meeting Memphis’s gaze. “And don’t look at me like that. We’ve always told each other the truth. I don’t want to see you get hurt is all this is. You aren’t listening to me, alone. Maybe you’d listen to Alex.”

  “Listen to what? That I shouldn’t play?”

  “Z thinks you’re improving. He’s not going to throw you off the team. You can play,” Alex said, sliding her body in between them.

  “He was thinking of throwing me off the team? I thought he needed women,” Memphis asked, more hurt than surprised.

  “See? It isn’t just me that thinks you shouldn’t be playing. Obviously Z has reservations too. I mean, really, if this weren’t a rebuilding year you would not be here. Tell her, Alex.”

  “Tell her what?” Alex asked.

  “In your opinion, as an athlete and future coach, is Memphis good enough to play on a competitive team?” Aubrey asked, directing her gaze to Alex.

  “Yes,” Alex said, reluctantly.

  “And why don’t I believe you? How about we ask Z?” Aubrey said.

  “Don’t,” Memphis said in warning.

  “Coach Z,” Aubrey called, ignoring Memphis. He looked up, and who knew what he was thinking.

  “What’s up?” he said when he reached them. His gaze bounced over the three women before settling on Aubrey.

  “We need you to settle a dispute between us. It has to do with Memphis and her chances of making the team. We all know this is a rebuilding year and that you’re taking everybody and anybody that shows up. But what if it wasn’t? What would her chances be then?”

  “Don’t know. It depends on how much she improves between now and then,” he said.

  “We owe it to each other to be honest, right. I said that to
you earlier, told you that I was worried about her. Is it fair to use her in this way? ’Cause you need of women. She might get hurt,” Aubrey said.

  “I think this is a discussion that Jones and I should have privately,” he said.

  Memphis turned to face him and met his eyes. Nothing but sympathy was what she saw in them, and that was right up there with pity in her book.

  “Fine, break your leg or whatever, but don’t come crying to me,” Aubrey said, meeting Memphis’s gaze. “I know you’re angry, but it needed to be said. You know someone has to ask the tough questions. You’re too close to it all. You’d do the same for me. I know you would,” she said.

  Memphis was silent.

  Aubrey turned to Z. “She’s angry now and I’m only trying to help her,” Aubrey said, meeting her friend’s gaze. “Fine, be angry. See you Friday,” Aubrey said, before walking away.

  “You helping me clean up tonight?” Z asked, looking at Alex now.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Thanks, see you inside, and I’ll see you Friday. Don’t be late,” he said, shooting a quick glance at Memphis before stepping around them and into the building.

  Alex waited a few seconds, making sure he was out of hearing range. “So what the hell is this ‘thing’ you have? And you should have told me,” Alex asked.

  “I know, but you had… have enough on your plate. You and Charlotte don’t need my problems.”

  “You didn’t tell Charlotte either?”

  “Nope, just Aubrey, and I only told her a little, which seems to have been a mistake now.”

  “I don’t trust that one.”

  “I know, Alex,” Memphis said.

  “She’s competing with you, always has, in my opinion, and the rest of whatever she said, that not wanting to see you hurt, is bullshit,” Alex said, mimicking Aubrey’s voice. “I watched her watch Z,” she added.

  “Competition? Why would she feel the need to do that? She’s what the TV advertises, what the world says it wants,” Memphis said.

  “You’re more than you give yourself credit for, Memphis.”

  “I give myself plenty credit. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I do anyway, worry about you. I still don’t understand why she’s your friend.”

  “I know. As you’ve said so many times before,” Memphis said, and sighed.

  “But you’re starting to believe me now.”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  “I know you. You don’t have to,” Alex said. Both of them stood staring, following Aubrey’s car as it drove past.

  #

  Thirty minutes of driving home left Memphis a little less angry, but really, more than anything, she was hurt. Finding friends had always been difficult work for her, and not the superficial kind, but the ones that turned into sisters, which, up to thirty minutes ago, was the category in which she’d placed Aubrey.

  And perhaps that hadn’t been her best idea, since this wasn’t the first time Aubrey had spoken up on her behalf. She’d always done it, the first time in fourth grade when she’d stood up to Chad Whittle, a class bully who had loved to harass Memphis. It was less now since they’d grown up and Memphis had learned to speak up for herself. It was nothing more than Aubrey being Aubrey, which usually didn’t bother her until today.

  Her sisters told her often to be careful around Aubrey, but they hadn’t been the little girl, new to the neighborhood, hurt at school, the only black child in a sea of unfamiliar white faces. Aubrey had come along then, the popular girl, and befriended her, made her life a little easier, at least socially. Her sisters were too young to know the importance of Aubrey’s friendship. All alone, removed from family. Not that the family they had moved away from had been all that great. Her sisters weren’t around either when their mother was in bed, depressed, and Aubrey would come over to cheer Memphis up, or to help her clean the house or cook or whatever else she’d had to do for her mother and her sisters.

  That was the reason she overlooked some of Aubrey’s less than flattering behavior, just let it roll off her back, not really wanting to address it, not yet anyway. It would require of her something she wasn’t quite ready to do, not that there was ever a good time to say goodbye to a friend.

  She should call Charlotte, a thought that had her reaching for her phone, more it was fumbling around in the side pocket of her workout bag only to find it empty. With one hand on the wheel, she unzipped the other larger pouch and felt around in it for a while, and nothing. Oh, please, let it be in my bag, was her plea. Otherwise it was a trip back to Z’s house and she wasn’t up for seeing him or his sympathy again. She thought they were past all of that. Really, you thought what, she asked herself. That he was interested in you? Romantically? Really? The voice of her doubts circled around her brain like vultures.

  She took the next exit from the freeway and pulled into a parking lot for a more thorough search. She combed through her bag again and then her car, slowly and methodically. A few minutes later it was looking like a trip back to Z’s place was on tonight’s agenda. She’d left her phone, probably on the floor by the main door of the restrooms. It was where she would drop her bag and her phone, usually after one last check of emails, before heading out to run laps. Coach Z’s warning about phones and their limited place at practice was the reason she left it behind in the first place. She’d been angry this evening, and hurt and majorly distracted, hadn’t paid much attention to her bag or her phone, as she grabbed it from its usual spot by the door on the way to her car.

  She checked the clock on her dashboard. Thirty minutes had passed since she left Z’s place. She sighed and turned her car around. A very unlucky day in more ways than one this was turning out to be.

  It was dark out here, she thought, turning onto the road that would lead to Z’s. No streetlights to speak of, and she liked streetlights, preferring to see wherever she was going actually. She checked her clock again. Twenty minutes had passed and it was closing in on nine. She was turning into his drive. The lights were on in his home, she noted as she drove past, headed to the gate, hoping to drive to the restroom—an undetected trip of sneaking in and sneaking out and him none the wiser—and an eighty-six to that, as the dang front gate was locked. The huge-ass chain holding the post to the gate was her clue. “Crap,” she said aloud.

  She put her car into reverse and parked in one of the spots in front of his home. She hoped he was alone. Motion sensitive lights popped up along the walkway, leading up to his house. Nice, she thought as she made her way over to the front door. Shirtless and wearing a pair of jeans—the lived-in kind, hung from his lean hips—and what a chest; muscular, defined, tanned, and scrumptious—was how he answered the door. His hair was wet and he smelled good, evidence of a recent shower, she thought.

  “Jones?” he said, surprised to see her, she thought, but calm about it; his way she was learning.

  “Hey, Coach. Sorry to bother you, but I think I left my phone here. Did anyone turn one in?”

  “Nope,” he said, opening the door wider. “Come in,” he said, and watched as she cleared the threshold.

  Something smelled delicious, Memphis thought, scanning the room quickly, looking at everything and anything that wasn’t his chest. “Can I check the restrooms? I would have checked on my own, driven around, didn’t want to bother you, but the front gate was locked,” she said.

  “The restrooms are locked too, so you’d have had to knock regardless and I’m not bothered. Let me grab my shoes and I’ll walk over with you,” he said, stepping away from the door. While he was away she looked over the room, cramming as much as she could into her memory. It was the home of an artist, she could tell, one that felt more cozy than museum, she thought. Light grey paint covered the walls, covered with pictures, large and expensive. Glass and iron artwork, sat on hard surfaces, tables, and shelves. Nice sized living room: comfy couches, a couple of them, ottoman in front. Big ass TV, French doors open to the deck and he was back and quicker than s
he thought, sliding his feet into a pair of athletic shoes, before pulling a t-shirt over his head.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, eyes like lasers meeting up with his.

  “No reason,” he said, and turned to leave. She followed along behind him, checking out more of his home when she wasn’t checking out the back of him, all muscled back under the shirt, bummed that he’d put one on. Nice was her word choice for the parts of his home she could see, which wasn’t much as he quickly moved her through it and out the back door.

  Motion sensitive lights came on as they had in the front yard, popping up and lighting the way. He unlocked the restroom doors and she followed him inside. To her left on the floor was where she generally left her bag, and yes, there lay her phone, just as she suspected.

  “There it is. Great,” she said, picking it up from the floor, noticing the missed calls and texts from Alex and Aubrey. “Thanks and sorry to bother you again,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  “Again, it’s no trouble, Jones,” he said, opening the restroom door for them to make their exit. “Aubrey told me you had a condition since you were a kid. Is that true?” he said, watching her.

  “I told her that in confidence,” she said.

  “She was worried about the possibility of you getting hurt. She thought she was being helpful.”

  “Right,” she said, anger rising up again.

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “What would you like me to say?” she asked.

  “‘I’m sorry for not telling you something so important, Coach.’ That would be a good place to start,” he said.

  “Really, and I don’t know you like that,” she said, her anger taking over. “But okay. I’ll play along. What would you have done with that knowledge, had I told you?” she asked, and yes, she meant to be a tad bit sarcastic with her question.

  “I don’t know, but it would have been helpful to know, don’t you think?” he said, staring back.

  “Sure thing, Coach. You would have done what most people do with it, actually what every coach up until this camp has done with it.”