Page 3 of So Long, Honey

CODY

“You’re benched.”

I pushed from my chair in the Coach's office. Principal McMaine stood off to the side behind the desk, staring at me with disdain on her crumpled old face.

“This is a joke, right?” I looked at them with utter dismay. I should have known something was off the second I stepped inside the office to find my father conversing with the two of them. “You’re joking… okay.” I shook my head.

“This isn’t a joke, son,” My father warned, his tone laced with authority. “Sit your ass down.”

I listened. The only man able to demand anything from me was my father. His cold green eyes watched as I lowered into my chair. His face hardened from working under the Texas sun; he was all tan lines and calluses. His cowboy hat was shoved into his lap, and his messy, dirty blonde, graying hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.

“Your grades.” Coach slid the folder across the table to me, “you’re failing English, Ryan.”

“No,” I pushed my hat off my head and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’ve been getting passing grades on every paper I hand in.”

“You’ve handed in three of the eleven assignments this semester, Mr. Cody.” Principal McMaine nodded toward the folder with her eyebrows raised in disappointment.

I huffed, rubbing my hands over my jeans and leaning back in the rickety, tweed chair that itched at my biceps. “So what, I hand in those late assignments…”

“Missing,” she corrected me.

“I hand in thosemissingassignments, and I’m clear.”

“Not exactly,” she explained. “You’ll notice the absence of Mrs. Raymond?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

Mrs. Raymond was a swamp creature.

Her long fingers scraped the chalkboard when she wrote her dull lectures across them for us to copy, and she smelled like bath water that a dog had been sitting in. We were all fortunate that Mrs. Raymond was absent. Coach would spend six weeks cleaning his carpets to get the smell out.

“Did she need to get home to check on her taxidermy collection?” I joked, but it didn't stick to the landing. “Ha, ha!”

“This isn’t a joke, Mr. Cody.” She stared at me.

My eyes flickered to Dad, who wouldn’t even look out of sheer disappointment. It was written all over his face. His bearded jaw screwed shut because if he opened it out would spill a string of abuse that was only meant for the privacy of his old work truck.

“Mrs. Raymond has grown increasingly frustrated with your lack of care and respect in her class. She refused even to have this meeting with us. We’re just trying to help you because if you don’t pass this class, you won’t play the rest of the season,” she explained further.

The noose tightening around my throat at the thought of not playing ball anymore blurred my vision, and my breathing turned quick and shallow. Coach turned his eyes on me, pride burning behind them. This was punishment for making a fool of him yesterday, nothing more, but it was enough to shove back my panic.

“I’m impressed,” I leaned back, masking the worry and forcing my tense shoulders to go slack as I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re willing to destroy the season for this?”

“This isn’t my fault, Cody,” Coach said without missing a beat.

“Mrs. Raymond has agreed to give you one more chance. You have two weeks to write a paper on something that matters to you. She’s left a guideline, and Mr. Cody, this is your last chance. You'll take this seriously if you ever want to see the field again.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged my shoulders. The frustration rolled through me like a tidal wave. It was a mistake to bench me, and Coach would learn the hard way when the team started to lose without me. I wasn’t going to beg on my knees for my spot. That’s precisely what he wanted from me. “Can I go now?” I turned to Principal McMaine.

“You’re excused.”

I rose from my chair, scooping my bookbag in my fingers and over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cody,” her voice hummed as I grabbed the door knob.

Turning back, I saw her, hand on her hip, folder in her hand, “You’re forgetting something.”

“Right,” I said, taking the folder from her with a fake, cheesy smile and leaving the room as quickly as possible. The halls were empty as I turned out into them, making the hollow sound of my Dad’s old cowboy boots stomping against the tile worse. He followed me toward the parking lot and out of the main doors.