Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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Coach was angry with me. This was a given, when he practically scolded me in front of the entire team. I held my tongue, and let him have at it. Swallowing my pride, whenever Rick sent me a sideways glance, obviously wondering why I had been gone in the first place.
I sat soundly in coach's guest chair in his office, as he clicked the back of his pen anxiously. I assumed that there must've been something deeper to his anger, because sure I had been absent, but surely it wasn't something to be scolded like a child for.
I waited for him to speak again, as he paused to take a long-awaited breath. My hand reached up, tucking a curl behind my ear, adjusting the baseball cap that was covering my full head of hair.
Coach leaned forward on his desk, fingers folding together patiently. "Gage, what do you mean, you slept in? You're not one to oversleep."
Everybody oversleeps sometimes, I want to say, but end up choosing another approach for safety measures. "I, uh—I didn't mean to. I had a very long night, and forgot to set my alarm for this morning. But I swear, it won't happen again."
"It better not," he began, his posture visibly shrinking into its usual state. Whereas before, it was tall and frigid.
Nodding vigorously, I assured him. "I promise—it won't."
He pauses for a while, brown eyes scanning mine. The wrinkles above his lips crinkled a bit, as he bit his bottom lip in thought. He, too, wore a navy blue baseball cap, that was printed with our schools team logo into it.
Coach Witherspoon's hand reached up to remove it, the greying hair beneath it messy and tangled. "Is everything alright, son?"
I was taken aback by the question, hand reaching for the back of neck, gripping onto it tightly. I didn't know what sort of feeling I was giving him, to make him think that I wasn't okay—and I sincerely hoped that I didn't give everyone that same feeling.
The hand that was wrapped around the back of my neck, ventured down to my chest, where I pointed toward myself gently. "Yes, I'm alright, Coach. Do I not seem alright?"
He shrugged, leaning back in his office chair with nonchalance. The clicking on his pen stopped, as he slipped it back into his shirt front pocket. I watched quietly. "You just seem a little distracted. . . distant."
My words were caught in throat, as I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond. He took this opportunity to continue on. "You know, when I gave you the position as team captain, I was under the impression that you were the most focused, most motivated, most influential player on this team.
"And for a while, you were," he pauses, a serious, grim sort of look taking over his aging features. "But tell me that, that hasn't changed, Gage."
