“I want to, like, ask her out, officially, on a date. Maybe to the movies. Actually, I’ve already asked her, and she said I had to ask you, so . . .” He shrugs.
Movies? In a dark auditorium? Hell to the no.
But at least she told him to ask me . . .
“She isn’t allowed to date yet, Toby,” I say gently.
He looks at the ground, then back up at me. “I know you don’t know me, but I think she’s incredible. Smart. She helps me with my history. I know she doesn’t like to touch her eraser and that the fire alarm makes her jittery. She rubs her ring when she gets anxious. She doesn’t always get what people say, and I like that about her. She’s not like other girls. She says what she thinks, too, and there’s no pretending.”
“How many girls have you dated, Toby?”
“A few. I had a girlfriend last year.”
“How long did you date her?”
“Six months.” He gives me a wary glance.
“And you kissed her and . . .” More . . .
He reddens. “I know she’s never had a boyfriend. I’d treat her with respect. I haven’t even kissed her.”
That’s good to know. There’s a silence as I study him. The earnest face. The boy-next-door looks.
Sabine dashes in my door, sees Toby, stops for a moment, and then rushes forward. “You’re dating Coach?” she calls. “I thought you told me everything I needed to know, and everyone knows but me!”
I close my eyes. She didn’t hear me tell Jimmy during the goat incident. “Yes. I’m sorry. It happened fast. Is everything okay?” I’ve been putting off telling her because I can’t tell her it’s pretend. I’m not sure she wouldn’t tell someone—not with the intent to make trouble but because she doesn’t always understand the necessity for a white lie. If I asked her if my butt looked big in this skirt, she’d tell me the truth.
“If you’re dating Coach, then I want to go out with Toby,” she says.
“Sabine, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t use this as leverage—”
“We can double-date,” she says. “You and Coach can be there. Everyone does that. Even Lacey’s mom lets her boyfriend come over while she’s home.”
I pick up my satchel and stuff my materials in. “We’ll talk later.”
“When is later?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“I need to know when later is. Tell me!”
What would Mama say? She’d stay calm. She wouldn’t yell back at her. I inhale a deep breath. “Watch your tone, Sabine. This isn’t the place. It’s where I work and where you take classes.”
“But . . . when?”
“Later is when we’re at home. Get to where you need to be.”
She exhales, and Toby murmurs to her gently, takes her hand, and laces it with his.
I watch them go, my head tumbling. What to do, what to do . . .
Eating my peanut-butter-and-strawberry-jelly （Mama’s jelly） sandwich on the run, I head to the administrative offices to check in with the guidance counselor about my student who walked out. We chat for fifteen minutes as I cram food in, and she explains his situation.
When the bell chimes, I realize I’ve missed seeing everyone in the staff lounge. I fast walk to the field house, my makeup melting in the warm October air.
I reach the offices and read the names on the doors to find Ronan’s. His is last, the biggest one next to the locker room. It’s big, about fourteen by fourteen. Two TVs on the wall, several chairs, a table with folders on it, and a big desk against the wall. Two phones are ringing. His cell is on the desk next to them, vibrating with text messages.
I plop my satchel on a chair and answer one of the landlines. “Coach’s office.”
There’s a short pause. “Who’s this?” a woman’s voice says.
“Nova Morgan, his PA.” I roll my eyes in case this is one of his admirers. “And his girlfriend. Can I help you?”
“His girlfriend?” the woman asks. “Really? Oh, um . . . hi. I’m his mom, Bernice. I’ve been trying to reach his cell, but he must be on the field.”
I flounder. “Hi! Great to meet you on the phone. I’m not sure where he is, but I can take a message.”
“I didn’t realize Ronan was seeing someone—well, there was Jenny, but we never met her.” She pauses. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
She lets out a hum of satisfaction. “And you work together?”