Chris sat quietly in a familiar wooden chair. Calhoun kept trying to get her to open up, but it was like prying answers from a hostile witness. She was staring at the floor, lips trembling, so shaken that the coach’s mind ran through the menu of worst cases that can befall teenagers. The list was long and ugly in these parts.
All she kept saying was that it was “her fault.” That only made the list grow in Calhoun’s head. Finally, the coach was able to drag out enough details to learn that the problem was academic, and he practically collapsed with relief. But then puzzlement. What kind of problem could Chris have in class? So many straight A’s now that he barely glanced at her report cards.
“Chris, I can’t help you if you won’t talk.”
It wasn’t that Chris was resisting the coach. She was one of those people who can hold in crying as long as they don’t talk, or it all erupts. She couldn’t have that. So she silently reached in her backpack with a quivering hand and pulled out a term paper.
Calhoun took it and looked at the top of the first page. A big red F. Now he was really confused. Chris never got an F in anything. Plus, this was a science paper, her best subject.
“Okay, Chris, I know you’re upset, so can you come back here tomorrow, same time?”
She nodded.
“And can you leave the term paper with me?”
Another nod. She left.
Coach Calhoun leaned back in his chair with the paper and didn’t know what to make of it. But the game plan for that Friday night’s gridiron contest had just been put on hold. He scooted his chair up and logged on to his computer. Surfing the net, checking her footnotes. To himself: “What the heck is dark energy?” More clattering of the keyboard. “Quarks? Photons? Planck time?”
The next afternoon, the final bell of the school day rang. Minutes later, Coach Calhoun entered a classroom. The only person still there was a teacher behind his desk, starting to grade quiz papers. He had been a midterm replacement for the previous science teacher, who had left to accept a higher-paying position at a private school on the east side of the county.
“Mr. Garns?”
“Yes?”
“Coach Calhoun.” They shook hands.
“How can I help you?”
“It’s about one of your students, Chris Maples.”
“Oh.” Garns turned serious and looked down, making a mark on a test paper. “I guess she went running to you about her last grade.”
Calhoun hit pause in his brain. This was not how he expected the conversation to begin. He reassessed. “She didn’t come running to me. But I did see her paper. I’ve known her for a while, and I’m trying to understand this F.”
Garns, not looking up: “She used the Internet.”
“What does that mean?”
“Students aren’t supposed to rely on the Internet for sourcing. It’s unverified,” said the teacher. “I made that extremely clear when I came on board.”
“I agree,” said Calhoun. “But I went through her footnotes. These weren’t bulletin boards or blogs. They were scientific research journals with articles from professors at Caltech, MIT, Carnegie Mellon. I asked other teachers, and those Internet sources are allowed.”
“The footnotes weren’t in the proper format.”
Calhoun took another deep breath. “I looked at your strike-throughs on her paper, like where she cited dark energy as the reason why gravity isn’t slowing down the expansion of the big bang.”
“We haven’t covered that in class. And I don’t believe it exists.”
“She noted it as a theory. It has support in the research journals.”
“You’re a science teacher now?” Garns stood. “Second-guessing me?”
“Not in the least. I’m just trying to sort all this out.”
“She also has a big attitude problem.”
Calhoun’s head practically spun on his neck. “Are we talking about the same person?”
“She undermines my authority.”
“She talks back? That would surprise me.”
“No, just smug like she’s too smart for my class, challenging me in front of the other students.”
“Challenging?”
“Interrupting to ask cynical questions, like the dark energy thing.”
“I think she’s just trying to learn.”
“I see where this is going,” said Garns. “You coaches.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Pressuring teachers to keep players eligible.”
Calhoun stopped again, this time to check his temper. He knew there was a widespread stereotype about coaches tampering with grades. But in reality, the vast majority take a holistic approach to developing a student, both as an athlete and a person, getting to know their parents, talking to their teachers.
“Can we dial this back a bit?” said Calhoun. “It’s not about us. It’s a student’s welfare.”
“So you coddle your players?”
“We don’t need to continue in this direction.”
“You sports guys think you have so much influence.”
Calhoun took a final pause to choose words, because a bridge was about to catch fire. “I’ve seen you before. Not often, but enough to know.”
“Seen me?”
“Some of the finest people in the world are teachers. They work tirelessly for little pay. But what really makes them so special is they’re like parents to the whole community. They find no greater joy than helping students succeed to their utmost potential . . . Then there’s some of the worst people in the world. Also teachers, the rare ones here and there. Bitter because their lives didn’t work out the way they’d hoped. And when they see a great kid with a bright future, they don’t take pride in helping them along. Instead, they’re jealous and try to crush their spirit. That is unforgivable.”
The coach walked around the desk and got face-to-face with Garns. “But you’re right about one thing. Coaches do have undue influence in our culture. I make it a rule not to use mine. I also make exceptions.”
Calhoun stormed out of the classroom and slammed the door.
Coach Calhoun sat in the principal’s office. He’d finished laying out his case, and now the ball was in the other court.
“I find all this hard to believe,” said the principal. “But since it’s coming from you . . .”
“So you’ll look into it?”
“With due diligence. If it’s true, this is very disturbing news. It has no place at my school.”
The principal kept his word. He interviewed students and parents, and the feedback was uniform. Some teachers use a tough style of teaching, but only to push the students to do their best. This new science teacher just seemed to genuinely dislike the kids.
By the end of the week, Garns was packing up his belongings in a cardboard box. And swearing he’d find a way to get even.
Chapter 32
Osceola County
Creeping was afoot.
Two suspicious figures on their hands and knees inched forward in the night. North of St. Cloud, Florida. North of sanity.