He’s hung back, pretending to take his time in packing his things while the other kids leave. Neither Jake nor I have told Ryan that it’s supposed to be a secret that I’m taking him to soccer, but the six-year-old doesn't seem keen on letting the other children know anyway.
It’s not cool, I suppose, to hang out with your teacher after school. Ouch.
I'm not going to lie, that stings a little, but it’s also convenient. It means I can tell Jake that Ryan would prefer someone else take over my soccer duties.
Ryan has been quieter than normal this week which doesn’t surprise me. I can’t imagine what must be going through his head, or how much he may know about the stuff on television. I decided to push all of that away and focus solely on brightening his day.
“I sure am!” I answer, plastering a big smile on my face that I hope is believable. I can’t tell whether the somber six-year-old is convinced or not.
It’s hard to read the little boy’s expressions. He seems to have two, one a slight smile and the other a distracted frown. I no longer reprimand him when he stares out the window in class, instead I gently try to coax him back to reality. Now that I understand the heavy weight that’s been placed on his small shoulders, it’s made me rethink the way I approach some of my students. No matter how much money they may have, you never know what’s going on in their home lives.
“So,” I say slowly as we walk out toward the parking lot. I peek around corners for Principal Walton’s beady little eyes, but he’s been distracted lately with an assembly coming up and he hasn’t had time to pester me. “How are things at home with your uncle?”
I’ve been brainstorming all weekend to come up with how to ask Ryan whether or not he’s aware of the social media storm whirling around his family. I can’t very well ask him directly, especially if by some miracle he isn’t aware of the situation. But judging by the sudden sagging of his shoulders, he’s more than aware. As usual though, he’s tightlipped.
It saddens my heart to see a little kid so guarded, and I hope that he and Jake can both come out the other side of this stronger, both individually and together. They deserve it after all they’ve been through.
“Uncle Jake is frustrated a lot but he doesn’t want me to see it,” Ryan says quietly.
“But you do see it, don’t you?”
“I see a lot of things.” Ryan is quiet for a long moment. “Like how much attention he gets from other people.”
I can hear jealousy in the little boy’s voice and it’s not at all surprising.
I’ve seen it all over his face when he’s on the soccer field pining for Jake’s attention. Ryan wants his uncle all to himself. As understandable as that is for a little kid, it’s also not quite realistic. What they both need is balance. It’s a tough thing, especially when Ryan needs so much extra love in this difficult time in his life. Everything has changed so fast for him. He must feel like he’s been swept out into an ocean with no lifeboats in sight.
I'm glad to be able to spend some extra time with him and get to know who Ryan is beneath his carefully guarded shell.
I reach down and take his hand on instinct as we cross the road. For a moment I feel him stiffen, but then his tiny little fingers clamp down around mine. Something swells deep in my heart, like little flowers taking root, but I don’t quite understand what the feeling is. All I know is that I have to grip his small hand back just as tightly to let him know I won’t let go easily.
We make it to his Tuesday soccer practice just in time and soon he’s out on the field.
He’s less enthusiastic than he was last week, preferring to sit on the sidelines and pluck blades of grass from the field. I call and cheer and clap for him, but it does little to spur his interest. He has a lot on his mind, but he does at least try to kick the ball and participate every now and then. When he’s distracted, I check my watch.
Jake is even later than normal. At this rate, he’s going to miss the practice completely. But that may not be a bad thing considering the paparazzi presence. They’re lurking as close as security will allow, snapping pictures of Ryan when they can.
I sneak away from the field under the pretense of rushing off to the bathroom for a moment and dig out my cell so I can call Jake. I promised myself I wouldn’t be the one to reach out first, but this is a special case. It’s for Ryan.
To my surprise, the tight end answers almost at the first ring.
“Stacy?” The way my name tumbles so easily from his lips making me shiver. I can hear strange noises around him. It sounds like people are shouting his name. “I'm glad you called. This is awful.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I've been trying to leave the stadium after practice for over an hour but the paparazzi are everywhere.”
“They’re here too,” I add.
I hear the frustration in Jake’s deep exhale. “I’ve been trying to lose them so I can get to my car but they’re like bloodhounds. I don’t want to lead them to Ryan, not after the week we’ve had. I'm going to sneak off when I can and get a taxi, but it might be a while. Can you do me a huge favor and take Ryan to my place? I’ll text you the address.”
I'm almost surprised the headstrong footballer has the consideration to not bring the negative energy of the media to Ryan. I nod even though he can’t see the gesture, and then remember I have to actually speak.
“Sure,” I stammer out. “I’ll take him to your place. You’ll get there as soon as you can? He’s going to be disappointed.” I hadn't meant to add that last jab in there, but I can’t help myself, I'm still mildly pissed he didn't contact me.
Jake draws in a slight breath and then sighs. “I’ll do my best to hurry. Tell him I'm sorry,” he murmurs, a distinct sadness in his voice.
I hang up the phone and scold my foolish heart for leaping at the sound of Jake’s voice. “You’re still mad at him,” I remind myself.
Ugh! So, why do I still have butterflies?
I head back to the field just as the kids are released from practice. Ryan walks up to me, his face just slightly damp with sweat, his eyes brooding.
“Was that Uncle Jake?” he asks quietly, noting the phone in my hand.
His fingers drum against the white and black ball tucked under his small arm. He’s already accepted that his uncle has missed his practice, but I can tell he’s just as upset as I expected him to be.
I bend down so I'm at the little boy’s height and smile. “Jake just wanted to give me and you a little extra time to hang out tonight. Isn’t that awesome?”
Ryan shrugs, but my words seem to comfort him a little, and he takes my hand again as we walk back to my car. I help him buckle in and play his favorite radio station as we head toward the address Jake texted me.
The apartment building is even more extravagant than I expected. Two men stand on either side of the doors as we approach, nodding when I tell them who I am. They smile and tell me Jake already called to let them know I’d be visiting his penthouse. One point, Jake.
I try not to gawk as we walk through the lobby, but this place is incredible.
Ryan seems to notice the look on my face because he gives me side eye as we walk. “We live in a penthouse,” he says with a trace of pride in his voice.