Relationships weren’t his thing.
Never had been.
Never would be.
Now he was reminded it was about time.
In fact, it was long past time.
“Good game today.”
Michael drank in the sight of Mary the way he devoured ice water following a game and suddenly his Sunday night looked a whole lot better.
“You watch football?” They’d never talked about college or pro ball when they’d known each other. In retrospect, it seemed unusual given how the entire state of Wisconsin, and Madison in particular, were completely obsessed with football. Strange it had never come up, that neither of them had ever brought it up. Although he certainly wouldn’t have known what to say even then. Much like now. Utterly tongue-tied.
Some things never changed.
“Um, yeah.” Mary’s face flushed slightly and she switched her purse from one shoulder to the other and buried her hands in her pockets. “I mean, I grew up a Lions’ fan but I now cheer for the Tide. You know. Home team spirit and all.”
Michael thought about asking how she’d ended up two thousand miles from Madison, but reconsidered. He had no plans to see her again after tonight so there was no point.
“I’ll let you finish your shopping,” Mary said while she made lots and lots of eye contact with her boots.
“Ok.”
“Ok then. Good night,” Mary murmured, turned away, and briskly took off towards the check-out lanes.
~ * ~ * ~
As he contemplated his bedroom ceiling that night, Michael acknowledged that he’d finessed his brief exchange with little Mary Richardson with all the skill of a mishandled punt return. All awkward moves with an ultimate tumble at the end.
Really, though, what the hell did it matter? They sure as shit didn’t move in the same social circles. She was smart and undoubtedly focused on her teaching career.
He was suited only for the football field.
Mary was undoubtedly popular, with a wide circle of friends.
Him?
There was no one he called a friend.
And no one who considered him a friend.
Chapter 2
Mary relished the quiet in Walker High School’s halls every Monday morning. It was different from the lingering quiet after a full day. As though the lockers, chalk boards, work stations, and desks were bracing themselves for the onslaught of energy of the two thousand students who would be running through the halls to begin another week. The quiet during the morning was peaceful. Contemplative. Soothing.
As she reviewed her lesson plan for first period Geometry, Mary thought about how different Walker students were from those in her old school. Calleigh convinced her to leave Traverse City High School this past summer and move west for Walker. Walker was in need of qualified math teachers at all levels, both regular and AP. It was true what people said about right time, right place. Mary’d been burned out by the extreme Northern Michigan winters that started in October and ended sometime around Easter. Or Memorial Day. And the spoiled kids whose only concerns were their AP grades, SAT scores, and Ivy League admissions. After thinking about it for forty-five minutes, she’d returned Calleigh’s telephone call, accepted the offer, and planned her move to Portland. Her parents had been disappointed to see their only child move far away, but were supportive. Mary suspected her parents privately believed she’d return some day, but after only being there a few months, Mary knew she was right where she was supposed to be. This was where she was supposed to be teaching, the kids she was supposed to be working with, and the work she was supposed to be doing. Everything had clicked in a way that had never clicked before.
The rhythmic clicking across the linoleum floors alerted her almost as soon as Calleigh’s spicy perfume announced her arrival.
“Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you,” Mary greeted her colleague and best friend.
Calleigh Stuart stood in the doorway surveying the walls with posters of famous mathematicians and their legacies. She extended a tall cup of Starbuck’s, making Mary practically swoon in gratitude.
“I figure decent coffee’s the least I can do for you saving me this year.” Calleigh took a long sip of her own cup and settled in on the edge of Mary’s desk.
Calleigh at Walker was like a rose garden in the desert - vibrant, dynamic, and unexpected. Her long blonde hair fell past her shoulders and her bright green eyes dominated a narrow face with a patrician nose and glossy red lips. Her eclectic wardrobe on any given day could range from a hot pink sari to a turquoise kimono. Today, Calleigh sported a purple paisley print blouse with brown suede slacks and clogs. Classic Calleigh.
Her external aura was of a free spirit, completely mellow and a go-with-the-flow-type of woman. The truth was few were wound tighter than Calleigh was. She was as driven as any marathon runner training for Boston. She finalized her lesson plans not weeks in advance, but months in advance. Her students never fell behind. Calleigh’s motto was “no lesson left behind,” as opposed to “no student left behind.”
She and Mary became friends in college when they were two of the few females in the math department. Graduation separated them, with Mary returning to Michigan and Calleigh to Oregon. They stayed in touch through email, IM chats and bi-weekly phone calls. When Calleigh called to offer the job to her, she’d informed Mary that she was the first person she’d thought of when the position opened up. It didn’t take long for Calleigh to convince her that the position offered her a teaching opportunity that sounded as though it had been tailor-made for her interests and strengths. They split the Geometry loads with Calleigh also teaching remedial Algebra and Mary teaching Calculus and Trig.
“How was your weekend? You do anything fun?” Calleigh’s bright red-lipstick imprinted itself on her coffee cup as she kicked her foot back and forth and waited for Mary’s response.
“Not really, but you might get a kick out of this.” Mary was rearranging her folders and grade books that were already organized by class as she fiddled with the pens and pencils on her desk.
“Do you know who Michael Santiago is?” Mary asked.
“Hello? That’s like asking if Mother Teresa knew who the Pope was. Of course, I know who Michael-Defensive-Player-of-the-Year-Two-Years-Running-and-2008-MVP-Santiago is. You’d have to live under rock to not know who he is,” Calleigh responded as she continued nursing her coffee, and watched Mary.
Feeling a little out of sorts, Mary reorganized the folders she’d recently straightened. Again.
“How do you know him, Mary? And where in the world did you run into him? ‘Cause wherever it is, I want to be there.” Calleigh’s smile revealed even white teeth while her eyes telegraphed her interest. Calleigh was a serious sports fan, like her.
“I knew him at Wisconsin.”
“How did I not know him? I knew you,” Calleigh questioned.
“I knew him casually. He was a friend of a friend.”
Which was sort of true.
So long as you considered Michael a friend of Dr. David Luidens, then Chair of Wisconsin’s math department.
At Wisconsin and after she graduated when “Michael Santiago” became a household name, Mary never broadcasted her relationship with him. While there wasn’t anything for him to be embarrassed by, she never told Calleigh, her other friends, or even her roommates about the quiet athlete she met in October of her senior year. She also
met
him two times per week through finals to make sure he passed Calculus II. He was prideful. He took care with his notebooks, textbook, study sheets, and practice quizzes. She never asked, but she assumed others didn’t know about their tutoring sessions. While he was only a freshman at the time, his quiet reserve, refusal to talk about anything other than Calc II, and focused intensity led her to conclude he was upset about his need for help and preferred to keep it private.
“Oh my god. This is fantastic, Mary. You’ve got to get him in for College Career Day. He’d be perfect.” In her excitement, Calleigh jumped off the edge of Mary’s desk and grabbed Mary’s arms by the biceps.
“If we could advertise Michael Santiago was coming to CCD, we would yield huge turnout, especially with the boys. You know how much trouble we have getting them to take college seriously until it’s too late. Michael graduated, right? I can’t think of a better speaker this year.” Calleigh’s eyes were alight with possibilities. Nothing excited her more than seeing her students prepare for college.
Walker hosted College Career Day every fall. While all students were invited, it was focused on sophomores to help them select the right college prep classes and juniors who were taking their SATs and ACTs that year and would begin preparing their college applications the following fall. The majority of Walker’s students didn’t have two parents who were still together and even fewer who had attained college degrees. Education was not a priority for many of the households where survival was the name of the game. Too many students didn’t realize the importance of planning for college early-- selecting the right courses and studying hard so that when senior year rolled around, they had a solid foundation for college admission.
Mary laughed at Calleigh’s exuberance and mimicked her grip on Calleigh’s biceps. “I don’t know how to contact him. We didn’t exactly exchange numbers in the Safeway deli section last night.”
Mary removed her arms, and tried to think of the easiest way to extricate herself which would be difficult considering Calleigh’s general level of stubbornness. “Seriously, I have no way of reaching him and because our contact way back when was casual, I’d feel like I was intruding on him. I’m sure he gets a ton of requests for appearances and I don’t want to be a bother to him.” As she opened her lesson plan, she hoped Calleigh would let it drop.
She should have known better.
“Mary Jane Richardson! Listen to yourself. This isn’t about you and this isn’t about Michael Santiago. This is about getting our students to understand and appreciate the value of hard work and an education. If you won’t do it, I’ll call on your behalf.”
“How do you plan to accomplish that, Ms. Stuart?” Mary added the formal title as her students began trickling in; their headphones glued to their ears and their backpacks the size of mini-suitcases--sufficient for Europe for a summer or a four-person family traveling to Disney World.
Calleigh’s Cheshire cat grin spread across her face. “Easy. I’d call the Tide’s main office, ask for public relations, tell them I’m you; I know Michael and I’d like him to take part in our College Career Day. The Tide will eat it up and be jumping all over to get him to do it. They need all the good publicity they can get.”
Mary was trapped and she knew it. Grace was the only exit.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” Mary began putting up the day’s lesson on the chalk board. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when he refuses to do it.”
Calleigh’s smile could have lit up Alaska all through winter. “Perfect!”
Mary shook her head, steeled herself for her students, and tried to concentrate on how she was going to explain proofs and not think about Michael Santiago.
~ * ~ * ~
Hearing him swing through the gym’s revolving glass doors, Michael immediately saw David zoom in on his target, him. David planted himself at his feet, his shadow looming over him, and waited.
Michael allowed him to wait.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
After what he deemed an appropriate amount of time, Michael put the bar up, sat up straight, and took a long pull on his bottled water, never once bothering to meet Shalvington’s eyes.
“The public relations department received a call this afternoon from a woman who claims she knows you,” Shalvington began, waiting for any acknowledgment.
Michael remained silent.
“Mary Richardson? Do you know her?”
Finally, Michael bothered to make eye contact and contemplated how painful he could make this for Shalvington. His disdain for Shalvington had grown proportionally every year since he’d been drafted by the Tide, with no signs of slowing down.
“I know her.” It was all he would offer. Anything more, Shalvington needed to work for.
“Anyway, she requested you take part in Walker High School’s College Career Day. From what I understand, it would require you to show up and talk to the students about the importance of graduating not only from high school, but attending college and getting a college degree. It’s next Tuesday. I’m sure if you’re interested, Coach will make an exception for your attendance at practice.”
Michael remained seated on the bench, wiped his neck with his towel and took another long pull from his water bottle, all the while taking in Shalvington’s shiny wingtips, dark blue suit, red and blue striped tie. Once again, Shalvington’s presence served as a polished reminder that this was a guy who’d never had to fight for anything a day in his life. Or have any other fight. Unless the fight was aimed towards keeping his players among the lowest paid in the league. Now there was a fight the Tide’s general manager would have all day, every day.
The guy had never even bothered to talk to him.
Until now. It was clearly only because he wanted something from him.
Fucking figures. It’s how all the suits worked.
“I know her, but I’m not doing any career day,” Michael uttered as he lay back down on the bench and returned to work on his pecs.
“Would it kill you to ever do something for someone else? Or something for your team?”
Michael remained focused on his bench presses, never changing his pace or his form to indicate Shalvington’s words had struck a mark. He did plenty for the team.
“I don’t even know why I bothered. I knew you’d never do it, but I guess hope springs eternal.” Shalvington shook his head and walked away as three Tide players strolled in from the track, their sweat and soft odor accompanying them. Tamar Johnson, Shaun Gilweather, and Leslie Murray.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man who I will be replacing by the end of the season,” Tamar smirked as he sauntered over to Michael, juiced from his run and dropping the load of shit that comprised the substance of all of his interactions with him. “Good thing you’re working out. ‘Cause when the Tide trades your sorry ass, ain’t no team gonna want an aging D.E. with fewer muscles than my grandma.” Tamar laughed at his jokes while Murray and Gilweather rolled their eyes and went to work on their triceps.