Extra Credit | Complete

48

Lincoln

I had spent the entire morning scrolling through advertisements for jobs in town. Half of them I had already applied to–twice–and I grunted as I shut the laptop with a little more force than necessary. No matter where I went, there ended up being someone more qualified than me. The last interview I had was for a nearby grocery store that would have rather hired teenagers than pay someone else a livable wage.

The hard truth was that no one was interested in hiring the college dropout with no real work experience.

Sensing my frustration, Cali had offered to take Sadie out for the afternoon. Now that the weather was warming up, all Sadie wanted to do was spend time outside. It gave me time to sulk in silence without having to put on a mask.

I placed Cali's laptop on the coffee table and ran both hands across my face. Someone in the state must be willing to hire me. I blew out a slow breath into my folded hands. All I needed was a fighting chance.

I was getting up from the couch when a hard knock started at the front door. Cali and Sadie had left less than ten minutes ago. It couldn't have been them. I stepped towards the door, ready to tell a couple of girl guides that I wasn't buying what they were selling, when another knock sounded.

"I'm coming," I barked before swinging open the door. However, it wasn't a couple of pre-teen girls on the other side.

"Coach," I started, blinking at the man I thought I probably wouldn't see again. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit," Whitmore grunted. His expression was similar to Oscar the Grouch. His thick, grey brows formed an angry downward arrow. "I came all this way. Are you not going to invite me in?"

The bottom of my jaw went slack as it bobbed along. "Uh... ye–yeah, sure. Come on in."

The elderly man seemed misplaced in the narrow foyer of my town home. His broad shoulders were emphasized by the black track jacket he was wearing. I was scrambling to think of something to say to him. Sorry I probably screwed you over for the rest of the season?

By the time he finished wiping his dress shoes on the carpet, I managed to form a cohesive thought. I led him into the adjacent room and then asked,"Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee. Black," he instructed as he surveyed the tight kitchen quarters.

I replied with a stiff nod. Cali's caffeine addiction meant that our ancient coffee machine was put to good use over the last few weeks. I'd seen her fumble around with it enough times to know how to make a half-decent americano–at least by her standards.

I pushed a button and the bulky machine whirred to life. Whitmore made himself comfortable at the kitchen table, his hands clasped and resting on the surface. We didn't exchange another word until I placed the mug of hot coffee down in front of him.

"How have things been?" I asked, relying on pleasantries to get me through the visit.

I could barely look my ex-coach in the eye without a spark of shame igniting in my chest.

"With the program?" Whitmore wrapped one hand around the steaming mug. "It's gone to shit since you were kicked out."

And there it was. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. While I wasn't the one who exposed the operation happening below campus, I couldn't help but feel as though I had let Whitmore down for being involved in the first place.

"Sorry," I blurted out. Then I cleared my throat. "I wasn't–"

Whitmore held up an open palm. "I'm not here for your apology, Pierce."