Playing by Heart (10 page)

“The girls already play their games in public, Mr. Tanger. At our gymnasium. They are modestly attired and kept to a minimal amount of exertion, so I don't see a problem with letting them play games at the town hall. And Mr. Morrison, I believe, sir, that games such as basketball have much to teach our students—about teamwork and discipline—that will serve them well not only in life but should they so choose, also in defending freedom.”

A couple of heads nodded. Others shook. Two men leaned
in to whisper to a neighbor. Eyebrows angled toward noses. Mouths dipped into frowns.

I was losing them. I could feel it.

My gaze met Principal Gray's. His chin fell toward his chest, then rose in a slow motion. I could almost hear him say,
Go on, son, you're doing
fine.
I took a deep breath and plunged forward.

“If you'll look at the paper you've received, you'll see my projections as far as attendance and income for games played in the gym at school and at the town hall. By using the town hall, we would raise a significant percentage more to be used to purchase liberty bonds.

“My boys have not had much success on the court so far. I admit that. But with four seniors this year, I think we can win some games. Maybe even win more than we lose. A successful season would be a good thing for our school, our town, and our country. In return for our effort, I ask only that you commit to building a new gymnasium as the first project once the war in Europe has been won.”

I had their full attention now.

Mr. Tanger's eyes narrowed. “Don't see why we should tie one thing to another.”

Excitement climbed into my chest, my throat, my words.

“Mr. Tanger, are you a man of faith?”

“Well now. I believe I am. I'm a good churchgoer, aren't I, Pastor Reynolds?”

Several coughed down laughter.

“I have faith in my boys, Mr. Tanger. Faith in the ones fighting in France and faith in the ones that play ball on a court. I have faith that by moving venues we can raise a good bit of money to help our country and our school and bring a sense of pride to Dunn and to Oklahoma.”

The room went silent. If nothing else, I'd shocked them into consideration of my proposal.

“We need to confer on the matter, Mr. Vaughn,” Mr. Morrison twanged.

They gathered at one side of the room, speaking quietly. Giles pumped my hand. Principal Gray regarded me with proud eyes. No matter what the school board decided about this season or our new gymnasium, I'd given my all to make it happen. I only hoped it was enough.

A few minutes later, they returned to their seats.

Mr. Tanger's stare pinned me in place. “Make arrangements for your games at the town hall, Mr. Vaughn. The girls' games, too. And if your team can manage to win every single game, we'll build you that gym just as soon as victory in Europe is achieved.”

Every. Single. Game? Surely they were joking. All I'd proposed was a winning season, something we'd never yet achieved. There was no way I could guarantee my team would be undefeated. And yet Mr. Tanger's stony smirk confirmed the challenge. I swallowed hard. Nodded.

The boys and I needed to start practicing as soon as possible.

L
ULA

I pulled the pamphlet of basketball rules from the bottom drawer of my desk in the music classroom. I turned the slim volume over in my hands, granite tenacity rising to the surface. I'd defied most of my family. Pursued a college degree. Won the Donally Award. I would conquer basketball.

I opened to the first article again: “Basket Ball for Women,” by C. Ward Crampton, M.C.

The teacher's purpose is to use the game to inculcate a habit of hygienic living, to provide organic exercise, to develop motor skill and to stimulate the social-athletic qualities of courtesy, fairness and co-operation.

I believed in those things. Well, I certainly believed in courtesy, fairness, and cooperation. It was the next line of text that turned me cold:
The girls wish to play a game to have a
good time and to be on the winning side.

My stomach lurched. I knew the girls expected me to coach
them, but I hadn't actually considered the possibility that they'd want to
win
. How could I help them win a game that appeared no easier to understand than Egyptian hieroglyphics?

I closed the cover, closed my eyes. I'd have to seek help from the boys' coach.

On Wednesday, I rapped on my lectern, hushing the whispered conversations of my final class of the day. Seven girls gazed up at me. But in the back row, I saw the top of a head instead of a pair of eyes. I peered down the aisle. Nannie Byrd's hands framed her oval face, restricting her downward view to the book open on the table in front of her. The girl in the next seat elbowed Nannie. Nannie shook her head and continued to stare at the book.

My clipped steps echoed through the room. I hoped the noise would catch her attention, but she didn't flinch. I flipped the book shut.
Plane Geometry
.

Nannie's head jerked my direction. Tears darkened her deep-set eyes and red splotched over her round cheeks.

I slid the book into my hand, leaned near Nannie's ear. “See me after class, please.” Then I returned to the front of the room. “Now, let's work on that Christmas medley once more. We only have a few more weeks until our concert.”

Everyone cooperated nicely, but by the time I dismissed class and my students dashed for the door, my neck ached from the tension. How should I handle Nannie's infraction? No, I couldn't think of it as an infraction. Not after witnessing the naked anguish in her eyes.

Nannie fidgeted in her seat in the back, no doubt bracing herself for a lecture.

I took the chair next to her, then slid the confiscated book back in front of her. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. Then she nodded. “I've always been good at math, until this year. Now I can't seem to understand any of it.” A wail punctuated the end of her sentence. She buried her head in her arms and wet the book with her tears.

I winced, remembering days long ago when the slightest disappointment sent me into a crying jag. But Nannie didn't appear to fit the mold of Fruity Lu. I'd observed her as one who laughed easily and had many friends, but with the confidence to be herself and work hard at her studies.

Nannie lifted her head, wiped her face. “I'm sorry, Miss Bowman. It's just that Blaze needs this so much.”

“Blaze?” I couldn't recall any such student from my classes.

“Reed Clifton.” She hiccuped. Covered her mouth. Swallowed hard. “I help him in math—and other subjects.” One shoulder lifted and fell. “He's not so smart with books, but he's great on the basketball court.”

My eyebrows lifted. Did she tutor him on her own initiative or had someone assigned her to the task? “I don't think you need to worry about anyone but yourself. Now—”

“But Miss Bowman! Blaze and I are—” Her faced turned scarlet.

I crossed my arms. If she finished the sentence with “in love,” I'd tell her a thing or two about boys and love and high school.

Her eyes challenged mine, as if she knew what words stood ready on my tongue. “He's my best friend. And I'm his.” Her tone softened, but her look did not. “I help him with his schoolwork. He helps me with basketball.”

“So you're on the basketball team?”

She nodded. “Do you like basketball, Miss Bowman? I think
it's fun. But of course, Coach Giles has gone off to the army now. We'll have a new coach, so I guess things will be different.”

Should I tell
her?
Perhaps she and I could assist each other in overcoming our deficits. My mouth tightened. “You know, I'm more than a music teacher, Nannie.”

Her eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“I'm also trained in mathematics.”

My words transformed her back into the winsome girl I'd known for the past month. “Oh! Can you help me?”

I nodded, tamping down the excitement that leapt from my toes to my chest to my face. No need to get silly over mathematics. “I can help you. But I have a favor to ask in return.”

Her expression turned serious. “I'll do what I can, Miss Bowman, but I don't play the piano very well.”

Laughter spilled out, surprising even me. “I don't need you to play the piano, Nannie. I need to you to help me with—” I took a deep breath—“with basketball.”

“I don't understand.”

My fingers brushed the cover of the book in front of her. “Principal Gray asked me to coach the girls' basketball team.”

Her mouth rounded into an O. “But you don't know anything about basketball. Is that it?”

My voice lowered to barely a whisper. “I've never even seen a game played.”

Nannie frowned, and my heart sank to my knees. What if she resented the fact that someone who knew nothing about the game had been assigned to coach? What if she wanted to quit the team? I held my breath, praying she'd understand my situation as I understood hers.

Then the easy grin returned to her face. “The girls will think it's grand to have you as our coach. But I don't know how much
I can help you. Blaze teaches me to shoot the ball better, but I don't know anything about strategy. You should ask Coach Vaughn—”

Coach Vaughn?
My heart jumped into my throat. He was the boys' basketball coach?

“Oh, I'd rather not.” Even as the hasty words fled my mouth, I knew I had little choice. Well, except for Bo. Why did both men who knew about basketball also kindle my sister's matchmaking fire?

“But you'll still help me understand geometry, right?” Nannie chewed her lip.

“Of course. We can get started right now if you'd like.”

“Thank you!” She threw her arms around my neck. “Coach Vaughn's completely given up on me and math these days.”

I shut my eyes for a brief moment. “So Mr. Vaughn is your math teacher?”

“Yes.”

I pressed my fingertips into my forehead. So much for thinking I'd be able to avoid his friendly eyes and knee-weakening smile. Maybe the man would enlist, like the girls' basketball coach. Until then, I had to find a way to deal with him—as a fellow coach and as Nannie's math teacher.

Just like when I looked at a group of numbers to be added, I suddenly knew the answer. I'd trade Coach Vaughn's help with basketball for my tutoring of Nannie. A simple exchange of information and expertise. Surely a man like Chet Vaughn could see value in that. I only hoped he'd understand it was a reciprocal agreement, for I'd seen what owing a handsome man did to a girl. And I had no intention of letting my feelings—or my future—run away from me.

C
HET

I picked up a wadded sheet of paper from the floor of my classroom and shot it toward the wastebin.

Two points.

Four more days until the first basketball practice of the season, until I could savor the musty smell of the gym, the pound of the ball on the wood floor, the echo of my whistle against the close walls.

I straightened the desks in my room while whistling the popular tune “All the World Will Be Jealous of Me.”

Could Lula's nimble fingers bring the song to life on the piano? Did she possess a pleasing voice to accompany the instrument? I smiled. Better than Mrs. Wayfair or even Miss Delancey, I'd wager.

Get your head in the game, Chet
.
I needed to throw off my infatuation with Lula. Especially considering the new pressure of an undefeated season. We'd secured the town hall. We'd play our best. We'd raise money for the war effort. But in the end, we carried no guarantee of a new gymnasium, even when the
building restrictions were lifted. Not unless we managed to win every game we played.

I gathered papers and clipped them together, tried to find the jaunty tune again, but failed. Blaze plopped into a desk, head down.

“You need something?” I continued my work, knowing if I made too much of his presence, he'd not say a word.

He glanced sideways. “I'm having trouble again. And not just in math, either.”

Jaw clenched, arm tight, I scrubbed away the equations that covered the blackboard at the front of the room. He and I had come to an impasse with numbers lately, none of my explanations sparking understanding. In fact, if I were honest, several of my students were struggling. Most in geometry. Never before had I encountered such difficulty in a class grasping the angles of polygons. Just triangles put together. How hard was that? But for whatever reason, this group of kids didn't get it. I needed a new way to explain things. But how?

“Nannie can't help?”

The silence stretched for so long I wondered if he'd left. I turned. He remained at the desk, fingers tapping, chin near his chest. He raised his head, a tortured look in his dark eyes. “I can't ask her again. I don't want her to think I'm stupid.”

“You aren't stupid, Blaze. I've told you that before. You're smart about a lot of things that aren't measured in a classroom.”

“Like ball,” he mumbled.

“Yes. Like ball. Like how to get along with people. How to follow the rules and lead others to do the same.”

He shrugged. “That's nothing.”

“It's something many people never learn. And you're a hard worker, too. In the gym. In the classroom. At home.” I winced,
knowing how Archie Clifton pushed his boy, deliberately leaving him little time to keep up with his classes. “Don't focus on the grades themselves. You just need to pass to graduate. That's all. Just pass. You have a bright future, Blaze. A diploma is part of that.”

I took the seat next to him. “I'll find you some assistance. I promise. But you can't be afraid to ask, either.”

“Yes, sir.” He looked me in the eye, but both of us knew he wasn't convinced anything or anyone could help him. If he didn't have a breakthrough soon, I feared he'd quit school now, even with the end in sight.

“See you at church on Sunday?” I'd encouraged him to attend, but he wasn't a regular.

He shrugged. “If he'll let me. Chores that must be done right away seem to pop up every Sunday morning.”

“I understand. You do what you need to do, but know this: God sees. And so do I.”

Blaze loped out of sight, off to meet Nannie, I suspected. If only I could make the boy see his strengths for what they were: valuable assets given to him by God. But just like his tussle with numbers, no matter how often I pointed out the truth of his life, he couldn't make sense of it. Not yet. He'd believed too long the poison Archie Clifton spewed from his bitter heart.

During my lunch break, I pulled a second chair behind my desk—sat in one and propped my feet on the other. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and folded my hands on my chest. A nap would fill the time, and perhaps afford me a bit of peace. Maybe even a better mood upon awakening.

But moments after my mind stilled, a knock disturbed the
quiet. My head popped up, eyes blinking in the light. My classroom door squeaked open.

“Mr. Vaughn? Could I speak with you a moment?” Lula Bowman stood arrow-straight, her chin tipped upward just a bit, her mouth set in a grim line.

I swung my feet to the floor and smoothed back the hair above my ear. I hadn't thought I'd see much of her at school after overhearing the conversation with her sister. I certainly hadn't expected her to seek me out. Then I remembered JC. My breath hitched. We'd had a good talk on Saturday. I sensed him beginning to trust me as a friend. I prayed the boy hadn't landed in any trouble.

“Of course, Miss Bowman. Won't you take a seat?” I offered the chair my feet had been resting on. She raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and remained standing as close to the door as possible, as if eager to make an escape. At least she didn't flit as near as possible, like Miss Delancey had.

“I'm here to discuss one of your students. Nannie Byrd.”

“Nannie Byrd?” Not at all what I'd expected. I crossed the floor just to prove that I could, trying to make some sense of what those kissable lips could possibly say next.

“She was in tears over her geometry exercises yesterday.”

“I see.” I stood an arm's length from her now. Her face flushed, but she didn't look away. Or move closer. “She's had trouble grasping polygons, but she seemed to be managing better than most.”

Lula's eyes flashed. “She's not managing. She's floundering. And she'll be failing if someone doesn't take the time to teach her properly.”

I stared for a long moment, the sourness of her words erasing her attractive features. “I
am
teaching her.”

“Not well enough, apparently.”

My jaw ticked as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. If she were a man, I might have plowed my fist into her nose. But she was a woman. So very definitely a woman. I rubbed a hand across my mouth, allowing time to temper my reply. “And have you come to offer a solution, Miss Bowman?”

“As a matter of fact, I have come with an offer of help.”

“Ah, help.” I returned to the chair behind my desk, expanding the distance between us. “And how would you propose to do that?”

“I have extensive knowledge of mathematics, Mr. Vaughn. I could go over your lesson plans with you—”

I laughed. Pink sprang to her cheeks. I leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “I don't need your help to teach mathematics, Miss Bowman.”

Her skin glowed brighter. “But you do need me to help Nannie. And I . . . I need . . .”

Her bravado melted into the vulnerability of a baby bird knocked from its nest. She intrigued me, this woman, first hard, then soft.

“Go on, Miss Bowman.”

She blushed from her hairline to the white lace collar around her neck. “Apparently I'm the only option for a girls' basketball coach this year. Principal Gray said you could help me learn the game.” Her lips pinched as if she felt a physical pain upon saying the words.

Principal Gray? He hadn't warned me.

She cleared her throat. “I'm proposing an exchange of sorts. I will help Nannie and any of your other students who need it, if you will help me learn the game of basketball.”

I studied Miss Bowman for a moment. Coming to me had
cost her—and not a little. That much I could plainly see. Must everyone who needed help be so all-fired stubborn about asking for it?

But could a music teacher really help my students learn math? Lula seemed confident in her ability. What did I have to lose? Time spent in her company meant the opportunity to work out the intricacies of her character while enjoying the view. And if she helped Nannie, Nannie would help Blaze, and I'd do anything to see that boy graduate in May.

“If you can figure out how to help Nannie, I'd be mighty appreciative.”

At last, her shoulders lost a bit of their rigidity. “And I would be grateful for your help with basketball.”

“You can count on me, Miss Bowman.”

She angled her head slightly in my direction, then slipped through the doorway and down the hall. For the first time in a very long while, I didn't object at all to the thought of being in company with a lovely female schoolteacher.