The Art of Forgetting by Camille Noe Pagan

Author:Camille Noe Pagan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2011-05-12T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty

The following Tuesday afternoon, I am surprised to realize that I’m actually looking forward to coaching—particularly because it means I get to leave the office early. As Naomi and I ride the 6 train uptown to the Bronx together, where the girls’ school is, I glance through my coaching folder and see that today’s lesson is on bullying. I think of pretty, pushy Josie and make a quick wish that the lesson will hit home for her.

When we walk through the gymnasium door, the girls greet me as though I’m Hannah Montana in the flesh.

“Coach Marissa!” says Charity, and throws her arms around my waist.

“Are you going to run with us again today?” asks Lisa eagerly. “Coach Beverly never ran with us.”

“She didn’t?” I ask. I thought running was mandatory—otherwise I would have skipped the tedious laps I did with the girls last week.

“Nope,” says Lisa, shaking her head. “Not one time.” The disappointment in her voice makes it very clear to me that I will be running today, and every practice from here forth. Damn.

“Coach Marissa is way better than Coach Beverly,” says a girl named Anna, whose tight black curls are pulled into five different ponytails.

“Totally!” agrees Margarita, bouncing up and down on her tiptoes.

I am not sure what to make of this development, and eye the girls suspiciously to see if they’re pulling my leg. But unless I’m missing something, they’re being sincere.

“They just had to get used to the idea of a new coach,” Naomi tells me as we riffle through our bin of supplies to find materials for the lesson. “Now they’ll want to be your best friend.”

Good, because I could use one right about now. “Probably because I’m the freak-show adult who happens to be the same height as them.”

“Actually, Piper is taller than you,” Naomi points out with a wicked grin.

I wag my finger at her. “Now, Coach Naomi. Today’s lesson is on bullying. You don’t want to be a bully, do you?”

“Nooo hooo,” she deadpans, then erupts into laughter.

For today’s warm-up exercise, we give each girl either a pink or a green sticker, and put a rubber dodge ball in the middle of the gymnasium floor. “Anyone with a pink sticker is the person you want to keep the ball away from,” Alanna instructs the girls. “Anyone with a green sticker should try to throw the ball to another green girl. If you’re green and a pink girl gets the ball after you’ve had it, you have to go to the sidelines.” Josie, Anna, and Renee are pinks; to my relief, Estrella is one of the nine greens.

I had assumed the girls, most of whom appear about a million times more in-the-know than I was at their age, would think the game was lame. Instead, they run around, laughing and completely delighted. Even the girls who get tagged seem to be having a good time.

After almost all of the greens have gone to the sidelines, Naomi, Alanna, and I grab a ball and ask the girls to watch us.

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